The Truth About Yapping Dogs
  Tuesday   September 9, 1997




The Usual Suspects

Gather 'round, kids, I want to tell you a story. It's about a redhead named Reba. But before I do that, I guess I should make a confession.

I'm an asshole sometimes.

There, I said it and I'm not taking it back. It's out there and we're all going to have to live with it now.

Perhaps you'll remember my encounter with Nelly, her boyfriend Doody, and the dread forces of NARC. They were mad at me because I viciously rejected an award Nelly offered me for these pages. They engaged me in a flamewar and proceeded to lecture me on good manners and netiquette, all the while violating them themselves. The subsequent carnage was described in an "attaboy" letter someone sent me as "kind of like watching two yapping chihuahuas getting their ass kicked by a pit bull." It wasn't pretty. Funny, yes, but not pretty. Comedy never is.

But how did Nelly come to see these pages in the first place? That's where Reba comes in, and there hangs a tale. She wrote to Nelly suggesting that my pages were worthy of one of Nelly's awards. Reba also gets the blame for why I was so harsh with Nelly when I tossed her award back in her face. I talked about Reba in my rejection letter to Nelly, a letter she promptly posted on her web page -- after editing out the juicy bits about Reba.

Well, I think it's time the truth be told. Here now, the section of the letter Nelly snatched away from public scrutiny:

I met Reba in a bar in San Antonio, where I bought her a drink as a favor because the guy she was with had taken her purse and split with her car. Biggest mistake of my life. She followed me out here to L.A. and has been harrassing me ever since. She lives in the back of a beat-up black panel truck with portholes hacked into the sides with an axe so she can park across from my apartment and watch me. I've had her arrested several times for breaking into my home and getting in bed with me and my wife, kidnapping my dog and feeding him Ex-Lax, putting me on dozens of Jehovah Witness and Mormon "visiting lists," showing up at my job dressed as a fairy and claiming to be my wife, told my wife I knocked her up after she forced me to have sex with her at gunpoint, and the list goes on. I don't know how she gets internet access, living in the back of that dump of a truck, but she's e-mail bombed me so many times I've had to change ISPs twice and filter out anything containing the words "pookie" and "dingle-bear." I have a restraining order against her, but she continues to violate it by sending me gift-wrapped dog shit at 3 o'clock every day, giving my kids copies of the videotape of us having sex (at gunpoint), and dating my brothers so she can try to make me jealous. And now she's coming at me through you. Lovely.

Now, we're all rational, intelligent people aren't we? Is anyone buying this? Come on, a lady stalker living in a black truck with axed-out portholes who still has internet access? Feeding my dog Ex-Lax? Putting me on Mormon and Jehovah Witness visiting lists? Pookie and Dingle-bear? Gift-wrapped dog shit? Dating my brothers? Please. This has to be a hoax, doesn't it?

It does. It was.

I stumbled across Gus' "Classic Elly" page one night and what I found there was so damn funny that I decided to get in on the fun myself. I set up a Hotmail account under the name of Reba and went to work. Nelly bit within an hour, and even my wacky description of Reba didn't scare her off -- as I knew it wouldn't. I know it's not nice to pick on the truly loony-tunes, but Nelly's attitude and tone in her pages was so annoying that, damn it, she practically screamed out "Pick on me!" I'm weak. I picked on her. Like I said, I'm an asshole sometimes.

Oh, I almost forgot. Nelly sent me a lovely little award graphic I could proudly display on my page. It was cute beyond cloying, sugary, diabetes-inducing words. It needed fixing, so I put my pal Greg on the job. He put a quick drive-by theme on it, thus improving it immensely. Here's his rendition:

Greg's a perfectionist. Notice the loving detail in the stump of the dog's tail. Yes, that's cartilage you see there. The man is an artist...

The rest is history...or herstory, you might say. I've sent Reba off for a well-earned vacation in... Hmm, where? Let's say New Jersey; that's a lively resort community. Nelly's back on the web in a limited fashion, and I've moved on to more adult pursuits -- now I'm stealing pencils from the blind guy in front of the 7-11. Life goes on.

But Reba might come back someday. She tells me she wants to join NARC...





Copyright 1997
Chuck Atkins