Not long ago I sent some people we know the following email about a friend of mine who was going to play at a local bar. It read: “Dave Hutchins, the semi-talented and occasionally amusing entertainer (Cedric’s less gifted twin brother) will be belching out your favorite tunes at Joe’s Bar in Michigan City this coming Saturday, April 10. For anyone with absolutely nothing better to do and no real friends to speak of, this is an excellent opportunity to find solace in the bottle while listening to someone in the waning days of his career. See you there.”
I ended the email with a postscript advising anyone wanting to leave a tip to use caution when going near his tip jar because he also stored his dentures in it.
All told, quite a few people turned up and had a pretty good time, but a deeper question has arisen. Was my less that flattering email a form of cyber bullying? Let me answer that. You’re damn right it’s a form of cyber bullying and I’m perfectly fine with it.
I’ve been a victim of bullying by this bum much of my adult life simply because, as a musician and entertainer, he controlled the microphone and the stage. If he said something rotten about me before a room full of people, I had to live with it. So what if it may have been true.
When I took my wife, Regina, to see him at a club soon after we started dating some 20 years ago, that scumbag announced to everyone that it was my first date in years. Now I’ve got the internet at my disposal and it’s time for revenge. Now I can tell the world that the only reason I took her to see him in the first place is because she was the only woman tone-deaf enough to sit through one of his sets.
It’s not that Hutchins hasn’t been a pretty good friend for the past 40 years. He’d be a great friend if he mowed my lawn or was rich, but he’s not, so let’s just call him OK. But being a friend apparently made him think he had license to say horrible things about me in front of countless people—things so terrible and slanderous that I am weeping uncontrollably as I write this.
But the internet has changed the world and my keyboard is my microphone. And since I’m relatively certain I am more comfortable with my new weapon than he is, the slob is going down like the blasphemous swine he is. Admittedly, I could take the higher road and turn the other cheek, but it’s really not in me. I’d rather go online and leave a crease in his skull just as if I had taken a cyber whack with a Louisville Slugger.
Maybe you’re thinking, “John, you should be careful. Perhaps Mr. Hutchins is a computer whiz in disguise.” Actually, he’s an evil troll disguised as a human being. Anyway, don’t make me laugh. Not long ago I ran into a mutual friend (also a Realtor) who, laughingly said Dave probably wasn’t a very good typist, having spent most of his school years in detention.
I thought to myself, “Are you kidding me? Typing is the least of his problems. I doubt the son-of-a-bitch can spell. Hell, the poor man’s pudgy pinkies need at least a vague idea of how to form a word before they hit the keyboard. It’s not like scratching your ass.”
In the past I had to settle for brief moments of retribution like the time I slipped a dollar bill into a prophylactic and hung it onto his microphone, thinking to myself, “Here’s your tip, motherf#*&er.” I must admit I was surprised he didn’t turn around and say something like, “That’s the rubber Zdravich has been carrying in his wallet since high school. I’m glad he finally got a chance to use it.” If he had, what could I do? I was helpless.
Now I can respond via my blog, maturely of course, that I pulled the rubber out of some guy’s ass at the state prison in Michigan City.
Lately, Dave also has made disparaging remarks about me and my farm animals. I’d like to take this opportunity to publicly state that I have never had sex with any goats, chickens or horses. I’ve watched, of course, and on occasion even cheered them on, but that’s it.
The malicious toad has even gone so far as to make fun of my looks. Slavic people, including Serbs like me, tend to have slightly larger noses; it’s common among great nationalities. Well, well, well. Here’s my chance to make a remark about Dave’s size, and I’m not talking noses here. Let’s just say that if he says he’s pleased to meet you and it looks like he has a bulge in his pocket, it’s because he really has something in his pocket—probably lunch money his wife left him. KABOOM!
You too can get into the fun of cyber bullying by leaving nasty comments on his business Facebook page. That’s what I did recently when I asked if Potbellies is a place he plays or the name of a new group he belongs to. SMASH! POW!
Isn’t the future going to be great?
1 year ago