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I Think This is Two Degrees of Separation

Following up on last month’s post about my unexpected and admittedly remote connection to Bumrunner, here’s another one where you should be imagining “It’s a Small World After All” playing in your head over and over. Now try to get it out of your head. Sorry. That was mean.

My old house, which I dubbed the Fortress of Solitude, was an odd place in that it really wanted to be an office of some kind. It was on a busy street and had a parking lot instead of a front yard. The previous owners ran a business out of it, which explains the parking lot. After sitting unoccupied for a couple of years, it was finally sold to an optometrist for his office. Last Saturday, I was talking to my sister-in-law who told me that a daughter of one of her closest friends was dating an optometrist. You guessed it. What are the odds?

It’s kind of like Casablanca, you know? “Of all the optometrists in all the towns in all the world, she had to date this one.” On second thought, it’s nothing like Casablanca, but at least there’s that unforgettable song:

You must remember this.
It’s a small world after all.


That's weird. Reminds me of one of my mother's friends, who lived in this old stone house when I was a kid. Fast forward about twenty years and I ended up going back to this same house (for the first time since my childhood) because it was my Chiropractor's house/alternate office location.

Well, I guess it's not quite the same, but it was weird to end up getting my spine adjusted in the same room where I once played with Legos...

I'm afraid you can't just gloss over ME, dear sir. I know how to use a proxy. But nice try in whitewashing things and pretending things don't happen. I guess that's how you stay so unflappably calm and emotionless, eh? Ah, but I repeat myself.
All I wanted was acknowledgement, a reply. Even a "Fuck you, get off my site" would be something. But you did the one thing I cannot accept: you pretended it didn't happen.
And now, my friend, I must attempt to destroy you.

So predictable...
Leaving the comments up as record of my "threats" now, are we? Sending warning emails so if it comes to court you can show the jury how reasonable you tried to be?
I'm afraid it won't ever come to that, though the excitement would probably be more than you'd ever had, rivaling the first time you porked Anne. I'm quite done with you now, sir.
And no, it's not because you threatened to have my FREE EMAIL ACCOUNT DELETED (laughable! And why would they delete me? Sending email threats, viruses, spam? No, I posted it on your page as a means to replying to me, which I don't think is in any way violating their terms or even frowned upon), or to have my ISP ban me (poor library)... but because I simply wanted to see if you were as horribly boring and soulless as I thought you were.
Silly me, I always think the best of people. I thought somewhere in there, deep down in places you don't like to talk about at parties, there was a spark of life, a sense of humor.
You can go back to your vanilla life, just the way you like it; in a cup not a cone. And don't worry. I don't think Anne will ever cheat on you with the pool boy. I don't think sex matters to someone like her. Just money and security.

Tony, I don't want to start a comment war on your site, so I'll just say that you might want to consider two things: 1) collapsing the comments so that they only show when a person clicks on them (more prominence to your writing and much less to the comments), and 2) banning ISPs is as simple as 1-2-3. That kind of abuse is unwarranted, and that's comment spam. Buh-bye with it.

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