Monthly Archives: August 2015

A theory on assholes

The other day an asshole in a blue BMW couldn’t wait at the round about and zipped past us with his middle finger stuck out of his window. Not to be outdone, we responded with our middle fingers too. He then slowed down to a crawl, you know, to teach us a lesson. To show us the agony he must have experienced when he was behind us. To demonstrate the full extent of his assholishness. (If that’s not a word, I don’t care. You know what I mean).

I guess he forgot he was in a hurry.

My first thought was to follow him, find out where he lives, and test my death glare on him. But then I decided that stalking isn’t really my thing. Plus my death glare doesn’t guarantee death—at least not yet. Which is unfortunate in this case.

My second thought was – WTF is wrong with people? Why are there so many assholes running around? Assholes that shoot beautiful animals because they can pay someone to allow it; assholes that call immigrants rapists because they can pay someone to broadcast it; assholes that drive blue BMWs because… well, because they can pay to drive a BMW.

And then it dawned on me that there is a connection between the amount of money a douchecanoe has, the amount of power he* holds, and the level of assholishness he possesses. That isn’t to say that all rich people are assholes — but it is to say that the majority of assholes are definitely rich. Or, as in the case of ISIS, horny and drunk on power.

So now that you know what makes an asshole – watch out when you win that lottery. You don’t want to add to the ever-expanding pool of assholes.

* Yes, I am aware that women can be assholes too. But it’s my blog and I’ll use a he if I want to.

Don’t read the comments. Ever. I mean it. Really.

The other day I made a mistake and Googled ‘Rebecca Strong’. Not the first time I’d done it of course – in fact, since my novel came out I’d been Googling myself and the name of the novel regularly. Sometimes even between 74 and 137 times a day. In case I made the New York Times bestseller list, you know?

This time though – instead of coming up with nothing – the search pulled up a few results.

Unfortunately none of those results were from the New York Times. Or from the Publisher’s Weekly. Or even from the Kirkus Review.

Instead they were unlicensed translations into Russian of the article I penned for Quartz about why I wrote my novel under a pseudonym. Followed by hundreds of comments.

Angry comments.

Insulting comments.

Abusive comments.

Hateful comments.

Comments that made me go like this:

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Lesson learned.

DO. NOT. READ. THE. COMMENTS.