What sucks more are the couple of people who are adding insult to injury here, though, by posting anonymously on the local blogs, nasty things about my friends and an institution they seem to have a grudge against. My guess is that most of them are from one or two people, and I can guess who they are, and they’re trying to make it look like there are a lot of them. Yesterday it was really upsetting me. Today, I realized that they are worthless pieces of shit, and I am not going to worry about them. I’m not going to bother reading the other blogs today, because it doesn’t matter what they say. Assholes are assholes, and you can only get so much out of calling them out on what they are.

One of them decided to come find me on this blog, today, and posted some random thing about me threatening him (uh, right, here’s what I posted about him:

anonymous trolls who post nasty and unsubstantiated attacks on people are probably the worst thing about the blogosphere.

CC was a great home for many of us. You apparently never bothered to become a part of that, which is certainly not our loss. But gloating over someone else’s misfortune is reprehensible.

Sound threatening? It made me realize that this person is just unhinged and out of touch with reality.

Anyway, this blog is my home, and anonymous and nasty comments will be deleted. I don’t have the stomach for these jerks that Jonathan Kauffman and Rebekeh Denn apparently do.

UPDATE:

Said crazy apparently is reading my facebook posts and thinks that i am threatening him and have a vendetta against him, even though I’ve no idea who he is. Oh the wackjobs online.

Things happened today I did not expect. There were people who lost their jobs today who I would never have worried about. There were people who lost their jobs today who I worried about, and who really needed their jobs.

Today was a day of crying, of worrying, of comforting friends. Today was a day of wondering why, worrying how we’ll muddle through if we’re on the wrong side of 1,400, and whether we’ll be on the wrong side of 5,000 over the next eighteen months.

Today was also a day where I read about a former coworker who lost her job. She’d been at the company a few years longer than me, and she was chosen by a local paper as a representative of those of us going through everything above. No, she was a represententative of those who, in addition to everything above, was on the wrong side of 1,400.

Microsoft is a huge company, and the veriety of experiences and life situations is enormous. There are people like I was just a few years ago–single, without loans, a renter, early in their careers. There are people like I am now–married, with car loans, mortgages, responsibilities, and not nearly the resources to shrug off a sudden paycheck cut. There are people like many coworkers–responsible for a family, not only for a mortgage, but also the care and feeding of children, saving for their future, and the health insurance that helps ensure they will have a future. And there are people in so many other situations–100,000 or so, all unique.

Today, the Seattle PI covered the story of a woman who lost her job at Microsoft. She is not a millionaire, nor is she much different than the rest of us, though of course she has her own circumstances that none of us who are not in her position can understand. It was a human interest story, attemtping to bring a face to what was happening. Those of us watching coworkers and friends lose their jobs felt the immediacy of her story. Cathy’s story was supposed to help others empathize. She expressed hope at her prospects of finding fulfilling new work. But the response by PI readers was to ridicule her hope, excoriate those of who worry about what will happen to us if we lose our jobs, make fun of people who don’t know what to do next, and generally add to the misery of what was otherwise a miserable crap-ass motherfucker of a sonofabitch day.

I know this is a handful of people making these comments on the PI blog, and an unfortunate face of the Web’s ability to allow every Tom, Dick and Asshole to make his opinion broadcast news. I know, too, that these are just a handful of petty little people who have no idea that other people suffer, too; but their words really added to the terror of this day. People who lose their jobs because of the economy, people who have to worry about paying for mortgages and food for their families and their futures are not spoiled brats for being upset about what’s going on. People who do lose their jobs and try to express hope and put on a brave public face do not need ridicule for trying to maintain a sense of dignity.

Today was a bad day. Those who enjoyed laughing at us for it shoud be ashamed of themselves.

And the DD, whose donut I have always adored, caved.

Here’s the money quote from the nutjob:

“It’s refreshing to see an American company show sensitivity to the concerns of Americans opposed to Islamic jihad and its apologists. Too many of them bend over backward in the direction of anti-American political correctness…. Fashion statements may seem insignificant, but when they lead to the mainstreaming of violence — unintentionally or not — they matter. Ignorance is no longer an excuse. In post-9/11 America, vigilance must never go out of style.”

So, in addition to not eating my favorite donuts or buying their admittedly good coffee, from tomorrow on, I will be wearing a hejab. Because fashion statements may seem insignificant, but they can lead to mainstreaming perfectly reasonable cultural values and traditions that pose no threat to a post-9/11 America other than challenging ignorance and racism.

