The Troll
“Something very
peculiar happened today.”
—Nickolay Gogol,
Diary of a Madman
Something very peculiar happened today. I got up rather late, had my enema and my usual scotch and soda. I would’ve gone to the office—but someone would surely have said “Why are you always in such a muddle?”
And it was true—I’d have been rushing around like a madman and making a mess of my work. The devil himself wouldn’t be able to sort things out. I’d be gossiping with all the secretaries—about the awful thing that happened to me that morning. I’d be yammering away forever—about that tacky Troll who was stalking me.
To make a long story short—the only reason I’d turn on the infernal machine in the morning anyway would be to see if I got any email or what the latest gossip was in the Literary chat-group I was in. We were discussing Miss Nabokov—that wretched snarky creature from Petersburg, the same Russian city that Nickolay Gogol lived in while he was a young writer. It’s amazing how many famous writers were bureaucrats like Gogol and insurance salesmen like Franz Kafka. No wonder their stories and novels were so paranoid, labyrinthine and dystopian-esque.
Naturally, I was shocked—simply shocked beyond belief. It was worse—ten times as worse as the snarky posting the troll had published the previous day in Melba Toast, our little book chat-group. There it was right there in the middle of my erudite discussion of Nabokov’s dark gloomy novel Bend Sinister—sticking out like an ugly sore thumb for everybody to see!!!
“Stupid faggot.”
—Oilcanbody
That was bad enough just seeing what the Troll posted about me—enough to make me cringe in fear and loathing under my desk. I was so frightfully embarrassed that I hid my face in shame for at least a minute or two. Despite all my diligent careful closetry—despite all my most cloying attempts to adhere religiously to the draconian “Don’t ask, Don’t tell” dictum that came down from on high. Yes, my dears, there it was—worse than a terrible Nathaniel Hawthorne “Scarlet Letter” branding my poor blushing furrowed forehead!!!
My greatest most fearfully hidden secret revealed for the whole world to see. The whole blithering Blogosphere sneering at me—knowing my deepest darkest hidden secret!!! I hid under my bed, then I hid in my closet, then I called in and said I simply couldn’t come to work that day. I was so mortified and full of shame that even my pet parrot squawked and scolded me for being such a stupid idiotic despicable faggot!!! Even my cat hisses at me!?!
But that’s not the worst of it. Today of all days—the same thing happened. The Troll left another simply hateful message just to torture me some more—but not in the Fiction Forum where at least I felt somewhat safe from the mean old world out there. More safe than in the Sports Forum where I’m sure I would’ve been found out simply ages ago and given surely a thousand lashes with a wet noodle!!!
No the Troll didn’t post in the Fiction Forum or the Sports Forum—no, no, not there Nanette. The Troll did something much worse than that!!! He simply had to post in the Gay Rights Forum didn’t he or she? He or she just had to compound my misery and embarrassment a thousand times over by posting in the Gay Rights Forum which was totally and completely Forbidden Territory for me.
If the secret got out, my dears, there in the Gay Rights Forum—then surely I’d lose all my hard-earned nelly self-respect and any kind of pride I might have had in regard to Literature and Poetry!!! After all, I’d been striving online since Pale Fire on the NYTimes to keep from appearing like a pale pusillanimous pussy when it came to opining about Great Books and Hoity-Toity Literature!!!
Nevertheless, the tacky Troll just had to rub it in and torment me even further. There it was ogling like a bloodshot voyeur’s bulging Eyeball from the screen:
“I'm latently gay,
which causes me
to lash out.”
—Oilcanbody
I was crushed, simply crushed. The audacity of the terrible Troll to call me a “stupid faggot”—and then justify it by saying that the reason he lashed out at me was because he was indeed a faggot too!!! That he couldn’t help it—that some kind of sick latent homosexual compulsion had caused him to lash out at me so rudely and snidely. That way he could get away with it—it would be like one nelly fag calling another nelly fag a “stupid faggot” and everybody would laugh at it thinking it was a coy in-house knowing kind of dish.
Naturally or rather unnaturally I was simply flabbergasted by such an uncalled for and spiteful “Hate Crime”—all done with just a couple of cute little innocent one-liners. Actually I admired such butchy bravado or was it bitchy braggadocio? Was it a “he” or a “she” or an “it”—was it some miscellaneous bitchy queen from SF or some hairy humpback from Wichita? Was it one of the usual suspects—some sniveling whiney Peter Lorre prick from Casablanca? Or maybe it was one of the old office douchebags—with sagging nylons and pinched constipated faces? So many tarts & trolls—so little time.
The thing about tacky Trolls is that they hide behind masks—skulking behind cute one-liners and coy snarky dishes doing what they do best. Doing the only thing they’re good at. And what’s that, you ask? Being incognito nincompoops—that’s what.
Please don’t get me wrong—some of my best friends are naughty nefarious nincompoops. Like Dinzel and Klintorius—over in Melba Toast. And now Oilcanbody. Especially Oilcanbody—everybody knows how much I get turned on by white trash Jiffy Lube boyz. I get cheap lube jobs almost every weekend down at the St. Petersburg Pit Stop—next to Denny’s and the Wal-Mart. I’ve got lots of Oilcanbuddies down there dontchaknow. So gay and greasy!!!
