Tuesday, June 27, 2006

Used Condom Found In Doug Wilson’s Mailbox

Oh, for heavens’ sake! Someone put a used or fake-used condom in Doug Wilson’s mailbox? Who would be so silly? Wilson’s most vocal critics are, like me, either rapidly approaching 40 or waving it goodbye in the rear view mirror. My condoms-filled-cream-rinse days are long over. Just for the record, I also gave up cow-tipping at the NCSU Vet School farms at about the same time — 1985, I think it was.

It’s good that you’ve warned the ridiculous, Michael, but I honestly don’t think that the ridiculous reside among us so-called intoleristas. When was the last time any of Doug Wilson’s middle-aged critics played a practical joke? And, really, when have any of us have “created an atmosphere” in which condom-bombing would be encouraged? The Wilson critics I know are intellectual nerds; we’re the kind of people who read theological, philosophical, political and economic tracts for fun. We don’t alter the Welcome to Moscow signs to read Welcome to Hooterville. We don’t send out fake faxes purporting to be from the UI English Department offering a symposium on naked boobies. We also don’t mail seven-page anonymous threats to First Step Internet. Those are all Wilson tricks.

Don’t get me wrong: no one should find anything in his or her mailbox but mail. I am genuinely sorry that Doug found a condom full of Breck or mayonnaise or Hidden Valley Ranch. But is this really of interest to the police? Is this of interest to the blogging world? Is this a sign and wonder of a vast intolerista conspiracy? Or is finding that you are the butt of a practical joke the likely consequence of playing far too many such jokes yourself?

Several months ago, someone smeared dog crap in the air intake slits on my car, just beneath the windshield wipers. What did I do? I washed it out. And then washed it out some more. What I did not do was climb onto a blog and denounce my intolerant critics at New St. Andrews and Anselm House. I didn’t and don’t blame them because I don’t know that they did it. Why suspect where there is no evidence? I also didn’t call the cops. You speak your mind, and you take your chances. The doggie doo was a shame — and it stank like seven hells — but I didn’t call the rozzers.

Perhaps I should have. But I have real things to worry about. The Army of God is still on my ass for daring to write unflattering things about their very own serial bomber, Eric Rudolph. I’m getting bizarre hate mail from someone pretending to be the late Joey Ramone. And you want to talk about weird? Free speech cadvocates, Dale Courtney and Princess Annie Fanny, have accused me of resorting to “brute force tactics” for removing a comment on the New West website posted by someone who claimed to an “out pederast” by the name of Camille Saint Saens. (You may recognize the name. Saint Saens composed Carnival of the Animals and then died. In 1921.) The comment was removed because it turns out that “Camille” was posting from a faked-up email address — one that caused a real website and a real website owner actual harm. Bill London wrote a few days ago about spoofed emails using his name. Is this worse than the old condom in the mailbox trick? I think so. Considerably worse.

Auntie Establishment