Originally posted on According To Hoyt:
Most of the time, though, when I have something to say, I have something to say about ideas, not the person in particular. And since the ideas are usually stupid enough on their own, I don’t link the source – though I or my fans have been known to clue others on how to find it. This usually avoids counterstrikes, because the originators of the annoying ideas either don’t feel a personal incentive to counter attack, or they don’t recognize the ideas as their own. (People are oblivious, what can I say?)
This is not so much because I’m a wussy – I’m not – but because I’m your average, excitable Latin type. (Well, maybe not average, but pretty close. Sometimes stereotypes are true.) Once the fight has started, I find it hard to pull back and do what I’m actually supposed to do, such as write novels, that actually pay, so we can actually you know, keep roof over head and such. (Okay, being fair, husband keeps roof over head. But I pay part-tuition for the boys and other expenses of that ilk. And if the payment for those has to come out of his paycheck, roof over head becomes… challenging.)
Also, as I said before, I’ve been involved in blogs that went to war against other blogs/organizations. There are people you shouldn’t go to war with (more on that later, but let’s just say some of the more… ah… politically involved blogs… you know, the ones really involved, have connections who are either violent or plain crazy. The practice of Swatting for instance can get someone who is just having an argument with a crazy comprehensively killed.) But even if you go to war with a sane human being, (for values of sane and human being), if you both get so absorbed in the fight that it is the most fascinating thing in the world to you, you might not notice you’re boring your readers to tears. I’ve wandered off from at least two blogs under these circumstances. I agreed with their position in the war, but how many times can you say the other side are poopy heads without growing stale?
Sir Leigh Teabing today announced his possession of a lost page from the Prophecies of St. Malachy, which set out the succession of Popes.
“I found the restored page at a bookstall in Rennes whose keeper assured me that it was liberated from the secret archives of Opus Dei. Since Rome attempted to suppress it, it must be genuine.”
The missing page shows that far from looking for “the last pope”, Gloria Olivae is followed by Bonum Graecus Aeriale.
Commentators immediately pointed out that in Spanish “Greek” is “Griego”, which is corrupted to “gringo”.
“While most of our audience think that ‘gringo’ means only those from north of the Rio Grande,” wrote Todd Unctuous, in South America, especially Argentina, it means people fresh off the boat from Europe… most likely Italian.”*
Thus, the missing passage foretells the election of a “gringo” from “Good air”…. or BUENOS AIRES!
Teabing declines to reveal the following entries, but said “Better not try betting against me during future conclaves.”
The Holy Roman Emperor Marcus Sheavius proclaimed “This is a prime example of the desparate reaching of anti-apocalyptic woowoos!”
* If you don’t believe this, turn to the Argentine national epic, “Martin Fierro“…
“… for no one could speak his lingo.
” A ‘Pap-o-li-tano’ he said that he was,
” Which I take it is some kind of gringo.”
“The members who composed it were, seven-eighths of them, office-holders, office-seekers, pimps, malignants, conspirators, murderers, fancy-men, custom-house clerks,
contractors, kept-editors, spaniels well-train’d to carry and fetch, jobbers, infidels, disunionists, terrorists, mail-riflers, slave-catchers, pushers of slavery, creatures of the President, creatures of would-be Presidents, spies, blowers, electioneerers, bawlers, bribers, compromisers, lobbyers, sponges, ruined sports, expell’d gamblers, policy-backers, monte-dealers, duelists, carriers of conceal’d weapons, deaf’ men, pimpled men, scarr’d inside with vile disease, gaudy outside with gold chains made from the people’s money and harlot’s money twisted together; crawling, serpentine men, the lousy combings and born freedom-sellers of the earth.”
There is no known cure for this addiction, largely because no one asks to be cured.