Here’s what I don’t get about the cyberstalkers — about what they don’t understand.
Through the power of social media and Twitter, I have had interactions with Tony Dungy, Chris Johnson, Joy Reid, Kara Lawson, Jimmy Dore, Bakari Sellers, Cam Sutton (on the regular), Inky Johnson, and the future president of the United States — Cory Booker. Just to name a few.
Seriously, that’s just naming a few.
Twitter is massively fun!!
Now some of these uber famous folks are managed by public relations firms and some of them are the actual person. Who knows. More important than the famous people you get to tweet with, are the people that you “meet” all over the world. The conversation and the exposure and the access that I’ve had thanks to social media is not only phenomenal, it’s super fun. I’m not going to stop writing, to stop sharing my truth, to stop putting my work out there, saying this is who I am, this is what I feel, this is what I’m going through, and this is what I think. I’m not going to stop talking about the political process just because I’m smarter than you are about it.
And let’s be clear, I am smarter than the people that cyberstalk me about this — and they know it.
Come on, they know it.
This isn’t even, like, up for debate. And every time they mock, stalk, copy and paste me, they prove they know it.
I don’t even really have to try to be good at politics — I just am. You can thank union-loving Roger Mathis, Constitution-loving Chunky Brown, and volunteer work-worshipping Cheryl Mathis for the finished political product, haters. They appreciate your fandom.
Okay, maybe a little of my book reading helped.
I’m just better at you than it, Trump voters. Get over it.
And when I secure my satellite spot on CNN like some of these other talking twits from Tennessee (ahmmm, Scottie Nell Hughes!), don’t be surprised.
That’s what I don’t get about those who set around on social media reminiscing about their upbringing, bitching about growing up in rusted-out single wides, proudly waving their Confederate flag and being mad at the kids whose Mama worked hard to give them new school shoes, while your own mother spent their entire paycheck on booze.
And hiding behind the “Republican” party to project your hate.
All the while subscribing to that so well-known among smart people fundamental belief that no matter how low you are, at least you’re better than a black man because you’re white. It’s the oldest American lie there is. And you all ate it up. That’s why you reposted my “Love Advice From a Left-Winger” post about yes, I would, in fact, date a black man.
And in doing so, you proved my point for me. Hell yes, I would date Matt Kemp. Who wouldn’t?? The fact that you think you’re making fun of me with that is so brilliantly beautiful that I laughed for 3 days every time I thought of it. Because I’ve seen some of your spouses — what the hell are you so proud about! Being white is not an accomplishment, dude!
And just because you married a white girl isn’t anything to write home about!
Your ignorance is beautiful — but enjoyable.
I mean, I get it. It’s — modern-day conservatism — an angry resentful platform of people who need counseling to deal with their childhood anguish.
We get it!
But here’s what I don’t get…
After years now of reading, stalking, copying and pasting my words — I won’t even bring up the borderline psychotic obsession with me that drove some of you to a level of creating Twitter accounts just a stroll through mine so you can post them on group pages, and reporting me to Facebook — how do you not get this: I don’t give a f*ck about you.
This is not an act — as anyone who knows me can vouch for it — you have never, not once, been on my radar screen.
You are not embarrassing me, you are embarrassing you. As your boy Trump would say, “Bigly!”
I am a sober alcoholic, hoss. And as a favorite line from a movie says (when asked if “you can think of anybody that would want to hurt you down, maybe somebody down at the A.A.”): Officer, we’re alcoholics, we’re generally satisfied just to hurt ourselves.
That is the nature of this disease.
That is the truth.
Anybody born in this disease, around this disease, to this disease — and it takes many forms, from eating disorders to addictions of all sorts — know this truth: we are not afraid of you; we are afraid we.
I do not care what you think about me, I am not scared of what you think about me — I’m scared of what I think about me.
I live my life in the torturous confines of a mind that works overtime and hard enough just to be good enough for my own damn self. I don’t have time to think about you. It’s all I can do to be enough for me.
And I’m not going to stop writing, stop putting myself out there (because people respond to it) just because some white trash gets angry that I could take up smoking meth and still make more political sense than them on a dope day.
And here’s another thing (since they’ve already shared my last post), I’ll say this: I’ve been pretty good at running them all away once I get in the gutter with them. I’m just better at that than them too.
No wonder they hate me.
As soon as I blast their names and do it in a way where they can’t get me deleted, good God, they lay low for awhile. Every time.
Michelle Obama said that “when they go low, we go high.” It’s a beautiful and inspiring sentiment. It reminded me so much of my Uncle Chunky. And the way I was raised to turn the other cheek, to actually live by Christian principles instead of just talking about them. I wasn’t raised bitter and resentful at everybody who didn’t wear the jeans from Walmart to school ( and then whine about it online 20 years later) because like many of my friends, I saw the sacrifices that my mom made for us. She shopped at the Goodwill before it was cool just so we could have everything that we needed for school. She never got a dime from my father, but she gave us everything, pretty much, that we asked for. And like so many of my friends who saw how much our parents gave up so that we could have, our hearts were filled with gratitude. And naturally, you knew how lucky you were.
