In case you need a character reference do look no further than what I received this morning, in response to my last post, the one I was lost to name which is no doubt why it suddenly became more than animated (courtesy of Phil).
The anonymous author writes under the name of ‘Hayden Lyrics’:
“And thank the universe you can’t mother everybody. You’re so full of shit. When has being responsible as a blogger phased you to a point that you’d not blow hot air, fucking with people whom you’ve never met. And comb your goddamn hair.”
I kept my response on a short leash:
“Comb my “goddamn hair”? Well, it’s only Sunday morning. And all mirrors are veiled. Anyway, and I know this will pain you, the tousled just tumbled out of bed look really suits me.
I am “full of shit”. Actually, this minute, my toileting been done most satisfactorily, I am not. Want the recipe?
I am “fucking with people whom [I] never met”. What the fuck are you talking about?
Let’s take it from the top, and YOU’ll learn not to fuck with ME:
For someone who calls himself (not that you are a man or something) ‘Hayden’s Lyric’ your prose wanes before given a chance to wax. A bit like a failed moon.
Credit where it’s due, Hayden: “… being responsible as a blogger phased you to a point …” opaque in its meaning. A bit like one of Steinhausen’s (the composer) offerings. You hear it, you tick it off to experience.
Sherlock to my Watson notices that you don’t provide a link to the place (your blog) where you blow a lot. My heart going out to you. If anyone needs to be shaken the shit out of it’s you. I’d gladly oblige. But then I do go on many a mission impossible.
Sweetheart, I believe I know who you are. Don’t dice with me. Or do. Your hatred of me, and others in your life, you feed, like a sourdough starter taking over the house, to your own detriment.
Hugs and Kisses,
Let me know what you think, even if you don’t think anything at all.