pennywise ass

Way back whenever I started this silly blog of mine, I had never heard of a band called Pennywise. I also had not read It by Stephen King, which also features a villain by that moniker. It was an oversight on my part to name my blog without first consulting the internet regarding the possible modern connotations of the phrase beyond that of my intended “frugal shopper.” Add on the poet, and I’m your poorly writer who loves a good bargain but isn’t up-to-date on modern cultural references. Troglodyte Poet would have been a more appropriate name for this virtual journal.

Within a day of setting up my blog and tapping out my first post, WordPress gave notice I had received my first comment. I was pretty stoked to be interacting with a fellow blogger, until I read the message:

“Pennywise, I hate you!!”

WordPress asked me whether or not I wanted to approve the message for view in response to my blogpost. I considered it. Why not be open to dialog of all sorts? But not the first punch, híjole! I sent the message to the trash, and hoped that vitriolic sentiments like that would be few and far between. Since then, I have gotten a lot of spamalicious flattery that reads a lot like:

“Thank you for writing on this topic. That is great point you made in post about that topic you wrote about. You make me want to think about topic more.”

These sweet nothings head to the trashbox, and have prepared me for an onslaught of Russian twitter trollbots who failed to study American linguistics convincingly enough in their collective ploy to pass as Floridian housewives with “2 son”.

Besides the outright hate and the downright ridiculous, some people want to comment that I could sure use some sort of enhancement product that they just so happen to have a link to. Trashbox.

I have discovered through blogging that a note of praise from a virtual cohort is a special rarity compared to the odds that a local fake news troll will unwittingly threaten me with violence just for pointing out his obvious lack of professional integrity. (I have this effect on scurrilous men.) I have learned to weigh each form of interaction accordingly. One is a petulant runt that wants to bite off my titties, the other a priceless gift of humanity.

I like gifts. They’re far more enticing than cannibalized titties. Did I mention I like my titties just the way they are? Intact. Not devoured by fake news trolls, or Russian trollbots or even a die hard Pennywise fan who didn’t sign up for my blog name before I did.

I’m doing my best to live by the end tagline of @midnight as read by Chris Hardwick:

“Be nice to each other, goddamnit!”

I am, at my finest, still a work in progress. Even I fall prey to visceral bullish quips spurned from affective fallacy, as modeled so indignantly & frequently by my country’s vapid orange puppet-in-chief, Mr. Cry Baby. I can’t help myself sometimes and Trump can’t help himself ever. Being genuinely nice for any length of time would likely tax that dullard’s heart into a total shutdown, whereas I try to follow a golden rule that has nothing whatsoever to do with hookers.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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