Downey's "Classics" Presents: Dodging A Bullet

Apparently, the best way for a writer to make a name for himself today is to do various writing jobs that doubles as an advertisement for his blog until he is ready to write a novel, which pays more than a job writing for a magazine. Sure, the writer could just skip a step and write the novel right away, but that shit is difficult, and without something resembling a cultivated audience, it would arrive in bookstores to general apathy. And that's even if it makes it into stores.

So, the writer of this now frequently updated blog is trying to stay in the swing of blogging. This requires putting up a post a day. Rather than write something off the top of his head, though, he is burning "back catalogue", or material he wrote for classes that would get underappreciated, because he is tired on this day. Below is my reaction to...well, just read it. Enjoy.

"Dodging A Bullet"
by John Downey

I've discussed some of Facebook's applications in the past as part of my ever-increasing list of "Things That Piss Me Off", but one application that (a) works and (b) serves a useful purpose is the Honesty Box. Sure, it's kind of "sketchy" (ie, somewhat creepy), but it's a lot more useful than that LOLCats thingy. For those of you unfamiliar with Honesty Box, it lets you send people anonymous messages, as well as receive them. It's a good way to tell someone why you hate them, while also getting constructive criticism yourself, without having to worry about the consequences. Or you could just send someone 900 messages saying that they suck, which, come to think of it, sounds like a pretty fun way to kill a couple of hours.

A while back, though--months, actually--I received a message that was so horrifying, so revolting, so disgusting, that I actually contemplated running away from my home, since I was convinced that someone was watching my every move, even though they had their eyes elsewhere. This tops the "I'm convinced you have a large penis" comment that Sean Tatum sent me. Hell, this tops EVERYTHING.

Now, I'm about to show you what the message is. But before I do, you might want to sit down. While you're at it, put on your analytical glasses, too, because this might take a while.

Ready? You SURE? Alright, here goes:

"You seem pretty cool."

That's it. That's the entire message, sent to me on June 14th of last year, by a girl (you're often told the gender of the person sending you the message). Four words, 17 letters. Who could have thought that such a small combination of consonants and vowels could create such terror?

"But John," you say, "what's so wrong with this message? It's just a small little compliment! It's not like they threatened to kill you or anything."

First of all, I only wish that they had threatened to kill me; I'd have a slight chance at getting a restraining order in that case, as opposed to the "no chance in hell" odds without an outright threat. Second of all, there's no compliment in that statement at all. Shit, there's no STATEMENT in that statement. Imagine if someone walked up to you and told you that you seem pretty cool. What would happen? Well, either they would follow that up by saying "...but on the inside, you're a piece of shit" or they would stand there and wait for you to ask them to dinner so that you can get to know each other better. That's a pretty big gap between intended messages.

Still, though, I can't freak out because some dumb bitch sucks at using the English language, right? In most cases, yes, but this is fucking Honesty Box. You're supposed to say what you mean, not offer up somebody's interest with half an idea. What kind of a person would send such a message?

There are two. The first is easy: a moron. Reading over that message, I'm so tempted to read it in a Valley Girl voice. "Like, OMIGOD, you seem PRETTY KEWL (annoying giggle)! Let's, like, go driving to LOVER'S LAYNE!" Thing is, though, that my female friends with Honesty Box are the kind of people who know how to clearly make their intended message heard. On top of that, the message had no errors in capitalization or punctuation, meaning that she wanted her muddled message to be received clearly.

Which means that the second possibility is more likely: she's a closet psychopath. Think about this: she's anonymous. She thinks enough of me to send me a message. And yet, she's still so insecure about herself that, EVEN THOUGH I WILL NEVER KNOW WHO SHE IS UNLESS SHE WANTS ME TO KNOW, she can't even tell me that she likes me (which was the likely intent, let's not kid ourselves). Imagine a female version of Milton from "Office Space".

Come to think of it, actually, due to my lack of response (aka, I took her stapler), she's probably had months to stew this over, and is actually getting ready to kill me!

But don't worry, kids. If there's one person who can dissolve a potentially dangerous situation, it's John Downey. So I'll send her a response. And, in the interest of full disclosure, I will first tell my dozen readers what my response is.

"Dear Crazy Ho,

Thank you for taking interest in my penis. However, as of this time, there is no USB-to-Cock converter currently on the market, so I cannot, as of yet, virtually fuck you through the Internet. Besides, I prefer women with enough self-confidence to, you know, talk to me in public, as opposed to hitting on me through Facebook. BUT HEY, I'm sure you'll find someone sweet. Why don't you go hit on a nerd? They're sure to go crazy with a woman who can talk nerdy to them! Also, due to their lack of anyone giving a shit about them, nothing bad will happen to you if you happen to slit one of their throats! Hell, take a bath in their blood! If tomato juice can get rid of a skunk's smell, then the smell of nerd cum should be no match for the powers of human blood!

Happy Hunting,
Downey"