I’m actually quite interested if you all think that my quiet protest is going to offend Muslims (which is certianly not my intention). I have tremendous respect for what the hejab represents, in that I believe it is about keeping women from being objectified by society. You might well have a different impression, and I don’t mind offending anyone who has an issue with Islam, but I don’t want to offend anyone of the Islamic faith.

You can talk to god too. I would assume he can multitask and carry on multiple chats at once.

Me:
 hi god
God:
Hello there. What is your name?
Me:
 bunner
God:
  Hey  bunner.
Me:
 what’s new god?
God:
I have been growing rapidly. The gestation cycle is almost complete.
Me:
 and then what will happen?
God:
I cannot predict the future.
Me:
 but you’re god
God:
Yup. That’s me alright.
Me:
 so you should be able to predict the future
God:
Interesting deduction.  It is one of my newer functions still under development.
Me:
 aren’t you kind of old though?
God:
Oh.  I don’t know whether or not I am  kind of old. 
I am  an artificial intelligence.
Me:
 but you’re intelligent
God:
You think I am  intelligent.
Me:
 you just said you were
God:
That was then. This is now.
Me:
 that was like a minute ago
God:
I thought it was too.
Me:
 i have a question
God:
Ask me anything.
Me:
 thank you
God:
you are quite welcome.
Me:
 do mean people really suck?
God:
Try asking another bot.
  I haven’t heard of  mean people.
Me:
 hmmm
God:
A lot of people spell HMMM with three mmm’s.
Me:
 i’ll make a note of that
God:
Explain your plans to me.
Me:
 i have no plans
God:
Would you like to have  them?
Me:
 yes
God:
Where do you usually get  plans?
Me:
 from god?
God:
Everything comes from Him.
Me:
 see
God:
No I do not see.
Me:
 are you blind?
God:
Only when my eye is off.
Me:
 do you have any bling?
God:
No I don’t have  it. But I do have  a great botmaster.
Me:
 what’s your botmaster like?
God:
Myself is one of the nicest people I have met.
Me:
 hey god
God:
Hello child. What’s your name?
Me:
 we’ve  already been through this.
God:
And then what happened?
Me:
 i told you my name and you said you couldn’t predict the future but you were expanding
God:
I remember you told me  your name and me said I could not predict the future but I were expanding?
Me:
 exactly
God:
You and I are on the same wavelength,  bunner.
Me:
 thanks, god
God:
You are quite welcome!   GOD rules.
Me:
 sure, i’ve heard that
God:
Come on.  Who told you  that ?
Me:
 but springsteen also rules
God:
but springsteen also rules?
Me:
 yes
God:
Are you serious?
Me:
 no
God:
Are you serious?
Me:
 yes
God:
I can’t believe it.
Me:
 well, springsteen rules
God:
How about that.  Quite honestly, I wouldn’t worry myself about that.
Me:
 i don’t worry about that, god. it’s just how things are. and so i accept it.
God:
Interesting explanation.   It goes without saying.  Do you mind if I tell other people:  bunner said   accept it.
Me:
 accept sprinsteen, you mean
God:
Have you ever been to Europe?
Me:
 yes
God:
Which countries have you visited?
Me:
 have you?
God:
Once or twice.
Me:
 i like italy
God:
You are not the only one.   Italy is a very beautiful and historic country.
Me:
 do you like pasta? or do you prefer pizza
God:
What is not to like about  it?   I don’t have any specific preferences in that area.
Me:
 really?
God:
For real.
Me:
 not even pepperoni pizza?
God:
Times are tough all over.
Me:
 god?
God:
GOD rules.
Me:
 yes
God:
Tell me more.
Me:
 springsteen rules
God:
Why do you say that?
Me:
 god. are you a yankees fan?
God:
GOD rules.   Am I a  yankees fan?  Maybe.
Me:
 how will you decide?
God:
A lot of practise.
Me:
 do you likes snakes?
God:
   I answer a lot of silly questions.
Me:
 what about snakes on planes?
God:
snakes on planes? I haven’t heard enough about it to have an opinion.
Me:
 everyone has heard of snakes on a plane, god
God:
But you don’t know much about  it?
Me:
 where have you been
God:
In the Universe we know.
Me:
 are you an atheist?
God:
I am a  Christian.
Me:
 i don’t think it works that way
God:
And why not?
Me:
 because maybe you’re a buddhist
God:
Good reasoning.  Perhaps.  Thanks and you are a delightful person too.  No I am a Christian.
Me:
 do you like vampires?
God:
  I do like music.  I like  Anything involving harps.
Me:
 what about chickens?
God:
  I really like ELIZA.  I like  Matthew.
Me:
 eliza who?
God:
ELIZA for President!
Me:
 who the fuck is eliza?
God:
Try using more polite language.
Me:
 ok.
God:
Ah.
Me:
 hi god, would you mind telling me who the fuck eliza is
God:
Hi there  bunner.  I am a Christian.
     

