Good things come to those that stalk.
For the last few days, I've been tracking a stalker out of horrified fascination. I'm googling the woman's name and reading her various reviews for the exact same reason I watch "Dollman vs. Demonic Toys" and "The Puppetmaster" series of movies. It's so awful, it's funny. In a way, I feel sorry for her, because she has obvious mental health issues. However, this kind of insane fixation is not healthy, and really frightening.
Why is it that anyone who can put two rhyming words together decides they're a poet laureate and regurgitates their "poetry" on the 'net? This particular poet stalker makes iambic pentameter cry. She also has my undying disgust for feeling the need to repeatedly make mention of gruesome factoids she found on the internet. What's sick about this is that she writes her negative glurge intending the people she's stalking to see it. So, with that intent, she's constantly referencing something that has to be an awful moment in those people's lives. She expects to be thanked and acknowledged for this. I'm half tempted to look her up and "acknowledge" her with the verbal equivalent of a sledgehammer. I won't, because I'm firmly of the opinion that maybe if everyone ignores her, perhaps she'll enlighten herself right into a clue and bugger off.
The one bright spot in the filth: following one of her links, I found some new music I like. Ringside. Their singer's voice sounds like a bastard hybrid of Bono and Rob Thomas. The website allows you to listen to some of the songs, a practice I highly approve of. I'm hopeful that the other songs will be just as good. I'll need to pick up the CD this weekend. This would be excellent car music.
Oh, wait, the car is dead. Damnit, it's always something. This won't stop me from buying the CD. I can listen to it while I'm in other people's cars and subtly pimp it to all my friends, something I enjoy so much it shouldn't be legal. Play something nobody's ever heard of, watch as it gets stuck in their head, smile as they try to find a copy of it locally, and cheer as several dozen people place irate calls to midwest Sam Goody district manager.
Rock.
-Peregrine
Why is it that anyone who can put two rhyming words together decides they're a poet laureate and regurgitates their "poetry" on the 'net? This particular poet stalker makes iambic pentameter cry. She also has my undying disgust for feeling the need to repeatedly make mention of gruesome factoids she found on the internet. What's sick about this is that she writes her negative glurge intending the people she's stalking to see it. So, with that intent, she's constantly referencing something that has to be an awful moment in those people's lives. She expects to be thanked and acknowledged for this. I'm half tempted to look her up and "acknowledge" her with the verbal equivalent of a sledgehammer. I won't, because I'm firmly of the opinion that maybe if everyone ignores her, perhaps she'll enlighten herself right into a clue and bugger off.
The one bright spot in the filth: following one of her links, I found some new music I like. Ringside. Their singer's voice sounds like a bastard hybrid of Bono and Rob Thomas. The website allows you to listen to some of the songs, a practice I highly approve of. I'm hopeful that the other songs will be just as good. I'll need to pick up the CD this weekend. This would be excellent car music.
Oh, wait, the car is dead. Damnit, it's always something. This won't stop me from buying the CD. I can listen to it while I'm in other people's cars and subtly pimp it to all my friends, something I enjoy so much it shouldn't be legal. Play something nobody's ever heard of, watch as it gets stuck in their head, smile as they try to find a copy of it locally, and cheer as several dozen people place irate calls to midwest Sam Goody district manager.
Rock.
-Peregrine
posted by Peregrine at 10:58 PM
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