“Something very
peculiar happened today.”
—Nickolay Gogol,
Diary of a Madman
Something very peculiar happened today. I got up rather late, had my enema and my usual scotch and soda. I would’ve gone to the office—but someone would surely have said “Why are you always in such a muddle?”
And it was true—I’d have been rushing around like a madman and making a mess of my work. The devil himself wouldn’t be able to sort things out. I’d be gossiping with all the secretaries—about the awful thing that happened to me that morning. I’d be yammering away forever—about that tacky Troll who was stalking me.
To make a long story short—the only reason I’d turn on the infernal machine in the morning anyway would be to see if I got any email or what the latest gossip was in the Literary chat-group I was in. We were discussing Miss Nabokov—that wretched snarky creature from Petersburg, the same Russian city that Nickolay Gogol lived in while he was a young writer. It’s amazing how many famous writers were bureaucrats like Gogol and insurance salesmen like Franz Kafka. No wonder their stories and novels were so paranoid, labyrinthine and dystopian-esque.
Naturally, I was shocked—simply shocked beyond belief. It was worse—ten times as worse as the snarky posting the troll had published the previous day in Melba Toast, our little book chat-group. There it was right there in the middle of my erudite discussion of Nabokov’s dark gloomy novel Bend Sinister—sticking out like an ugly sore thumb for everybody to see!!!
“Stupid faggot.”
—Oilcanbody
That was bad enough just seeing what the Troll posted about me—enough to make me cringe in fear and loathing under my desk. I was so frightfully embarrassed that I hid my face in shame for at least a minute or two. Despite all my diligent careful closetry—despite all my most cloying attempts to adhere religiously to the draconian “Don’t ask, Don’t tell” dictum that came down from on high. Yes, my dears, there it was—worse than a terrible Nathaniel Hawthorne “Scarlet Letter” branding my poor blushing furrowed forehead!!!
My greatest most fearfully hidden secret revealed for the whole world to see. The whole blithering Blogosphere sneering at me—knowing my deepest darkest hidden secret!!! I hid under my bed, then I hid in my closet, then I called in and said I simply couldn’t come to work that day. I was so mortified and full of shame that even my pet parrot squawked and scolded me for being such a stupid idiotic despicable faggot!!! Even my cat hisses at me!?!
But that’s not the worst of it. Today of all days—the same thing happened. The Troll left another simply hateful message just to torture me some more—but not in the Fiction Forum where at least I felt somewhat safe from the mean old world out there. More safe than in the Sports Forum where I’m sure I would’ve been found out simply ages ago and given surely a thousand lashes with a wet noodle!!!
No the Troll didn’t post in the Fiction Forum or the Sports Forum—no, no, not there Nanette. The Troll did something much worse than that!!! He simply had to post in the Gay Rights Forum didn’t he or she? He or she just had to compound my misery and embarrassment a thousand times over by posting in the Gay Rights Forum which was totally and completely Forbidden Territory for me.
If the secret got out, my dears, there in the Gay Rights Forum—then surely I’d lose all my hard-earned nelly self-respect and any kind of pride I might have had in regard to Literature and Poetry!!! After all, I’d been striving online since Pale Fire on the NYTimes to keep from appearing like a pale pusillanimous pussy when it came to opining about Great Books and Hoity-Toity Literature!!!
Nevertheless, the tacky Troll just had to rub it in and torment me even further. There it was ogling like a bloodshot voyeur’s bulging Eyeball from the screen:
“I'm latently gay,
which causes me
to lash out.”
—Oilcanbody
I was crushed, simply crushed. The audacity of the terrible Troll to call me a “stupid faggot”—and then justify it by saying that the reason he lashed out at me was because he was indeed a faggot too!!! That he couldn’t help it—that some kind of sick latent homosexual compulsion had caused him to lash out at me so rudely and snidely. That way he could get away with it—it would be like one nelly fag calling another nelly fag a “stupid faggot” and everybody would laugh at it thinking it was a coy in-house knowing kind of dish.
Naturally or rather unnaturally I was simply flabbergasted by such an uncalled for and spiteful “Hate Crime”—all done with just a couple of cute little innocent one-liners. Actually I admired such butchy bravado or was it bitchy braggadocio? Was it a “he” or a “she” or an “it”—was it some miscellaneous bitchy queen from SF or some hairy humpback from Wichita? Was it one of the usual suspects—some sniveling whiney Peter Lorre prick from Casablanca? Or maybe it was one of the old office douchebags—with sagging nylons and pinched constipated faces? So many tarts & trolls—so little time.
The thing about tacky Trolls is that they hide behind masks—skulking behind cute one-liners and coy snarky dishes doing what they do best. Doing the only thing they’re good at. And what’s that, you ask? Being incognito nincompoops—that’s what.
Please don’t get me wrong—some of my best friends are naughty nefarious nincompoops. Like Dinzel and Klintorius—over in Melba Toast. And now Oilcanbody. Especially Oilcanbody—everybody knows how much I get turned on by white trash Jiffy Lube boyz. I get cheap lube jobs almost every weekend down at the St. Petersburg Pit Stop—next to Denny’s and the Wal-Mart. I’ve got lots of Oilcanbuddies down there dontchaknow. So gay and greasy!!!
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