That's the most memorable line from Mississippi Sissy by Keven Sessums. Up until this week-end, I thought I was the only sissy from the South. NOT! I was in a league of my own, but I was not by far the biggest sissy, nor the only one. I guess I got the shit beat out of me too many times until I finally hit back. By the age of seven I had learned that the pain from a blow doesn't last as long as the shame of not responding to taunts. But then, I come from a tough people.
Here's the situation. I'm being stalked by an evil person who shows all the classic symptoms of advanced sociopathy. Doesn't that sound wonderfully clinical? It's easy enough to just shrug it off, right? Cyber stalkers, I mean. Crazy people are just crazy. It's really not about you. It's about them.
My lawyer wants me to conduct a little test. He wants me to demonstrate a compulsive disorder on the part of my stalker. I'm going to continue blogging, but at a different address. If my crazy streaming of consciousness has entertained you and you're interested in my saga, write and I'll be happy to furnish you with the new address. The trap to prove my stalker's obsessive compulsion is to see what lengths he goes to find me. A Google trail should prove sufficient for damages.
This is all necessary because I know I'm being stalked by an evil person, and I have begun a subtle degree of self-censorship. Any form of censorship dulls the blade, especially self-censorship, because my natural response to censorship is satire. Self-censorship just makes my note sound flat. (I think that's a mixed metaphor, but it's late and I'm moving.) Let's see how long it takes my stalker to find me.
I suppose it's a little like identity-theft. You always think of it as something that happens to others.
In one week, this blog will temporarily be closed. That ought to drive the son-of-a-bitch abso-fucking-lutely crazy. It's going to be fun recreating his mad search for me, in a court room. I told my lawyer that I didn't think the s.o.b. had a pot to piss in, but he said that's not my problem. I'll take his goddamn pot and he can go piss on himself. If my language seems harsh, I apologize. I come from America's rougher edge. I come from a family tree that bears tough fruit, and nuts, just to be fair.
Think of it as a game. Come find me if you care, or dare.