Trolls Love the Internets

Mood: Punch-drunk
Drinking: Punch?

As the recess monitor used to yell, “It only takes one of you to spoil it for everybody else!”

And so, barely a week after it burst on to the virtual scene, the delicious celery-lovin’ Sarahblog is gone. History. Deleted. Dumped.

For the few of you who got to see it, you lucky bastards, you caught a glimpse of my BFF’s shiny genius-brain. For the rest of you, so sorry, weep into your beers and wail, “Nevermore!”

There may have been more than one troll under the bridge. The identity of all the Anonymous Naysayers have yet to be unequivocally determined. But whoever, wherever, whatever, he/she ruined it all.

You can find lovely people on the world.wide.web. People full of grace and wit (like the raven-haired Caroline in Portland and her big gay Boxer, Henry D. Monster). But the flip side of the Internet is a warm, moist underbelly where ankle-biting trolls drool and thrive. Such a magical place where vicious cowards can heckle anonymously, lobbing lies and horrible mis-spellings into inboxes and comment sections without fear of rotten tomatoes and slimy lettuce being hurled right back at their own large and misshaped heads.

So here I am, blinding tossing an exploding turnip out into the darkness, knowing full well that the Oakland Hooker Troll with the AID is long gone. But I’m yelling into the wind, anyway:

“Hey, Loser! Thanks for ruining a good thing for the rest of us. I see you hiding under that bridge! Yeah, you! And your smelly, um, toes! You suck!”

-Lo, who always signs her name.

Dear Sir

Mood: So very tired
Drinking: I should be

It should be clear by now that
she does not want
to talk to you.

You may find it coldhearted, you may
think it unfair, but still
that is the way it is.

I cannot (and would not) change it.
I am not your ally. (I’m hers.)
And though you may
bear a beating golden heart
within your breast
though you may deserve a doubt
and all its attendant benefits

you have, indeed,
made a mess.

And I cannot help you.

So, please,
please,
stop.

-Lo, who knows firsthand the fire of lost love and the fickleness of email translation, but stands by her woman nevertheless.