This week’s edition of Friday Follies takes us on a global tour. With the creative and romantic nature of this week’s posts, I was mistakenly under the impression the hatemail would stay at a minimum. At this late juncture, I should never, once, ever, at all be dumbfounded by the contents of my inbox. Apparently, I need my mind examined.
Most M3 Readers are aware of my painfully strict prohibition to politics on this blog. To show the true scope of the imagination of the lurking M3
Readers Rubberneckers, we need to visit Egypt. Before you whip out your “de Nile” jokes, buckle up. This may be a bumpy ride.
I made public my Valentine card to Bear in Ten Things I Love About You. Overwhelmingly, the comments were sweet and kind and inspired. It even prompted Bear to pen a return love letter and a poem. Sounds like a typical Hallmark Day, right? *sigh*
Kursad had a novel opinion on the entire affair. He believes it was all a conspiracy. (Idly wonders if Kursad is Karla’s ex-boyfriend.)
You can’t make believe to me bear is a real people. Your bear is what you want in men for you.”
He would go on to such other astounding accusations as I must be paying someone to write Bear’s responses or I am writing them myself, and I should not pretend my cats are real people.
I certainly hope Google Translate gets my message through to him:
I have never been a personal consumer of prostitution, although I understand is it a cornerstone of your country’s economy and entertainment industry. While I occasionally use some of Bear’s wisdom in posts, he more often supplements my writing with his insights and experiences in his own hand.
Even though I have a brilliant imagination, I haven’t the power to theorize anything as poignant or bizarre as the life experience shared by the M3 Readers and Bear.
Unfortunately, I cannot speak for my cat, as he died two years ago. Although, if you have a feline predilection, I could refer you to a lovely lady in Finland.”
He was right about one thing: Bear is what I want in a man.
When I got out my dictionary and challenged the social connotation of jealousy, it is apparent I struck a nerve with Rita in Portugal. Since she did not read to the portion of the post which explained my stance, her reaction seemed a bit strange.
There is nothing to be jealous about. Nobody got any more than I got. I got nothing to be jealos about. [Expletive] they should be worshipping me. You gotta be one lonely [expletive] to be jealous of some celebrity. Thats why you write about other people to make yourself be somebody important. Nobody is reading your [expletive] blog anyways.”
Besides, you, dearest Rita! Thank you for saving me from utter anonymity.
Here’s Your Sign
Before I posted Signs, I ran it past the editorial team. I got the thumbs up for exposing M3 Readers to some of the darker images in my repertoire.
I have been reluctant in the past to share my apocalyptic poetry and prose merely on the grounds it is rarely understood. This is not something which normally causes me distress; rather, I take it as a sign I have done well. I shroud the theme in such vivid imagery as to leave its truest meaning only to those listening the deepest.
Occasionally, even those who get past all the garlic leaves latch onto a clove which is shriveled, rotten and entirely inedible.
Case in point:
You dont need a blog…you need a psychoanalyst. This has absolutely got to be the most disturbed thing I have ever read in my whole entire life. Only somebody who is truely disturbed could write such hatefull homocidal [expletive].”
Completely unperturbed, I shot an email back to Chris in New Hampshire:
With your wonderful example of hyperbole, I would suggest you consider a sideline in creative writing, provided you could find a good editor. However, on second thought, it may become too large a distraction to your innate talent to read between the lines. Since you are the only person to hear my cry for validation, I will confide in you.
You see, it all started when I was a little girl… [750 words about childhood and adolescence deleted for space in this post] …All of which leads me to the place where I have to wonder if perhaps I should not devise a plan to lure my readers to South Carolina, where I am certain the police would never catch on to what my ultimate plan really is.
My only true concern is Bear’s superior investigative skills may out me. Do you think I could get away with it any way?”
Disclaimer: No homosexuals were harmed in the making of this or any other M3 post.
Lie to Me
Polls are a fixture around M3. I am continually picking your brains about something. Why did it surprise me when a Zombie hatemailed me? (Shakes head, knows better)
The completely innocent results of the survey went relatively unnoticed based on the low number of hits and likes. I suppose, I should be glad it did not have an “unlike” button. In a hatemail I can only classify as stunning, Maria penned from South Africa:
You can not possibly teach someone to be honest. You can’t tell me you don’t know somebody who has never told the truth. Oh ya that would be you. You must have that gene. they know about all those sychopath genes now since they studied Charley Manson’s brain.”
Being one with an affinity for the criminology of serial killers (and one research grant thesis sized case of snark), I took this to heart and return mail:
I am disturbed my handlers and proctors would leak our research to the public. The release I signed said the results of the brain scan studies would never be released to the public. Please send me your address so I can send you a postage-paid envelope, so you can return the results to me.
Since I have already spent the research money, please make it easy for me, as I would hate to travel so far, what with my fear of boats, marsupials and non-caffeinated beverages.”
I hope your week has been zombie, psychopath, brain scan and hatemail free! Until next week’s Friday Follies, please stay away from the crazies in the stupidest inbox in the blogosphere… I am not sure if they have had their shots, and we know tin foils hats do not deter them.