Trolling: It's Hard, Dirty Work!

It's a chore more than a hobby for the dedicated troll. One has to disregard any other interest or avocation. Friends go ignored. Tending to the needs of one's malformed son must be left undone lest the "target" post something on a blog (that the troll had to go looking for to find) that can be stuffed into a handful of crap to be uselessly thrown at his target who dodges the foul projectile leaving the troll with nothing but stinky hands.

The target is blamed for his being targeted, of course. "He looked at my website," which the troll would only know after taking the painstaking effort to hunt down a new blog and -- looking at it.

It's hard, thankless work.

The number of readers has gone through the floor. The target post a bit of a red herring and the troll gobbles it down before realizing how much of the hook is protruding through its cheek. To cover its shame, it puffs its concave chest and mocks the target's dead wife. It logs on to its several false accounts and, to make it appear as if it has a following, the troll makes his puppets sing to his discordant tune.

Hard, thankless work.

How long will the troll harbor and nurse its many "hurts" and "indignities"? Will the day come when its hyper-inflated sense of significance forces it to track down the source of these "harms" inflicted on its propped-up ego and avenge itself by stalking the target to its new location and gun the target down before taking its own life rather than face the horror of its own existence?

I will read any blog I feel like reading. Don't want me to see the unintentionally, accidentally hilarious crap you write? Take it private. Then you can take your imaginary cohort and plot and plan and SCHEME (don't forget to "scheme") the target's ultimate downfall behind closed cyberdoors and save yourself the humiliation you so richly deserve.

God save us from the mentally-ill stupid person who thinks itself clever.

Now, my little troll-monkey. Dance. I'll tell you when you can stop.