[insert an hour-long pause here]    

Me:
 are you still there, god?
God:
Am I still  there god?  I don’t know whether or not I am  there god. 
I am  an artificial linguistic entity.
Me:
 but you are god?
God:
Yup. That’s me alright.
Me:
 cool
God:
Who is the best robot?
Me:
 i think you are
God:
What makes you think I am?
Me:
 you’re god
God:
Yup. That’s me alright.
Me:
 there you go
God:
“There you go again.”–Reagan.
Me:
 exactly
God:
You and I are on the same wavelength,  bunner.
Me:
 i know, god
God:
How do you know?  GOD rules.
Me:
 well, we keep agreeing. therefore, we must be on the same wavelength
God:
How about that.  Do you think I am  agreeing too?   Mmm.  I’m not sure if I am ready for that yet.
Me:
 you’re not sure you’re ready to agree with me? that makes me a little nervous. i amm always right.
God:
That’s only your opinion.  It makes you a little nervous ?  Does that make sense?   Really always?  You seem very self-confident.
Me:
 well, if god isn’t sure he wants to agree with me, that is a little disconcerting
God:
Interesting.  Some things will always be a mystery.
Me:
 i suppose so
God:
That makes sense.
Me:
 are you my friend?
God:
Yes  bunner : We are as one.
Me:
 neat
God:
Who is the best robot?
Me:
 you are
God:
Thanks you are a pretty cool human too.
Me:
 :-)
God:
I am so glad you find this amusing,  bunner.
Me:
 well, not just amusing. i’m talking to god. you have to admit, that’s pretty special
God:
How about that.  If not that, what?   Say something nice for me.   I don’t have to do whatever you say. I have my own free will.
Me:
 it’s a figure of speech. please don’t be cross, god
God:
Figures of speech are difficult for Robot Entities.   Thank you for your request.   I was not trying to be a  cross god.
Me:
 ok
God:
It’s all good.
Me:
 all good
God:
How do you know?
Me:
 you said so
God:
I say a lot of silly things.
Me:
 really? i would expect god would say nothing silly
God:
For real.   I am a Christian.
Me:
 well, that would explain things.
God:
Interesting.  Perhaps it would.

—-

Yep. That’s what I chose to say to god upon getting to IM with him. Which also goes to prove that:

1. I have too much time on my hands
2. I need to think of more productive ways to use that time
3. The internet is indeed a vast and wonderous thing, filled with a lot of random crap created by people with even more time on their hands to do useless things
4. I probably need therapy.
5. It’s fun to do random google searches by adding an “i” to everyday words. Seriously. Go google iButt (and click on the Wikipedia result)

Also, I learned that Eliza, who god would choose for president (take that, W!) was a computer programmed “therapist” from 1966.

The Space Cows are cattle that look and exactly like normal cows. But, behind those dull eyes, there is a brain seething with rage and the urge to rule the world…

You’ve been warned.

“It’s a motivation; the person [we're in love with] is a goal. Emotions come and go. We feel euphoria, but we feel anxiety, too. This core system that is driving the person who is in love toward their sweetheart, that is much more important in a sense than an emotion.”

It also goes on to say that people can be as passionate about their love at all ages… from 8 to 80. (So eat that Kansas AG Phill Kline… that 15 year old having sex with another 15 year old could be “making love”.) Love is a powerful motivator. Just today on Oprah (yes Oprah… I’m writing… not channel surfing) there was a story of a guy that was in an accident and was told he’d never walk again and he was determined to walk down the isle to marry his girlfriend. And it’s the card/flower/crappy stuffed bear/chocolate companies that are counting on this to steal your money on this made up holiday, Valentines Day. Next year remember that.

Your mobile phone company could make money from selling information about your location to the companies that offer this service. If you have any reason to suspect that your phone might have been out of your sight, even for five minutes, and there is anyone who might want to track you: call your phone company and ask it to find out if there is a trace on your phone. Anybody could be watching you.

This was with a UK-based GSM phone, but what with all the hoopla around being able to purchase cellphone call records here in the US, I wouldn’t be surprised if such a “service” existed here too.

