{"id":142,"date":"2012-01-08T00:16:00","date_gmt":"2012-01-08T00:16:00","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.ken-beck.com\/words\/2012\/01\/08\/on-trolls\/"},"modified":"2012-01-08T00:16:00","modified_gmt":"2012-01-08T00:16:00","slug":"on-trolls","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.ken-beck.com\/words\/2012\/01\/on-trolls\/","title":{"rendered":"On Trolls"},"content":{"rendered":"
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Just then, there was a lull in the action here at the homestead, between Facebook and sprucing up the blog (not to be outdone), I went back to nursing that sore spot. Feeling guilty about gushing and ranting and raving and maybe giving somebody a bit of a headache or a pain in the neck. I can be a pain in the ass, how well I know. You don’t have to tell me. Just ask Del.<\/div>\n
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Intemperate emails aside, and Facebook shenanigans never mind, I do try to get a grip to control my behaviors to a certain extent. I realize that these are fairly speculative and innocent lapses. The world does not, contrary to the way it feels, rotate around me. Just when I start to fret about some dumb thing I’ve pulled, that’s about the time I really step in the shit. So I’m mindful just now. Then, too, there are certain questionable behaviors of mine that I can’t give up. I just have to get comfortable with them, being in my own skin. It’s ‘in the DNA.’  In the genes, the jeans.<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Just when I’m starting to darken all over myself, Del forks over her laptop.<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
She shows me an email exchange on her <\/i>Facebook inbox. <\/div>\n
Some guy, going back and forth with her took this tack:<\/div>\n
She: “5 arrests really?”<\/div>\n
He: “Ya dealing with online haters gets old quick for me I’m sorry. Especially when I just spent New Year’s Eve in jail for no fucking reason.”<\/div>\n
She: “But see, people who have been through what you have as Occupiers know we are dealing with trolls. So you walk in with your comments and what do you expect? Jimmy Crack Corn.”<\/div>\n
He: “fuck you.”<\/div>\n
She: “you’re really too young for me to take that come on seriously. Really? Fuck me?”<\/div>\n
Ok. So let me believe you are legit. I have friends in Indiana who will call me out on this if I am wrong. Which Occupy? If you’re active my own friends will be able to id you. You want to friend me ? Really?”<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Meet the troll.<\/div>\n
They used to live under bridges, but now they lurk in domains near you.<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Earlier in life, Del had a dude on one of these sites, also married, that was constantly and persistently trying to get her to fly down to Dallas and meet him in an hotel room for sex. Now, Del is a lusty wench. That’s a part (not quite 25 percent) of why I love her and ’till death do us part.’ She’s been there, done that, and will do it again and again. She comes right back with cheap shots and spicy comebacks, whatever the traffic will allow, whatever the situation calls for. She’s also a wise, brilliant woman for sure, and can take care of herself.<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
But when she hands over the laptop, it’s trouble for the trolls. No matter how much they make. <\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Well, there was that one troll that was feeling her up and stealing kisses in real time in our real town, and she got home and reported this to me. She said the guy was filthy rich, and though a lech, he was just shy of eighty years old. Again, this one wanted her in his travel plans, especially her spectacular breasts. I sat on the couch in my usual attitude of poised attention, and said,<\/div>\n
   “I have no objections so long as you’re very well compensated.”<\/div>\n
   “I’m not going to do that, of course.”<\/div>\n
   “Is it the age thing?”<\/div>\n
   “No, it’s the I don’t want to hurt you thing.”<\/div>\n
   “I’d get over it if the price was right. You let him kiss you?”<\/div>\n
   “I did. He was after Teresa as well (a colleague). But she wiggled out.”<\/div>\n
   “Well, (I’m kind of laughing), I think we should come up with a fee schedule.”<\/div>\n
   “Ken, are you willing to be my pimp as well as my husband?”<\/div>\n
   “Sure. I guess. The bank account is really hurting.”<\/div>\n
   “No it’s not.”<\/div>\n
   “I’m just saying. My only caveat is my cut.”<\/div>\n
   “That’s it. I’m not going to let this guy near me again, and I’m going to bust him to the (business enclave authorities here.)”<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
The calling of the troll’s bluff went no further.<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
I’m a different breed of cat. I operate on a very different level with women. I am just now, at age fifty-six, learning to flirt casually. I would never in my life hug a strange woman. I was raised a Calvinist, a Puritan. Shaking that off has been a lifetime’s labor. I secretly (well, not so at the moment) admire the troll. The shameless flirt. The dude who is persistent. The sex-crazed man who does it five times a day in closets and in bathrooms and in the backyard in full view of the neighbors has my blessing and respect. It’s just not me. Sigh. I’m a bit light in the troll department, really. No matter what I sometimes think.<\/div>\n
   <\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Just then, there was a lull in the action here at the homestead, between Facebook and sprucing up the blog […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"nf_dc_page":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-142","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.ken-beck.com\/words\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/142","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.ken-beck.com\/words\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.ken-beck.com\/words\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.ken-beck.com\/words\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.ken-beck.com\/words\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=142"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/www.ken-beck.com\/words\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/142\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.ken-beck.com\/words\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=142"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.ken-beck.com\/words\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=142"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.ken-beck.com\/words\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=142"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}