Dear Canadian Cynic...

Bring it the fuck on

Apparently, you've taken exception to my recent noted suspicion that I may have tracked you down to your place of residence.

But you need not worry. I won't publish a street address (along with a name) until I've confirmed that it's you. The anonymity you enjoy via the internet aside, there are many ways to do such things. I'll move forward on them at a time of my choosing.

You can rest assured that, when I ascertain your true identity (and I will), I will publish it here on the Nexus. Then I'll mail copies of your comments to your friends and family.

See, apparently, you'd like everyone to believe you're shitting your pants at the very idea that someone may come to your home and give you the beating that, frankly, you deserve. Trust me when I tell you that's the least of your concerns.

Why don't we go back to the entire "Fuck you Wanda Watkins affair" (and you call my blog a cesspool -- wonders never cease) that started this entire thing.

That was, by the way, some real "devestating logic" there.

How would you like to face your friends and family with those comments? Do you think your parents would be proud of you? Or maybe a little bit ashamed? How much respect do you think you'll retain in the eyes of your friends (that is, assuming you actually have some -- your online behaviour suggests otherwise) once they realize you're the kind of cretin who attacks the mother of a dead soldier because you think you don't agree with her politics?

By the way, you never answered the whole Jim Davis thing.

Beatings are fickle. Bruises and broken bones heal. Let's face it, Cynic, it isn't a beating you're afraid of. It's having to face your loved ones, with them knowing everything you've spouted from that trash heap you facetiously refer to as your blog, that you should really be afraid of. It's the toll this could all take upon your personal life that you need fear.

Would I feel bad for destroying your "blogging livelihood"? Frankly, no. Not for a heartbeat.

Frankly, anybody who isn't so ideologically blindfolded and inherently, petulantly vicious as to positively love your drivel understands that you deserve it.

So, in conclusion, fuck with me Cynic. Please? Pretty please?

Bring it the fuck on.

Regards,
-Patrick Ross

P.S. I seriously hope you don't plan to be a lawyer when you grow up. There's nothing illegal about publishing your identity online.