Not a shy man, to be sure, nevertheless, I do not relish, nor do I seek out the company of strangers. I go to familiar restaurants, gun shops, and comic shops. And this assault of assholes from Scalzi's blog vexes me. It may be why, back in the day, I quit going to Sci-Fi Conventions.
I had become somewhat of a cult figure, which was never my intention. I had pussy thrown at me, drinks bought for me, and autographs begged of me. Posed with hotties most of you couldn't get near for photos. And sometimes fucked them. Often when their husbands were in the Huckster Room.
I hated it.
If that is what fame brings, I don't want it. I was being interviewed on a local Nashville station, with Stephen King, and he got one too many dumb questions from the dumb reporter, and Steve grabbed the guy buy the head (on camera) and began to chew on the side of his neck. I'm pretty sure I smelled urine.
I guess what I'm trying to say here, is...
GET THE FUCK OFF MY LAWN!!
Or not. Stick around, if you want. Enjoy the Flea Circus. I keep an open bar here, and tolerate nearly everything, except rampant idiocy, insults to my family, or blasphemy of the one and only God of the universe, and oh, fuck allah. There can be only One.
I know damn well some of you turds are mining my archives for ammo to try to strafe me with. Been there. Others are just reading, bug-eyed, going 'What the fuck?'. And about four of you are going 'hey, I think I'll stick around for awhile...'.
Well, to you four, I say welcome, to the madness that is me.