This week the stupidest inbox in the blogosphere was stuffed full. It is time for a special edition. This carries the standard warning and lots of fun. Put your drink across the room and settle in for the 450th post on M3 and the 22nd edition of Friday Follies.
Yes, I knew it. When you bring up the idea of mental disorders, or testing anything which could reveal a mental disorder, you have crazies knocking down the letter box door. Do not misunderstand. I am not using the crazies to describe the mental ill, only the inhabitants of the stupidest inbox in the blogosphere. Take Paula, for instance.
Reading the Blots
Hatemailing from Florida, Paula has had some experience with Rorschach tests. Realize before you read, your results may vary (widely) from hers. She takes the whole idea of doctor/patient privilege and tosses it squarely out a 10th story window, with quite a large number of ethics. She was offended by…Oh, let’s let her tell it.
All that Roarshack test is good for is getting into bed with your therapist. All they ever see in the inkblots is how you see sex in everything. The guy who made them was a perv. There is no way you can look any of them except the bat without seeing a big [vagina] or [penises] sticking out at you. The only reason therapists give you the test is to see if they can get in your panties.”
The remainder of Paula’s email classifies both as TMI and teetering on getting M3 back on the porn site list if it is aired. After a voyeuristic ROFL, I only truly had one question for Paula:
If they charge for the session, does that count as prostitution?”
Still waiting for an answer to that one.
Mad about Mantra
Every once in a while I get a hatemail about something Mantra wrote. This week Mantra was blasted for The Rock. Randall mistook the description, the poem and the picture. All the way from Turkey, here is his plate full of hate:
If you looked anything like that picture you put up, you would not be sitting on some rock on the side of the ovean. Somebody would have come along and sailed off withyou. Nothing wrong with being along. Most fat chicks are alone. If you could still wear a bikini your surfer dude wouldn’t have run off. Can you give me the emaiol address of the chick who write the long thing in the middle/ She sounds like somebody who needs to get laid.”
Did this turn my crank? Let me count the ways…
It occurs to me, Randall, perhaps the women still in burqas in your country are trying to not be ogled by lascivious men like you. As I am the “chick who write the long thing in the middle”, the only email address I will give you is for Bear. I am quite certain he will assert his powerful dominion over the availability of details of our sex life, which, incidentally, is no one’s business. Shall I introduce you?
Apparently, judging from his lack of response, Randall was not interested in being introduced to Bear. Pity.
I have already admitted I occasionally send Ask Momma users to other blogs for further reading, rather than answering questions via inbox or on M3, especially when they are not congruent with our current subject matter. Your next hatemailer comes compliments of the A to Z Challenge, a proud resident of Ohio.
Rachel had a problem with temperament. No, not just the post. Observe.
Where did you get the bot? I need one to post on my blog. I wish there was a better one than this one cause it doesnt use good english. You really auto run it thru translate or proof read it or something before you post. I am surprised nobody told you twig is a stick.”
Now, I have gotten used to hatemailers calling me fake, but being called a bot was a little more infuriating than I originally imagined. Then, the evil grin spread across my face.
Rachel, there are no bots posting on M3. I should point out there is a great place for you to twig new definitions, the online Merriam Webster dictionary. Reading there, you may even twig what the blog post really says. One thing I should point out…Google Translate does not twig the definition of the verb twig. What is the new official language of Ohio?
How was that for some “good english”?
Not a Fan
Muse for Monday had a twist at the end. M3 Readers clamored there was no such thing as “too Dirty Harry”. To be quite honest, I agree. However, Mateo does not. Hatemailing from Mexico, he seemed to think it was Dirty Harry, but in a different way. Behold.
That sounds like dirty Harry all right. He is a wuss. He probably would do nothing instead of getting in somebody’s face and just shooting them. He’s always threatenign people with that gun but he doesn’thave the balls to shoot anybody.”
Not sure which Dirty Harry movie Mateo got in Mexico, but it must have been a knock off. Test your hatemail response skills. What should I send to Mateo?
Most everything I have ever said has been challenged at one point or another. It is part of the territory when giving advice, especially about parenting. The hatemail I got for U is for Understanding was definitely not run of the mill.
Marguerite hatemails from Indiana to tell me a laundry list of what is wrong with anyone understanding my pain. You have to read it to believe it.
There is no way anyone can feel sympathy for you. You have to be completely [expletive] stupid or stone cold crazy to have a C section without drugs. Nobody in there right mind understands stupid or crazy. Prolly tho the whole thing is a lie, which means nobody could possibly feel sorry for you. Why would you lie about something that horrible?”
Let’s get interactive. Which response should I send to Marguerite?
Oh, Marguerite! You have to try it to believe it! Watching someone cut a hole in you big enough to expel your bowel and small intestine, plus cut a hole in your uterus, I mean, WOW! How could everyone not be on board with it? What a rush!
After advising many women about their choices in childbirth, I feel compelled to advise you to refrain from reproducing. Your apparent low threshold for pain is only surpassed by your lack of empathy, which is a necessary emotional component to motherhood.
As a side note, if you already have children, please enroll them in extracurricular grammar lessons. Studies prove illiterate parents are 85% more likely to raise illiterate children.
My doctor concluded there was nothing clinically wrong with me, although I really think he should listen to the stuffed duck on his desk. It has a great sense of humor. When I told him that, he had my hearing checked, but when the results came back I was partially deaf, he just decided I probably needed an imaginary friend after all I had been through. I mean, everyone has an imaginary friend, right?
This one is up to you!
There were two latecomers to party, but they will have to wait until another edition!
I hope your week has been hatemail and crazy free. Thank you for joining me for the 22nd edition of Friday Follies from the stupidest inbox in the blogosphere and for reading the 450th post on M3! Until next week, make it a good one! Meanwhile, tell me which response to send to Marguerite and what I should pen to Mateo.
(c) Ann Marie Dwyer 2012
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