I talked about this earlier, but I thought about it again the other day when I went to one of the people I follow on Twitter (Arielle Dror, who does a terrific job with National Women's Soccer League stats...) and this smirking idiot popped up:
Apparently the mutt has something to do with Elmo and his repping for one of those crypto scams ("Dogecoin") and for some bizarre reason the weirdo Afrikaaner has slapped it on his site, possibly to remind people that if you "invest" in cryptocurrency you're the word that fills in the blank in the phrase "A ______ and his money are soon parted."
It's irritating, because it's a reminder of this over-moneyed nitwit, and because I don't use the site for things like news, or to visit anyone other than pundits, sportswriters, and artists I enjoy I don't often have to be reminded of the sorts of scumbags that populate the Dark Intellectual Horsepaste Web or whatever they're calling the MAGAt/"alt-Right"/freikorps-o-sphere these days.
(And while I'm on the subject of "Twitter people I enjoy" I'd be totally remiss in not repping Ironlily for her adorable "Ordo Medaire" Twitter waifus...
Cute 14th Century warrior nuns? Sure! Bring it!
Plus one of her tweets made me find the "Combat of the Thirty", which has to be the fucking hands-down most utterly whack 14th Century chivalric thing EVAH. If you like them, too, stroll over to her Patreon and drop a buck in the collection box. I'm sure the sisters will send an Ave Maria your way.)
Anyway.
Point is...while I yield to no one in my contempt for Elmo and his wingnut horde, the sound and fury is still offstage for me. Don't see or hear it unless I run across someone else who has.
But that's kind of how it is living in a blue city in a blue part of the state while working inside a blue Internet. I don't go looking for these assholes, and I moderate stuff like replies to this blog, so I can hunt them down and kill them if they come looking for me.
I can't imagine what it must be like for people like me in places like Mississippi or Tennessee, though, and that's kind of the point. For them it's Elmo's doggie's ass in their faces 24/7. Everywhere. All the time.
Which is why I don't want anyone to have to live there, either.
But short of doing a Bill Sherman?
I can't do anything any more than I can whip Elmo's doge to kennel. The brach gets to sit by the fire and stink.
