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Oh the backstory: Years ago I had a guestbook. People would write lovely things to me about my site and how much they adored it. It was awesome.

But I shut it down some time ago because I got tired of deleting V¡@GRA spam posts. Not only that, but a lot of nice people would post their email addresses not realizing that it would get harvested.

But still the page remains, no longer active, quietly whiling away the time and occasionally being discovered by random searchers.

Now a curious phenomenon came about when my guestbook was in its heyday. I mentioned the wellwishers. But there were also those who criticized my site. In particular the Frank Lloyd Wright part (which was a project I built in college and rescued after the professor who taught the class left the University).

I would get people—pseudo-intellectuals, mainly—that would nitpick about certain images being mislabeled. They were rather disappointed in me and felt it was their civic duty to chastise me publicly.

Now seeing as my planet is not some fucking Utopia but in fact a dictatorship, I’d delete them. Because elitist shit annoys the hell out of me. You wanna talk down to me? Bring it.

Anyway. Delete. Move on.

Until one particular day that some guy was so condescending and rude that I just had to rewrite his post a bit.

I did, however, leave his email address. Hey, he posted it. If he was so all-knowing he should have known better.

Now I can imagine that this guy wrote his little diatribe, smugly hit “submit” and sank back into his imitation Aeron chair in the depths of his parents’ basement, satisfied that he had firmly put me in my place.

Fast forward to today—two years later—when he decided (I assume it’s him) to Google his email address to see just how popular he is on the Information Superhighway. He found two listings.

One of them was my guestbook.

Which for the last two years has told him that he can bite me.

But I said it affectionately. That has to count for something.