Here’s a guest post by Chuckles of Freelance Genius. Wonkette picked this up a little while ago, and then Freelance Genius (and half the rest of the Internet) went down. We’ll mirror it here until the Internet gnomes root out the clog.
Above: Busta Moove cuts a caper
The rudiments of the story: Chuck was working in a video store, and Tucker Carlson came in. That night, Chuck did a post about working in a video store and Tucker Carlson coming in, the tenor of which was unflattering to Carlson.
A couple of weeks later, Carlson stormed back in threatening to ‘fucking destroy’ him if the post wasn’t taken down. Chuck took the post down.
The next day, Carlson threatened the store with a lawsuit and got Chuck fired. Then the next day, Carlson sent a private investigator to the store to gather personal information on Chuck.
It’s ongoing, apparently. Carlson just keeps escalating, as though he’s looking forward to the ninth circle of the Inferno, where he can spend eternity gnawing on Chuck’s skull.
His Bowtie Knows Where You Sleep…Err…Work
The wingnut wankjob I mentioned in the removed post, Tucker Carlson, has threatened the video store with legal action and as a result, I no longer work there. I do not have access to these threats but I can imagine that they consist of something similar to this:
“I’m easily the most recognizable conservative pundit today, as my wikipedia page will attest, but goddam it, I deserve to not be recognized unless I stand to benefit from it! I am a huge asshole and I expect to be treated like one. I will fucking destroy anyone who dares to poke fun at me and so help me god my bowtie is stylish and not at all funny! I can’t believe that I might be subject to ridicule after I physically threatened another man with destruction because he mentioned me on his blog! You people are terrorists and I demand that all video store records now be accessible by the feds and only the feds! I want to come in and be denied rental because I have not filled out an ESTNJ stroke 6 Alpha form in triplicate! It is just inconceivable that a man of my utter cobagitude be the brunt of
harmless jokes on the internets!”
Well, motherTucker, this is the internet and there is nothing you can do to me anymore. I will admit that from your perspective, it was easy to see how I was being a complete dick in my previous post. It is likely that you have never heard of the various scandals that have erupted when jerks have outed bloggers who wished to remain anonymous. I would be surprised if you have not heard about Michelle Malkin’s incident. I thought I was covering my ass by stating very deliberately that I would never share your information with anyone.
In the new digital age, regarding a statement like this:
I won’t tell you where he lives, though. That would be wrong and stupid. I will also not be running around ordering 10,000 copies of America: The Book and having it sent to his place even if that would be more awesome than frozen urine treats for his home.
…as a threat is batshit loco. A barely anonymous blogger has declared that he is always going to take steps to ensure your privacy and you go apeshit psycho on his ass. I suppose that this would be a I googled “Tucker Carlson stalker” in an attempt to determine why a man might go from zero to asshated ragemonkey over a minor comment on a blog that barely rates as Z-list. The first ten hits were all about Tucker’s comment that Canada is stalking the US. That is pretty funny in and of itself. Just the other day, I thought I was being followed and turned around only to see Canada turn ninety degrees and start whistling.
The second page of hits contained a link to reviews of his book on Amazon.ca (OOO! Maybe Canada IS stalking the US!). In the third review, Bernard Chapin says that Tucker was falsely accused of rape by some stalkerish person. I can see how this might set a man on edge and make him wary of being mentioned comedically on some random blog. Technorati must love me because the number of daily links to my site can probably be counted on my ginormous wang. (That is a comment on the fact that I have one wang and maybe one link as day if I am lucky.)
In order to perform due diligence, I looked through the first four pages of that google search. I found only the one reference to a stalking incident and a whole mess of references to Tucker’s infamous comment, which I suppose he thought was funny, about Canada being a stalker. Yet, PTSD can linger for many years, as our veterans know first hand, and therapy is important but you have to want to change, Tucker, I can’t change your trauma for you.
I also thought I was being extremely funny by mentioning that I would not be sending you 10,000 copies of Jon Stewart et al’s America: The Book. In fact, I was being extremely funny with that one, this is one of the virtues of being the massively wanged Genius that I am. I will also admit that the comment about frozen urine treats may have crossed the oh-so-individual line and may have seemed directly threatening when really it was a reference to a prank performed back in college by friends of mine.
Perhaps if I had mentioned that we were roughly similar in size, above the waist that is, and I always thought he looked taller on TV, it would have been funnier. Hell, that is always funny. It might have been funny if I mentioned how oddly even his skin tone was and he always looks so pale in the screen captures I see on TPM Muckraker. I might have even gone so far as to say he should fire his make up person for trying to hide that suspiciously even tan.
The difference between our actions is that I wrote a silly post on a blog that previously received less than 10 hits a day, with 5 of those being mine. You came at me in person, like the fake-tan-having bully that you are, and directly threatened both my health and my livelihood.
Thus, you are a gigantic cobag and I will no longer have the joy of dealing with drunk people arguing with me about their excessive late fees or pervs asking me about the next shipment of porn and whether we were getting any hermaphrodites themed videos or kids asking me to find the pokemon because they can’t see straight let alone spell due to their massive daily intake of sugar and Ritalin or witness recently divorced men in their forties hit on my female coworkers. I should thank you for relieving me of the question I was constantly asking myself, “What the fuck am I doing here on a Saturday night for seven bucks an hour?” However, by being a gigantic cobag, you have opened yourself up to the lofty heights of satire previously reserved for dorks like Glenn Reynolds, Ann Althouse and everybody at both NRO and Powerline.
This mess is your bed and this is my blog. Please enjoy your stay, you fucking assbag.