2002-11-12
4:35 p.m.

Don't do it, Mike. Don't write it. It'll serve no purpose. Well, none other than making you more angry and opening the floodgates of irate thirteen year old girls. Don't do it. Ignore it. He means nothing. You can moves past this.

Only, you know, I can't.

I'm getting pretty sick of the whole set of journeyman-with-no-roadmap anecdotes Bobby's been passing off on us for the last few years. Ok, no, that's not quite fair. Journeyman with no roadmap? Fine, who isn't? That describes me to the proverbial 'T'. Glass house, first stone; you get the idea. What I'm sick of is the apparent heartlessness that comes across in his entries. Anyone who would take joy that their name is scrawled across Ground Zero remembrances is sick and you all know that and you know that I know that and so there's no need to link to my exact thought on the matter. These days though, doubleB's got a new game to play. And that game involves teasing someone with alzheimer's. Well, shit, let the good times roll.

Prick.

To his credit, he did take her into his car and he did contact the authorities and I'm sure the woman is much better off than she'd be if Bobby hadn't come along. So hu-fucking-rah for him. You'll excuse me though if I don't bow down and kiss his ass.

Someone once said that it's not what you do, it's the spirit in which you do it. So let me ask you Bobby, by the time you saw her walking down the road in the middle of the night and by the time you surmised that she was disoriented and confused, didn't that give you a pretty good idea that she had alzheimer's? The police were on their way, they were going to help her, did you need to ask her questions you knew she'd get wrong - purely for your own amusement? Here was a woman who didn't know who she was or where she was, whose mind was locked in the death-grip of a disease she could barely understand let alone fight. And you're bablling at her about rappers and roadsigns. Just who the fuck do you think you are? There's a difference between the right thing to do and the decent thing to do. I'm guessing this is a distinction you don't grasp. You did the right thing - flagged someone down and got the lady help. The decent thing? Well, the decent thing doesn't involve confusing questions and joking with the cops. The decent thing would have been to keep her in your car and not ask her anything - just tell her. Tell her that everything's going to be alright.

Bobby, the dangerous thing isn't that you have some sort of emotional detachment from life. Not at all. The dangerous thing is that you seem to revel in it. And whether you realize it or not, you enocurage others to revel in the same. Think about what you do, think about what you write. How many impressionable young d*landers out there want to emulate you? I'd guess alot. Do you really want to foster a world where memories of the dead are trivialized and the helpless are laughed at?

I can only hope that the lady you helped was a relative of one of your readers. And that that reader emails you and reads you the riot act you so desperately deserve.

I can sense a hell of alot of redeeming value in you, but it's buried under so many levels of asshole that it's impossible to see.

Oh, and before I forget, fuck the hell off.


downtown----uptown
leave me a note, fool!


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