Closing the matter, FOREVER

My editor, Nate Robinson, forwarded me an email that had my name as its subject line, which apparently was intended as a letter to the editor. I think it’s loosely based on English:

I am of the onion you are not a very well writer. You stink. And the facet that U think that you are ‘in the pubic eye’ is lame. Think about it—you write in a campus paper where most the copees end up washed away by the rain. Why don’t you and your naked liberated fried frind go screw off into your snowstorm with the broken windshield wipers. Yes, someway EYE get off on reading about your st00pod life. You stupid son of a bitch. Oh so I bet you will DQ me having used profanity. You are so sensitive. So kind. whatever. I hate you. You make me want to die. SOme effect you have on people.

Wow. Just when I think people like Bobby Quine have drunk themselves back into inactivity, something like this turns up. Our friend JUstin here couldn’t have gleaned all that information from my articles in the Daily – he’s been reading the comments appended to Bobby Quine’s rant, and this post. I suspected foul play, so I paid a visit to oohshiny.net, and sure enough, the gracious proprietor had written another post in my honor, this one detailing how to find this website. Again, wow.

The irony in all of this is that I chose my Daily persona (harmless self-indulgence) to avoid creating controversy. In retrospect, I should have just stuck to safe topics like abortion and the death penalty. “Who could take issue with an article describing Kelly?” I thought to myself. Who, indeed.

Back in my Counter-Strike forum days, I witnessed and participated in many an Internet flame war. And to be honest, I’m sick of them. They produce nothing worthwhile. They’re a waste of time that no one but the most adept grudge-holder will remember in two months. I won’t participate.

That said, I have the following things to say before closing the matter, FOREVER. You can continue to ridicule me if that’s something you feel need to do, but my part ends here.

To Bobby Quine: I’m sorry that things didn’t work out between us, newspaper-editorial-wise. As Kelly observed, you seem like you’re probably a pretty funny guy – I’m sure that if I wasn’t the subject of your rant, I would have laughed my ass off. If only you would use your powers for good. If you’re going to take shots at me for using too many words to describe things (you’re right, by the way), then you probably should consider using fewer yourself to do so. At least I have guts to attach my real name to the things I write. You’re not the only person who’s read Burning Chrome, you know. There is a difference between criticism and ranting – your buddy who owns the domain gave a more meaningful critique of my work in his introduction to your article than you did with all those sparkly phrases.

To the proprietor of oohshiny: Come off it. Either I’m important enough to notice, or I’m not. You’ve already answered that question with your surprising attention. Thanks, but I’m doing pretty well over here without your advice; if I jumped to listen to every asshole with a keyboard and a domain, I’d have no time to write those articles you hate so much. Believe it or not, I do like more than four bands – it’s a fifteen-inch article, and if I want anyone to enjoy what I write (slim chance, granted) then they have to know what the hell I’m talking about, and naming bands no one has ever heard of doesn’t accomplish that goal. And what’s the deal with not linking back to my site? I linked to yours, after all. That’s just rude. And I don’t know what version of google you’re using, but on my side of the world I’m still number one.

To JUstin Grim: Huh. I could have sworn that literacy was a prerequisite to newspaper patronage. Please don’t kill yourself over anything that I write – if you’re going to do that, at least choose a worthy cause.

To the three of you, collectively: when you feel your rage mounting every Tuesday, I want you to take the following steps: take a deep breath; hold it for ten seconds; repeat to yourself the phrase, “He writes for the fucking Daily. I will find better things to get angry about.”

And finally, to Erin (and anyone else who thinks they might respond to the above three): I can tell that you’re just itching to fling poison barbs across cyberspace towards my cruel persecutors – please, don’t. People who write things online for other people to read (myself included) desire attention above all things. Don’t give them that satisfaction. Your defense of me is like throwing gas on a fire. I appreciate it and all, but abstain just this once. (Although, if I know Erin, she’s already written a four-page thesis on the exact manner in which Bobby Quine’s testicles will pass from her hands to the innermost depths of his intestinal tract. She’s a sweet gal

I’m glad we had this little chat.