Here We Go
Oopsie, it’s gone, deleted in a spasm of belated sensitivity.
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So, you don’t know the definition of ironic? No wonder your writing career went so well.
Wow! SIX comments! You’re NOTORIOUS!
If sharing your comments with my firends is somehow siccing the dogs on you, then shame on me. I wondered if you would take the opportunity to use this new audience to share all those examples of me making fun of retarded people on my page, maybe finding an example of my using that word to describe something besides a thing, a situation or myself.
Your explanation of your comments is weaselly and weak. I’ll ask again. If as you smugly claim God is an intrument of irony and therefore my “ironic” situation is a result of God’s machinations, then how is that different from saying that my child’s condition is some sort of comeuppance for these past remarks of mine, the ones you can’t find but somehow formed the meat of my writing?
The answer is that you can’t defend your comments, and you can’t backpedal very well, either. The truth is that as mean-spirited as I may have ever been in my writing, you surpass me like a rocket in your now-repudiated but very real suggestion of divine retribution against a little girl.
I’m not going to claim to be the nicest or, more importantly, the most politically correct person. But if I have ever done or said anything that would anger anyone’s God, I don’t believe that my innocent daughter would bear the punishment for that.
And whether or not you are ever man enough to admit it, you do believe such a thing, or you did when you wrote that entry. If not, you were simply trying to place a kick in the stomach when I was down (and even before this diagnosis recently, it should have been obvious that things were going poorly with my daughter).
Whichever is true, they speak volumes about the kind of person you are at your very core. Remember when I wrote that you should look in the mirror and ask yourself if you like the person looking back at you? You should still take that look, and you should still be troubled by what you see.
One more thing, and you can (and I will wager money, WILL) ignore this request, but I wish you’d take my daughter’s name off of your page. It makes me sick seeing it there, particularly after the whole “God is an iron” comment.
I suspect this will result in a massive display of copying and pasting, but there it is. At least I asked.
I mean this in the kindest way – maybe you should spend more time focusing on your daughter than worrying about what people may or may not be implying when they write in their journals.
Priorities.
Oh for FUCK’S sake, Chuck. Shut UP.
Also? You give pie a bad name.
Dear Unsigned Priorities,
You and Chuck have an interesting idea of what “kindness” means. But, then again, Chuck seems to be making up the definitions as he goes along.
Priorities. Right. Good point. Because as I’m sure you are aware, I haven’t spent enough time worrying about my daughter. I clearly need to spend more time focusing about her, since it’s not like I spend every motherfucking minute of my life worrying about my little girl, and will until the day I die.
Since you are such an expert on what I should be doing as a parent, perhaps you could telll me what focus I should be giving her. Could it be reading everything I can get my hands on about her disorder? Or contacting the neurologists and geneticists that can help her and setting up appointments and visitations? Fighting the school district to get her into the classes she needs? Or maybe teaching her sign language? What is it, Chuck, that I am not doing for her?
Oh, wait. I forgot to warn her about the wrath of God. I’ll get right on that.
Also, don’t be a coward. Sign your name.
Ask and ye shall receive, Rob. I’ve removed both your daughter’s and your wife’s names. If you want me to, I’ll be happy to take down all the entries on this topic. I’ve left them up because I’m not one (despite your erroneous opinion) to weasel out of what I’ve said and done, but taking them down on your request is another thing entirely. Ask and ye shall receive.
Um… Regarding “Priorities,” Rob… That ain’t me. I always sign my name.
Thank you.
And the only thing I request is removing the names. Thank you for doing that.
You’re welcome.
The interesting thing about this is the timing.
The karmic boomerang Chuck was referring to was the flat tire Rob got after spending a day mocking the drivers hitting a pot hole (which, to be honest, I enjoyed reading. If you see a pot hole and still hit it, you deserve to be mocked). It’s unfortunate how the whole thing played out. Every one, including Chuck, was heartbroken by the situation. In light of that, Chuck’s comments don’t make him anymore of an asshole than he already had admitted to.
Yvette, Rob’s journal, before the birth of his daughter, did spend a lot of time talking about midgets and other (ahem) oddities. So much so that other big name journallers of the time gave him shit for it. But after his daughter was born he stopped writing about that stuff because he found more interesting material.