Home    The Real Diary of Charles Carreon    Ancestors    Counter C&D Letter    What's a DIRA?    Legal Analysis    DOS Attacks    Hate-Mails
The Rapeutationists    Lies & Damn Lies    Reign of Terror    Library    Site Search







The Silence of the Pigs

by Charles Carreon
November 28, 2013

Pigs, they aspire one day to be pigs. Kenneth Popehat White preaching the Gospel of Piggery to his little piggies, by Tara Carreon

Wow, some people just don’t appreciate. You can lavish all the digital ink on a topic — if it’s not on their list of important topics, it’s met with silence. Like my previous post on Donna Barstow confusing charles-carreon.com, the creation of the fabulist Christopher Recouvreur, whose Ph.D. candidate spouse will soon be turning him out of doors for his lumpen habits.

Now, you would think that the discovery of “actual confusion” between Christopher Recouvreur’s site and the real Charles Carreon would be news to Popehat and his offal-hauling minions. Shocking news, actually, since much of Popehat’s defense of parody stands on the assertion that no one would be confused by Recouvreur’s creation, and mistake it for the real Charles Carreon’s website. Except, of course, that Donna Barstow, a woman of some intelligence, was in fact confused, and thought that Recouvreur’s inane “interview of Donna Barstow by Charles Carreon” had, in fact, been written by the “real Charles Carreon,” most likely because it was posted at “charles-carreon.com” and signed by “Charles Carreon, Esq.”  The impression I got from Donna when she called was that, yes, the “interview” on charles-carreon.com seemed crazy, but since there were so many people on the Net saying I was crazy, maybe I was crazy enough to have invented the “interview” and posted it on the Net!

Now that’s really sad, y’know? That Donna, in her grief and isolation, would think that I, who am entirely in sympathy with her plight, and would send all of her tormentors straight to suspended animation for the remainder of the galactic aeon, might instead be devoted to causing her more grief. So I was glad shen she called and she could learn that, no, I wasn’t a deranged idiot adding to her misery out of the abundance of my own. That is Christopher Recouvreur, although Donna is now sure that it’s Ken Popehat White. She thinks there’s a real lawyer behind the “interview,” and she thinks it’s him.

So I thought for sure when I got into the Donna Barstow story, Ken Popehat White would respond to my comments. But what do you do when you don’t want to talk about something? Do you sit there with your hoof in your mouth and your curly tail drooping? No. You perk your little pointy ears up, and you emit all kinds of noise out your snout. You talk about something else. Or you talk about the same thing, but you don’t mention the unpleasant parts. So that’s what Ken Popehat White did. He posted this lackluster, wimpy little whine about how Donna had asked Google to remove his post about her from Google’s search results because it contained her signature on her cartoon about Mexico. But as a commenter noted, all good things work together for good, because even though Google has taken down some posts about Donna due to her DMCA complaints, all of Popehat’s articles about her are still up, and one occupies the top place in Google search results for “Donna Barstow”.

Oh, yes, it’s nice to know, on Thanksgiving Day, when you’re a pig, tucking into a nice ham, that the slaughterhouses on the Internet never close, and Donna Barstow will never be free of your harassment, of the humiliation, the grief, the sorrow that afflicts her. It’s enough to make a pig give thanks twice — once for the gristly little porcine heart in their own chest, that beats with malice pure and vile, on work days, holidays, and weekends, and a second time, for the boon of an audience of readers eager to consume the endless stream of hatred that his own perverted organ can produce.

But what of me, you ask, on this Day of Thanks? How do I feast, how do I pray? Why do I cover my hands with filth, dealing with these vile creatures that I evidently despise?

Fear not, my children, for me. Playing with pigs is nothing new, and while I seem to detest them, I don’t. I revile them for their own good, so that they may ask themselves, “Is it possible that my obsession with spewing hateful speech is unwholesome? Could it hurt me? My loved ones?” Because the answers come swift and sure to those who ask the question honestly: Yes. Yes. Yes. And all the silence in the world will not hold back that truth.

Piggies, by The Beatles

Have you seen the little piggies
Crawling in the dirt?
And for all the little piggies
Life is getting worse
Always having dirt to play around in

Have you seen the bigger piggies
In their starched white shirts?
You will find the bigger piggies
Stirring up the dirt
Always have clean shirts to play around in

In their styes with all their backing
They don't care what goes on around
In their eyes there's something lacking
What they need's a damn good whacking

Everywhere there's lots of piggies
Living piggy lives
You can see them out for dinner
With their piggy wives
Clutching forks and knives to eat their bacon

(One more time...)