A catfish trolled me for years. In truth, I enabled his agenda so at the end of every year I could make him a tax deduction for my charity work. That dude was Bored. He flattered me and it sort of pumped my pedestal but I was getting weary of the daily nonsense which was stupider than watching “They Saved Hitler’s Brain” for the 50th time and the banter was getting more effective than a Sominex, so I consulted a therapist.
She told me my cure was to sit at my computer wearing mittens. For confidence, I had brought along to the consultation my imaginary twin. Oh, at the end of that session, the shrink charged me double!
I am not triggered by trolls because I do not identify with Don Quixote but sometimes I do enjoy a good cyber battle, even though my opponent usually has an IQ that matches my weight at the age of five or the current room temperature.
I invited my catfish to meet me in a chatroom for the internet match of the century. My comments jabbed and grabbed; I did gotchas, taunts, and reveals. I typed Haymakers and Bolo punches. But it was my Dempsey Roll over the chat boundaries that took him down. He rage quit like my Aunt Ruth on Thanksgiving when she was not served her prune juice. Later, I pulled out of internet games and moved on... and my catfish? He died. Literally.
In retrospect, I think I was too much of a mental challenge. One night on cam, his roommate shined a light into one ear and that light shot right out of the other ear. He had a totally undescended brain!
And to the extent that I totally go forward and consistently ignore provocations, I might be eligible for admission into Nintendo Mensa.
I moved on and into reality. One dude I met at Roseland told me he could use the elastic from my underpants... for bungee jumping. He said to me “Baby, I want to take you home and do things to you nobody has ever done before… a liposuction.” I told him I am overweight because I have Alzheimer’s... I keep forgetting I just ate. I dumped him and I met a Jewish guy into kinky sex. He wanted me to eat bacon off his body. I passed a Jewish homeless guy and he promised to use the money I gave him for a bottle of Maneshevitz!
I was a teacher for 35 years. A student asked me what would be a good punishment for Bernie Madoff. I did not reply and he said: “One date with you.” During one of my internet broadcasts, a viewer told me my show sucked. Then he asked me if he could do a simulcast! Jeeves, these mixed messages are making me dizzy, pass the Dramamine.
Some might call my life a cameo appearance. I had my share of encores, but my best day was in a curtain call when I quietly drank Aunt Ruth’s prune juice in my bedroom and two hours later defined myself in huge underestimation. Move over, Andre, I am now the new star of that show.
© Marjorie J. Levine 2021
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