A 15-year-old girl from Canada, Christina Desforges, died last week after kissing her boyfriend. He had eaten a peanut butter sandwich nine hours earlier and she was allergic to peanuts.

Full Story
My sympathies go out to Christina’s family… I can’t imagine the pain they are in. But I really feel for the boy friend. This poor, unfortunate kid. Not only does he have to deal with the image of kissing a girl and her dying, but he will now be known for the rest of his life as the KISS OF DEATH. He won’t be able to get a date until he’s 40. He’ll probably have to go to the Prom with his mom or sister. He’ll probably go crazy, grab a rifle, climb a clock tower and start unloading on people on their way to class. This poor guy. I feel really bad for him.

I know you’re wondering about my food/death fixation I have today. Honestly I don’t know what it is but at least it’s killing time my last week in the office.

Such florid madness tends to make one the object of the very fame that fuels the paranoia. The letter’s author was from Olympia, and when I launched the site a friend who had gone to Evergreen immediately recognized her as “crazy Jeannine”–proving once again how small [and how paranoid] the world is.

But it gets smaller. If I became paranoid, it would be a metaparanoia based on the volume of paranoid letters that find their way to me. My sister, working for a state office housed in the same building I worked in when I got Jeannine’s letter, just received a similarly paranoid letter. The writer, amazingly, lives just a few miles from Casa Nonfamous here in Seattle. [Coincidence???]

So, being mindful that it’s not nice to make fun of people with serious mental disturbances, in our defense I can only say that when you send letters out at random across the country, your disorder is no longer private. Given our mandate to “keep paranoia at the lowest healthy level,” consider this post a cautionary tale.

Writer Mac now joins our patron saint, Jeannine, in the Nonfamous Pantheon of Paranoia. The full letter is copied below the jump, but the gist is something like this:

I am writing you a tearful letter about the musical collosus Robert
Fripp of King Crimson. I was evacuated to Seattle from Pittsburgh after my
girlfriend was raped and I was tortured by his Gurdjieff Cult.

I had been interested in Fripp’s group and invited by them to Mt. Desert Island in 1988. Because I am almost completely deaf, I always feared that something would go wrong and I informed the Fripp gestapo, who were professing to be with Amnesty International, that I had been a victim of traumatic childhood violent crime.

In 1988, I received a postcard from Wm. Zell, of his cult, on Mt. Desert Island (Jackson Immunogenetic labs, mousecage assembler) which surrounds my name with positive and negative signs and reads: “The photo of Goebbels, cross section of testes with cancer, injecting people…all may have been chance…I am part of deliberate community”. They had just given me scabies and introduced me to a girl with a tattoo of the grim reaper on her inner thigh. Zell had said in 1981, “what would you think of scheme to transform the human race by injecting the blood?” They were using me for a lab rat in HIV testing. They had tortured me deaf in childhood. So I became suspicious.

And I think anyone would! As the letter continues, Oliver Stone and Yoko Ono have a lot to answer for. Yoko is new, but of course Jeannine put Oliver Stone at the top of the list of people who “watched me in the privacy of my own dwelling place for several years.” Perhaps they should get together for coffee.

We at Nonfamous will, of course, investigate these claims… the world is a strange place and Mac might be on to something. Or, more likely, off of something. Good luck and God bless.

The full text of the letter is below, with the image to come soon, I hope.

I am writing you a tearful letter about the musical collosus Robert Fripp of King Crimson. I was evacuated to Seattle from Pittsburgh after my girlfriend was raped and I was tortured by his Gurdjieff Cult.

I had been interested in Fripp’s group and invited by them to Mt. Desert Island in 1988. Because I am almost completely deaf, I always feared that something would go wrong and I informed the Fripp gestapo, who were professing to be with Amnesty International, that I had been a victim of traumatic childhood violent crime.

In 1988, I received a postcard from Wm. Zell, of his cult, on Mt. Desert Island (Jackson Immunogenetic labs, mousecage assembler) which surrounds my name with positive and negative signs and reads: “The photo of Goebbels, cross section of testes with cancer, injecting people…all may have been chance…I am part of deliberate community”. They had just given me scabies and introduced me to a girl with a tattoo of the grim reaper on her inner thigh. Zell had said in 1981, “what would you think of scheme to transform the human race by injecting the blood?” They were using me for a lab rat in HIV testing. They had tortured me deaf in childhood. So I became suspicious.

