Maybe it’s a kind of karma, maybe it’s just as random as any other bullshit on the planet. But, if you call someone out in some form or another, like some spleen venting, bile-ridden bullshit, and, um, duh, shithead, someone might read it.

Not the victim, as it were. Just a friend who knows the main characters. Still and all, it makes you wonder. If you’re an obsessive, sensitive bitch obsessing over a guy who pretty much meets or exceeds all national standards for moron, what does that make you exactly?

The likelihood of a moron hitting an epiphany ain’t good. So, energy spent toward wishing that so might be better suited to something useful, like, I dunno, masturbation. Where the fuck are my rechargeable batteries?

More related than I thought, I had a mild bit of regressive self- … Not sure what I want to say, I was going to write self-flagellation, but that ain’t completely the right spirit. Back in Boston, specifically the cesspool of Boston comedy, I crawled around the seamy underbelly of every fucking show, type of show, open mike, showcase, scene and comic moment. Early on I yearned for acceptance and admittance to some version of a perceived community, brotherhood, guild-type thing, which didn’t actually exist.

Here’s the basic deal — If you want to do comedy there are a limited number of places to grab a mike and drool and babble your little bit of laugh-evoking sunshine. So, pretty quickly you see the same people, who also are doing the same as you, over and over and over and over again. When you are new, though, you think that everyone else in the room is cliquish and you are an outsider.

It’s not a clique, they all have just been at the party longer. It took me a while to catch on, but in the end I made some friends and doubtless gave some newer newcomers a feeling of exclusion.

Clearly in a fit of some kind of penitent pain moment, the aforementioned self-flagellation, I tried to register for a new website started by a guy who was somewhat in the old guard of my early days of isolation. He hasn’t deemed me worthy to join. (In true irony, I find at least three people who have been so blessed fairly painfully dull to read and/or share any kind of dialogue. So, what am I thinking?)

For my next trick, I think I’ll stab myself in the palm of my hand and open the old wound I once had from leaning onto a loose nail. It would be equally pointless and equally defining of my worth.