Failure And Accomplishment

 I have an image blog today. Enjoy!

Curse Of An Internet Troll

There is of course the sort of spammer I mentioned in my last post: the mass email spamming waste of space passing off a sob story (badly) as a legitimate front for their scam. They're good for ridicule, but not much else. And then there's another kind of spammer. The sort who leaves inane, pointless comments in a post. More often then not it's just spamming their own website. Easily gotten rid of. Just banished to the netherworld limbo of spam comments where they belong.

But then there's a particularly vile sort of spammer, leaving comments that are on a level all their own. Since Covid started there's been someone (or someones) out there leaving the same copy and paste sort of comment, sometimes here or on my photoblog. One such comment was left in the last post and swiftly banished to spam comment limbo. The same person, always anonymous with no website to go back to, has left that very same comment from time to time on other blogs I follow. You've probably seen them before the blog author has a chance to delete them. Here's the comment from this internet troll, quoted verbatim, from before I sent it off to spam comment purgatory, left here in the last post. Apologies in advance, as I'll be using some coarse language in reply, but then again, he deserves it.

i can't wait for the vaccines to kill off the boomers. There have been a shitload of deaths, at least 200,000 so far, related to the vaccines. Obviously the media isn't gonna talk about this. You boomers wanted to destroy your own children's future, well guess what, YOU are the ones being destroyed now. Boomers are living in terror and horror now, and this is their karma for ruining their own children and grand children's lives and futures. And even if the vaccine doesn't get you, the doctors are openly calling everything "covid19" now and ramming tubes down boomer's throats and putting them on death machines known as "ventilators". Either way, you boomers are fucked. You are the most evil generation to ever exist. You get what you deserve, boomer scum!

Ah, yes. This is routine for this 'person'. I put person in quotations, because as far as a human being goes, this extremely enraged jackass is a pretty lousy excuse for one. They do say you shouldn't feed an internet troll.... but I can't resist. I see someone this stupid, and I just have to slap them upside the head. So where do I begin? 

First off, by saying I'm not a boomer. I'm part of Generation X. 

That's right, dumbass. When you mass copy and paste the exact same comment into countless blogs whose authors aren't interested in your anger... you might want to consider that not everyone you're spamming is in the age category you've got such a grudge against.

And it is quite a grudge. Look, I get it. You're frustrated, and you want to take it out on the Baby Boomers. Fine.  You could do so constructively on your own blog (which doesn't exist, because you're a coward too afraid to actually comment as anything but Anonymous). You could make an argument in a thoughtful way about boomers being self absorbed, how they've had everything handed to them, how it's so much harder now to get things done. It would be full of generalizations, half truths, and inaccuracies, but at the very least you'd be expressing your frustrations like a human being. 

As opposed to being the world's biggest crybaby.

No, that's what you are and what you do. You take this whole thing we're dealing with- Covid. And you vent and you rage and you howl at the moon. You blame boomers for everything, you get on the anti-vaccination crazy train by hoping vaccines kill off all the boomers (I seem to recall that when you started this rage-storm of bullshit commentary, you were hoping Covid would kill off all the boomers), and you spout inaccuracies and conspiracy theories. You scream about boomers ruining their children and grandchildren, how they're living in horror and terror, and blather on about how doctors are calling everything Covid-19 now, and how ventilators are death machines. And somewhere in that feeble brain of yours you're saying that the boomers are fucked, that they are the most evil generation that ever existed, and they get what they deserve.

Wow. I mean, really.

Somebody needs anger management therapy.

Or to just get the shit kicked out of them on principle.

You're mad, man (and let's face it, whoever this gutless anonymous coward is, this is definitely a man). You're angry at the world, screaming and no one's hearing you. You think the world owes you, and you resent like hell that people are carrying on their lives without your say so. And so you take out your rage on baby boomers. I'll assume your parents are boomers, and maybe that's all part of it. Whatever it is, you're mad at the universe in general, and at boomers in particular.

And then there's the other thing: you're a coward.

Yes, a coward. You comment anonymously. Because you're such a pathetic, ineffectual excuse for a human being that you can't abide the thought of someone coming into your personal space and calling you out for what you are. A gutless fucking coward. That's what you are. 

And I find it hilarious that a rage-storm impending shooting spree such as yourself has the gall to talk about karma. There's good karma and bad karma. And someone so filled with such anger and hostility at the world is going to get the latter. Maybe it's about more than being angry at boomers. Maybe it's you're pissed off at the universe for the fact that you were born. But you've got a whole lot of anger inside you, and you take it out by randomly commenting the exact same load of bile, venom, and bullshit on blogs of people who don't know you, and frankly don't care one bit about you.

And you talk about karma?

Be careful what you wish for. Karma may someday soon come and treat you as you deserve. Badly.

So you've got it in for boomers. No doubt you blame them for the state of your life. After all, you've got failure written all over you, pal. It's in every word you write. Failure. 

But guess what? Boomers aren't the reason for you being a failure. The person you should blame for the clusterfuck that is your life? It's you. You're the only person to blame for the utter misery that is every single day of your life. You're the reason everyone who knows you in real life hates you. You're the reason, o hater of boomers.... that you are such a useless, worthless, vile repugnance. You're the reason why when you are no longer alive, no one who ever knew you will miss you. They'll just shrug and say good riddance.

