I get emails, redux
From erstwhile Moby “RyanBacon,” who doesn’t much like that he can’t get back on to comment under his latest identity:
Jeff, I hate to break it to you, but your little circle of sycophants is suffering from some serious PMS. I think you're all beginning to realize that yes, Romney will be your nominee, as soon as he disposes of Santorum and Gingrich. Gosh, that's a funny sentence to write. Did you ever in your wildest dreams imagine that your field would be THIS weak? No Sarah. No Christie. No Pizza Man. All the fire and passion that might have been is gone. Teabaggers? Useful idiots in 2010, now pushed safely back into the basement.
But hey, it will be fun to see your wail and gnash your teeth as you slouch towards the inevitable. The "vain thrashings of the beaten hopefuls," as my best friend recently put it.
I'll be watching you, boy. Poor little Goldstein, boy-child, begging for donations to keep your circle-jerk alive.
I always find it amusing how trolls like “Ryan” — whose entire political philosophy involves taking money from “the rich” and redistributing it to the “needy,” take such evident offense at my fundraisers. Is it the “begging,” do you think? Or is it that, unlike him — who is reduced to trying to claw his way back onto my site under a variety of names and emails just to get attention — I am actually able to cultivate readers who, of their own free will, donate because they find some value in what I do, or in the platform I provide?
Ironically, if I eschewed fundraisers, quit the site altogether, and then sat on my ass collecting a government check, “Ryan” would fight tooth and nail for the government’s right to take your money by force, you all being “the rich” by virtue of holding jobs, and give some of it to me — after first whetting its own beak. No begging involved!
The saddest part being I doubt the double standard’s ever even occurred to him, so consumed is he by envy and a desire for power.
Scratch a prog, find a fascist.
Oh, and while I’m here, let me take this opportunity to put in writing my very best Happy Birthday wishes to my boy, who turned 8 today. It seems only yesterday he poppe his li’l cottage cheese-covered head out from my wife’s hoohah and greeted the world. And yet tomorrow, he’ll be hosting his first ever slumber party / Nerf Gun Battle Royale in the evening, after wrestling in the district tournament in the AM.
A father couldn’t have a better son than I have, and I hope one day he sees this little poem, which I wrote especially for today:
Roses are red
violets are blue
Satch loves his Daddy
And his Daddy
wishes he’d keep his goddamned room tidy.
(But he loves Satch, too).