That’s a sentiment missing in conservatism.
And within some so-called, supposed liberal cyberbullies. (Umm hmm, those Woodard psychos.)
What Michelle Obama said was magical and transformative. But it’s a problem for me. Because I spent my life trying to be like women like Michelle Obama — to make my Uncle Chunky proud, to show up with grace and to always be the better person. And doing that, biting your tongue, rising up, not saying anything, is a great idea if that’s who you are.
But that’s not really who I am.
I’m a Leo, and I will cut you. Pat Summitt style.
Trying to always be the bigger person left me trying to fill that hole in my soul and the damage to my self-esteem with alcohol, shopping, starvation, food, and excessive exercise. And then I realized that I am — to use a recent example — way more Elizabeth Warren than I ever will be Michelle Obama.
I will tell you off and not only have fun with it, but look good doing it.
So, let me address about the only cyberstalker that I haven’t taken down — the couple whose names I couldn’t even get right before because I don’t even know them. Not only have they never even been on my friends list, I’ve never even met them! I don’t know these people, Toni or Chris Woodard, but yet they have spent years now cyberstalking, complete with copy and pasting on group pages and trashing my family — which is both eerie and scary. If not for the fact that they’re dumbasses who trash their own damn self putting out personal information on group pages — which is fine so long as you’re not the kind to care (like me) what other people are saying about you.
I’m afraid these societal rejects have gotten the impression that I actually give a damn what they say. I don’t. I just enjoy writing and making these people look like a douche — because I’m good at it. (Isn’t that right crybaby, tattletale to Zuckerberg, Misty Mahan Dantico — do you really want me to come for you again?) I don’t care what they actually think about me. I just care when they started reporting me to Facebook to get me blocked from my account. I’m still ticked off over acts of cowardice to that degree by supposed grown-ups like that.
But apparently, they are the kind that care — because they’re still following my blog to see what I say.
And they don’t even know me!
Good God, that’s power.
Over the years they’ve whined about multiple things on public pages.
I always worry about the sanity of people that spend their time relentlessly and for years on Facebook cyberstalking people that they don’t even know instead of raising their kids. I don’t have children, I can Facebook every f*cking day if I feel like it.
I generally do.
But when you have kids, how do you have time to stalk me all the time?! For years?
Because I can tell you this, once the twins started to crawl, that’s when I stopped arguing with all of you! I didn’t have time! I could post a comment, get back on an hour later, and have 45 rednecks telling me what a dumbass I was.
My desire for engagement dropped the hell off right about then.
But the Woodard couple have children, so how do they have so much time to worry about me?
What else are they neglecting? Trust me, I’ve seen his profile picture — he’s obviously not worried about staying healthy, physical activity, and exercise.
As your kids most favorite adult (ask them, they’ll tell you — it’s me) it’s hurts my heart for their children, and it always makes me feel so bad for them. Because it’s telling of what kind of parent they are.
Example: Once the strangely obsessed with me Chris Woodard was whining on a Dickson page because, like, the junior had sent his kid at home because… I don’t know, he was, apparently rocking a mohawk and piercings to the degree that the school found it a distraction or a violation of the dress code. (How the hell can a boy violate a dress code??)
I’m all about individualism, so kudos to that kid for being himself and cool.
But come on, weren’t we all raised that — other than the girls getting a simple piercing in your ear — if you wanted to tatt yourself up or deface your body, you had to wait until you turned 18.
That’s cool if you allow your child to be unique, but to do things to their body to the point that the school sent him home — perhaps you should take a look at that. And spend less time cyberstalking people THAT YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW and more time paying attention to your own children and then they wouldn’t be so desperate for attention that they created it to the point that the school has to send them home because they — and their attire — are “distracting.”
And to that Toni chick, maybe if your husband spent less time cyberstalking a woman he doesn’t even know — you wouldn’t be getting a divorce.
And that unattractive Chris coward just needs counseling. Just like that the other married man, Joey Hilliard, who spent all day waiting for the words I’d write. (That’s when you know you’re good.)
It’s the internet, if you don’t like what I write — you have the ability to go away!
How about spend less time worrying about what I’m saying every day and more about your own marriage. Just a thought.
Get off Facebook and do your job. Get some exercise, nix your sad, immobile hobbies before your children mimic you, and get a life.
Now, I suppose this is a point where they’ll start plotting their redneck retaliation, but seriously — what could you bitches say about me that ain’t already been in the city paper over the years, huh?
Get off cyberspace and go do your damn job as a parent. What is wrong with some of you people?