Again: you. Just you. Nobody else but you.

Now, you can come to grips with that. Grow the fuck up, calm the fuck down, get help for that serious temper you've got, lose the conspiracy theory bullshit mindset you've got.... and start taking responsibility for your failures as a human being. 

But let's face it, that would take a level of self realization and self awareness that a fucked up jackass like yourself just doesn't have. 

So in closing, I'll leave it to this guy to sum up my opinion where you're concerned.

Rampage Of A Mad Scientist

Mad Scientist Holds Allegorical Figure Hostage, Makes Demands

Toronto (CP) It has been two weeks since the escape from prison of the mad scientist Magnus von Malice from an Austrian prison. Two weeks in which rumour and conjecture about his whereabouts rushed around the world. Two weeks in cryptic brief podcasts claiming the world would soon belong to him. Claims of having had constructed a death ray he would use on the first person who heckled him. Law enforcement agencies across the world have been on the lookout for the convicted supervillain. As seems to fit the madman, he turned up in the most unlikely of places this week.

What could have drawn von Malice to a suburban mall? A shopping run for groceries? Funding the next stage of his schemes by robbing a jewelry store? Buying the latest iphone? Whatever the reason, the mad scientist turned up at a mall in the suburbs of Toronto this week, was confronted by mall security, and things got progressively weirder from there.

Von Malice turned what might have been an unpleasant confrontation into a hostage taking, grabbing the nearest convenient human shield. It was Fred Argyle, the mall’s Santa Claus, who just happened to be passing by when it all happened. Von Malice wrapped an arm around Argyle’s throat, according to witnesses, aimed a futuristic looking gun at his head, and started making demands.

“One hundred trillion dollars in gold plated latinum, or I kill Santa!” he started. An onlooker called out, informing the mad scientist that latinum was a science fiction mineral, and not a real one. “Shut up!” he replied.

The police were called in. Mall security kept people back, including children traumatized at the sight of who they assumed was Santa being held at gunpoint. Argyle himself was a nervous wreck. “Please, I’m just a mall Santa. I’m not the real thing. My name is Fred…”

“Shut up, fat man!” Von Malice warned.

“I’m not fat… it’s body padding,” Argyle tried to explain.

“What part of shut up do you not get?” Von Malice asked.

And so it went on. Mall security, not being paid enough for this sort of thing, waited on the arrival of the police. And among their number was a legend of the law enforcement community, off duty and in the city visiting family. He was already familiar to Von Malice- it was this very man who had foiled previous schemes by the megalomaniac super villain and who had put him behind bars.

It was the legendary and grumpy RCMP Inspector Lars Ulrich. Witnesses described him as looking typically irritated, which is his default setting in life. Ulrich emerged among the crowd of responding officers, glaring at Von Malice, clenching his hands into fists. Von Malice saw him, gasped, and began to rant, a ten minute monologue aimed at the very man responsible for his imprisonment. There were declarations of war, threats of using the ultimate weapon on Ulrich, and more demands, including that Starbucks keep their pumpkin spice latte on the menu all year.

“Are you done?” Ulrich asked when the mad scientist went silent for a moment.

“There is no such thing as done,” Von Malice said with a characteristic sneer. “Now are you going to get in my way? Because if you do, the fat man gets it, and millions of children will wake up on Christmas without a present.”

“I told you, I’m not Santa,” Argyle protested.

“Shut up!” Von Malice ordered.

Ulrich sighed, shook his head. “Look, Mags….”

“Magnus!” the villain countered, seeming to become more unhinged. “Magnus Von Malice! That is my name, and you will address me in the proper way. For I am the destined master of the world, the greatest mind this world has ever produced. And I will not be disrespected by you of all people! The very man who’s foiled my grand overtures at world domination. What use do I have for the Metallica drummer, after all?”

Witnesses to the confrontation reported that Ulrich seemed more irritated at those words. His voice went low, barely audible, but there nonetheless. “I am not that Lars Ulrich,” he told the mad scientist.

Von Malice seemed puzzled. “Are you sure?”

What happened next was a blur, according to witnesses. One moment von Malice was holding a hostage. The next he was being clobbered and falling across the corridor, deprived of his weapon (later confirmed to be a mock up). And the next after that, Ulrich was tossing him off a second story balcony into a cappuccino stand.

Von Malice was taken away by ambulance, under heavy police guard, heard to be ranting about leviathans in red serge. It was reported that he had sustained several broken ribs in his fall. Inspector Ulrich took his leave of the scene before entertainment reporters could show up and ask if Metallica was doing a Christmas album.

And Fred Argyle, having had endured time as a hostage, held at gunpoint by a gun that wasn’t actually operable, went back to his mall Santa gig, reassuring children that he was perfectly fine, and that no matter what he had said earlier, ‘Fred’ was just an alias Santa used every once in awhile when he wanted to go off to Vegas and didn’t want Mrs. Claus to know.

And so it was that a grouchy lawman saved Christmas. Or close enough, anyway. Though he might be more of the temperament to say ‘get the hell out of my face’ as opposed to ‘Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night.’

Even A Jedi Can Throw Tantrums

I have an image post today. Enjoy!