One day last week I called up a local BBQ joint and ordered some takeout for lunch. They told me it would be about $13, and I told them I’d pick it up in 20 minutes.
When I got there, I told them I’d take the food today and if they didn’t bother me for a couple weeks I would come in and pay them $6.50, if I felt like it.
Did you know that when you have a taste for some REALLY GOOD brisket, a Quarter Pounder with Cheese tastes awful?
But that’s not my point. My point is, DUMBFUCK WANTS SOMETHING. It is buying. I am selling. I have the product. It has been told the price it must pay to get what it wants. If it doesn’t pay that price, it walks away empty-handed.
It should save its money. There are other prices to be paid.
You see, I’m not going to do what it wants. Went that route once. After Hoge and it settled the copyright suit last August, my very first response was to comment that if it “changed [its] behavior on the Internet, I’d have no reason to write ruthless parodies.” And I stepped back. Left it alone. It lasted 5 whole days before it popped up to brag that it was writing a book and “borrowing” my content under Fair Use.
So, back in the game.
Now? Fool me once? Shame on you. Fool me twice? Not in this lifetime.
Even if I did what it said, hold on – Bwahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha! – in the astronomically improbable event that it was telling the truth, it couldn’t possibly be more than a half-truth. It might close its Twitter account and shut down its blog, but the only surprise would come if it doesn’t already, as I type this, have both a new Twitter handle and a new blog ready to go. Genius thinks it will put one over on me? Don’t think so.
The terms are set and fixed, DUMBFUCK. It wants the brisket, it pays the thirteen bucks. Or else it gets the hose again.
And just to note for the record, you know what’s great about being a shit covered pig?
Soap and water takes it right off.
OTOH, when you see a mad dog coming down the street, cockeyed and foaming at the mouth, there’s really only one thing you can do with it then, because what that dog’s got can’t be washed off. Isn’t that right, Mr. Finch?
Oh, before I forget – give your “beloved” my best when you finish ignoring her to do your podcast.