What You Are Laughing At

The Grocery Line Publications, Seattle Comedy Edition

The comments on Blaine's recent blog seem to have spiraled out of order. There is no real control over them, it's an e-graffiti artist's "Field Of Wet Dreams." Offer it, and they will comment. Cripes, I commented twice myself. I used my name in both of them. It's about as "in ya grill" as one can get in the tablogs, until I perfect my "ThyroidPunchAnonymousPost.exe" program. So we see that a couple of Anonymous (read: cowardly) posts took the boat ride from good-natured ribbing the equivalent of elevator farting: Your intent is as pointlessly annoying as your action. To find you would be both exhilirating and anti-climactic.

Truly F'ing stupid stuff written there. A descent into the lowest Clown Posse denominator, Ted Bundy'ism minus the charm and day-planner. The anonymous posting party, using a toilet-streak vocabulary to express, with dive-bar graffiti spell-check, a generally stunted view of women. Dude... tit-pumping? You couldn't find a thesaurus among your ever-expanding coffee table-legs of True Crime novels. Do you even realize that so far I have totally kicked your ass with what I've written? And it's almost 2 in the morning, kiddo, I gots game.

So why would I write this bash of an anonymous coward? First of all, because I can. Second, it's entertaining me to do so. Third, because it should be done. Fourth, because I've had too much RockStar energy drink to stop. I have a titanium rod in my leg that is vibrating right now. Until that or the alien voice goes away, the typing must go on.

The fifth reason is that I want to defend my good friend Killorn, for whom I would lay down in traffic or the ping-pong table at Teddy's to help. I know she'd do the same for me. She and I are fully aware of the rumor mill's whispered variatons of our co-mingling. To be honest, I find it best to paraphrase Jesus: "Unless you have a vested interest, it's none of your f*cking business. This is threats Pimp, I'm serrious. I chop you up putcha inna trunk." Nah, not that bad. But if it were going on like that, then what? People who wonder about who's doing what to whom are the same screen-shouters laying bets on which computerized hydroplane is going to win at a Mariner's game. You call "RED, RED, RED!" Green wins. And? Exactly. You're proven wrong on a question that never need be asked.

Next to that, there are so many back-of-the-schoolbus rumors about "who's got a punchline for so&so's set up" that I totally see where The Commander hits the 10-penny with the term "Comedy High School." I can't stop idiots from talking about things they know nothing about, whether it's about me, Killorn, Shoogs, who's funniest, or who should be JFK'ed at Open Mic. To each their own. I cannot defend freedom of speech and censorship at the same time. It's like seeing a man in an Armani suit, with a half-staff hanging out his fly; he almost had it together, then he threw the dick into it.

To stand back and let anybody attack my friends, of any gender, would be cowardly. I've learned enough to know that when somebody wades honestly into the crowd and is hit with a flying, spent Kokanee, it's important to fire one back in the direction of launch. Perhaps you hit the crow's nest, perhaps you ricochet off a few rooftops, but you return fire. Or perhaps it's better to express that the whole thing is so far beneath the true nature of 95% of the people involved that we accept the anonymous posting person as a coward, a simpleton, and a wee-spirited human of low character and even lower ability to entertain in pretty much any form of media. I'm betting they are 0-for-3; stand-up/internet/cruising Hillary Duff chat rooms for local a-cuppers.

To be anonymous is to lack any real sense of self, and have not enough bag to bring themselves into the light. And even if they DID expose themselves, who the hell would believe it? This is how terrorism works: Who hates who? Why? But folks that's some harmless, pointless banter by a tiny bug on the zit of an ass of a dead career. This is all they got... and it's squat. I'm not resorting to posting a "Posting By Anonymous Alert Level" color code/mood-ring. Rumors are just lies the liars are jealous to be left out of. Make up your minds, then forget what you know.

Oh right, we can also track down who posts what, regardless of name, thanks to computer know-how and a little thing called an IP address. I almost forgot that part. I'm-a go make day-glow vitamin water. I have a gig tomorrow for a large software corporation. Think I'm a whore? Get it right: HIGH CLASS WHORES MAKE BANK. And I'll sleep on that tonight, knowing that Anonymous Posting is forever a nervous man with IBS in the back of an elevator: Annoyingly entertaining.
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Take Me Home

My Non-Funny Blog.