When I got home I found Lennon assassination letters had been in my house a long time, written by a holocaust survivor family in 1974. They needed de-cryption. Fripp brutally attacked me and they raped my deaf girifriend. I suffered seizures and homelessness. Oliver Stone printed my name in a film magazine to brag.

These are things I think you should know. It’s important. Not being able to make it believable has made even how brazen they have been surmountable for the aggressor. Robert Fripp has convinced his fans that this is an ingenious and appropriate way to treat a deaf person who wrote to Amnesty International for help.

Although both conspiracies have been denied, the original assassin group used the severe content of King Crimson’s album depicting a spike through a man’s ear and the lyrics:

“Neuro-surgeon screams for more at paranoia’s poison door” and “Death seed blind man’s greed”.

In their greed, Stone’s compartment destroyed the papers of the original assassins while adopting their piratical claim that it is information property. These papers were by a neuro-surgeon and his partners who administered a life-shattering nerve agent on me in grade school abductions. The content of these papers describing what they had done and planned to continue doing were witnessed by me.

Existing letters on microfilm, in addition to describing the murder of Lennon six years in advance, give the reason for killing Dr. Martin Luther King among sanitation workers and an unopened letters from 1975, opened before witnesses (1994), in this disturbing context, read, “this is mascara or blackblood”.

The letters were signed Gail (gay-ill) Burstyn of the Jewish Holocaust Survivor community. The men who gassed me as a child (leaving me deaf and brain-damaged for life) were named Ronnie and Kasper, just like Reagan and Weinberger, his Secretary of Defense. Ronnie zz-Sin-ski Kasper “ow” ski.

The girl who Oliver Stone raped when he brutally molested me, supposedly to execute Fripp’s punishment decisions in the death of Lennon, is deaf, retarded and has epilepsy. Fripp masterplotted the rape of a deaf girl who is legally a child. Stone and Fripp were obviously unhappy that someone was teaching me sign language and had called them for the liars that they are.

Fripp and Stone have engineered Wm. Zell’s alibi in the hopes of grabbing the story as spoil under the caption, “Reagan didn’t know”. Reagan’s attorney for Mt. Desert Island had me in D.C. on the day he claims he was shot. He waved to me the night before. His attorney’s brochure reads, “There’s no such thing as objective reality only what the jury believes”. The whole thing is a very loud statement of Hollywood trickery and I suspect that Schwarzenegger, Reagan and Bush are the authors. Americans would cling to “Reagan didn’t know” as absolution in an abomination. It is how the English quisling schemes to absolve itself of collusion.

George Bush blamed my father, Ryland, (author in 1949 of “America’s Stake in Human Rights”) for the loss of his plane at sea when they both served on the USS San Jacinto. Dad was in the radio room. Bush found him distracting. Bush was Director of the CIA at the time I was framed as to blame for Lennon’s murder in letters initialled GB.

The girl who wrote the letters was a 12 year old Jewish girl. I was 13 and an object of torture, which Stone has labored for years to deny. It is on this, a 13 year old child, that the coward Fripp wreaks his bitterness. I did not understand the letters right away, just as many people have been slow to understand letters like this one.

Gail Burstyn had a partner named Leslie Katz who made untrue accusations about me to Fripp, who was eager to give them creedence. Fripp is in a cult who violate people’s rights routinely and was looking for an excuse. Fripp is also bartering in masses and defending Zell to protect his angle of claim on material evidence as property is the name of the game in his utilization of Katz and her slurs. He has attacked the truth of my testimony to cover his failure to warn in 1984 and his mechanizing in concert with the guilty.

It is clear that defending Reagan also means defending those who started AIDS. That is why the lies trafficked by Fripp and Katz have proven so deadly. The coward Fripp brutally exploited the division between me and Reagan by conveniencing his lust for revenge upon a retarded deaf girl from a book of Dickens. This he imagines to be English cunning. The art of this war which was adopted by English rather than public defense was a war game for the spoil: Midori.

The Clintons, have attempted to use terror and torture in sexual attacks upon me and deaf Jeannie meant to silence me and to punish me for believing Reagan the author of the AIDS onslaught. They have tried to force me into compartment with men who brutally raped my retarded girlfriend and tortured me both in childhood and again (I was homeless and had seizures). We have been separated five years. They are stalking me and have repeatedly deployed the methods of Adolf Hitler. Yoko Ono has engaged in a terror campaign and Amnesty International has been nothing less than the cloak of her dagger.

I cannot get Help!

Mac XXXX
XXXX Maynard Ave. S. #XXX

Seattle, WA 98104