I am always humbled by any response that I get on the blogs. But once in a while one comes that is especially humbling, and this one from a certain “Leon” in response to a recent post, “screamers,” was one of those very special ones, so I wanted to share:

You “don’t want to sound like the Grinch of Upham’s Corner” but you’re going to sit there and bitch about the young kids in your neighborhood? Relax, when you live in the city you have to accept a little noise.

Of all the things I hear outside my window, hearing children play doesn’t bother me too much. If it [sic] the sound of these children playing bothers you so much, why don’t you go knock on their door and talk to the family about it? Or better yet, sell your computer and buy and [sic] AC. That way you wouldn’t have to hear noise from outside and we wouldn’t have to read your terrible blogs anymore.

Douchebag.

I’m not sure if that last bit was Leon’s signature, or was meant for me. I puzzled over it, asked a couple of brainy friends and some very clever colleagues, and we decided Leon probably signs all his correspondence “Douchebag.” It seems a pretty good nickname for him, in fact. In the future I would just recommend “Yours Sincerely, Douchebag.” It’s more professional-sounding.

Some thoughts. First and foremost, I would like to assure my readers, while I have your attention, that no children were harmed in the writing of this blog.

And I would now, for the sake of posterity, like to respectfully address Mr. Douchebag’s comments point by point:

1) “You’re going to sit there and bitch about the young kids in your neighborhood?” Yes. I think this is a rhetorical question, and if so it’s very astute of you to catch that. Good job, Douchebag! Because it’s something a lot of people don’t seem to get about the blogosphere: bloggers “sit there and bitch”. That’s what they do. If, after nearly a decade of blogs you haven’t gotten that bit, just turn off your computer. It’s not making you any smarter.

2) “Relax, when you live in the city you have to accept a little noise.” Thank you, Douchebag—may I call you Douche for short?—for the sage advice, but I was not talking about “a little noise,” I was talking about a BIG, EAR-SPLITTING, BRAIN-PIERCING NOISE.

3) “Of all the things I hear outside my window, hearing children play doesn’t bother me too much.” No, I’m sure you like it very much. It’s a cue to grab your camera with that special telephoto lens to capture their nubile flesh glistening in the golden sunlight as they gambol and frolic about. Thank you so much for sharing, Douchebag! Of course, nowhere in my post did I say that “hearing children play” bothers me too much, either, actually. What I find nerve-jangling, as I believe I said several times, is kids “screaming bloody murder.”

4) “If it [sic] the sound of these children playing bothers you so much, why don’t you go knock on their door and talk to the family about it?” Hey, maybe I should call Child Welfare Services instead! I think the real question here is actually why it bothers you so much that it bothers me so much.

5) “Or better yet, sell your computer and buy and [sic] AC. That way you wouldn’t have to hear noise from outside and we wouldn’t have to read your terrible blogs anymore.” Ooh. Was that a psychotic break I just heard? Who is the “we” you refer to, first of all? Is it the Royal We? Are you a Queen? Should we call you HRH Douchebag, Queen of Dorchester? How many voices are there in your head with you, Leon? Just give us a rough estimate. And are they the ones forcing you to read my “terrible blogs”? Or is it the little green men with the anal probe? Or is it…Satan?

Let’s be serious, though, for a moment, here. Is this a cry for help, Leon? Or just an excuse to vent your unfocused rage at your own loneliness and impotence, your isolation and unhappiness, and using my blog as a forum to advertise your painful limitations, and the young kids in my neighborhood as your human shield? No one could criticize you, after all, for bravely defending innocent, adorable screaming children against an evil blogger who insists on mercilessly bitching about them! The horror.

I mean, it’s not like I even hinted at how such little monsters might be justly dealt with. Can you imagine Douchebag’s reaction if I had gone as far as W.C. Fields when he said, “Madam, there’s no such thing as a tough child— if you parboil them first for seven hours, they always come out tender.” Or, echoing Jonathan Swift, in “A Modest Proposal”: “a young healthy child well nursed is at a year old a most delicious, nourishing, and wholesome food, whether stewed, roasted, baked, or boiled …” Douchebag would be screaming CANNIBAL! And calling the cops!

But do I honestly think Douchebag is in a flaming tizzy over me sitting here bitching about a screaming child (not just a “playing child” as he disingenuously, distortingly says in his flame) under my window? No, of course not. As pathetic as it might be to sit here bitching about a screaming child below my office window, it is infinitely more pathetic for Douchebag to sit there bitching about me bitching about a screaming child. Whether it is even exponentially more pathetic for me to be sitting here now bitching about him bitching about me bitching about the screaming child—well, it’s a risk I am willing to take to make my point.

Which is that the chief purpose of these self-righteous rants–not mine, silly! Douchebag & Co.’s!–is to prove that somewhere, somehow, however briefly, the ranters themselves exist. No one in their day-to-day, flesh-and-bones life seems to notice them overmuch, which is understandably unsettling for them. So they flame out on the internet, projectile vomiting their curdled, acidy, upchuck existence into the ether, hoping that the splatter will stain, or otherwise somehow leave a trace of them on someone else.

But I suppose it’s also possible Douchie’s addicted to T-Rage! And in case you are struggling with such an addiction, I am here to tell you, Douchebag–because obviously you need to be told–that it is easy to free yourself from The Rage! Simply stop doing things you don’t want to do and then blaming others for your doing them. You know, blogs don’t flame people, people flame people. It’s not my fault you seem unable to stop reading my blog, now, is it? Whose fault is it, Douchebag? I think you know. Own it, babe. You can’t move on without owning it.

I want you to reflect on what you wrote and why. It might help you to understand why you feel you have no control over the things you yourself initiate and do. And then why you lash out at others who have not had anything to do with you or your lonely inner life. I’m here to help, but I can only help you if you will help yourself.

If I can lend you one piece of advice (and it is a bit selfish, I’ll admit): I think a good first step would be for you to not read the blog, Douchebag. Go cold turkey. It will be hard, but I think you need to see that what it is that causes you to act like this is inside you. It’s not the blog, Douchebag, it’s you.

I’ll wrap up with a friendly reminder to all: I am not responsible for your personal limitations, and you are not responsible for mine. If you want to spew yours out, get your own blog. Or get a therapist. I’m all set on both counts.

Thank you, and please read responsibly.