I checked the link that someone posted in my comments box for my last post. It is a link to Amazon.com, supposedly where failed writers and losers go to write out their fantasies.
This S____ E_______ guy wrote 8 reviews, which is cool... until you realize that S____ E________ is my cyber-stalker. He was also the guy who, in one of my comments boxes, remarked that Amazon reviews are the hallmark for failed writers.
His words, not mine.
All this time I thought it was a dummy account when I posted his info on CL. You'd think that someone who's name is already on the Web wouldn't be upset about my innocently posting his personal info on Craig's List. Evidently, he didn't want his name to be associated with the racist, sexist trash that he was dishing out on the Rants and Raves board.
What about the pseudonym "J_______ C____"? This character went to a college with that same surname. It's some college on the East Coast, designed to take money from hacks who want the jobs that nobody else wants.
So this person is yet another NYC transplant who has been trying to be heard in a city that is deaf to all demands, the City Of Angels, where dreamers flock to reap rewards and get nothing but shit.
This is pathetic.
It's pathetic because I can't believe I've been wasting my time dealing with a bigger loser than myself.
The real kicker came when my company VPs, upset at me for using company time to combat this moron, informed me that S____ E_______'s "corporation" didn't exist.
"He's psycho," the head VP said, before handing me a written warning to sign. "Stay away from him. This guy is spending all of his time sending us these complaints, so he's obviously disturbed. A dangerous person like that knows where you work, and might come by here, thinking I'm you, trying to blow me away..."
"So you mean none of his companies panned out?" I asked.
"None of them. He's full of shit."
I started to laugh, but the VP reminded me that it wasn't a funny matter. Even though they were not fazed by this idiot's feeble attempts at trying to get me fired, they were a little miffed that I was using company time to deal with such a worthless waste of humanity.
I felt bad, because I didn't-- for one moment-- consider the well-being of anyone else at the company. I don't give a two-bit damn about myself, but it goes without saying that someone else who works here might be accosted by this stalker, just because of his vendetta against me.
I can handle myself fine, but it wasn't my intention to make anyone else here at work feel uneasy.
And imagine how gypped I felt when it was revealed that this guy's biggest credit was an indie flop. All of this drama is just one lonely, failed writer's attempt to make someone else feel bad.
And that's another thing: to fail at writing, one must make an attempt. As much as I love writing, I have never sent any of my work out to be published. Why? Because I was making good money off of music and radio.
Writing is a hobby for me, until someone comes up to me and gives me money to write. And now I understand S_____'s comment about how "my generation" expects everything to be handed to them. This dude wishes he had people handing him money for his half-baked concepts. And having lived in L.A. all of my life, and having known plenty of writers, I can safely say that writers are the lowest rung on the Hollwyood totem pole. They get no respect.
It's enough to make someone so bitter that they adopt the moniker "G______" and try to pick on people who haven't been jaded by The System.
So, I don't consider myself a failed writer. I consider myself an undiscovered writer who is too lazy to try and make a living off of it when it's so much easier to get money for playing bass.
S____ E_______ considers me to be a failure... because he is a failure, and he wants everyone else to feel the same way.
Misery loves company, right?
Well, if it's any consolation, I got suspended for two days from work... just enough time to make changes on a piece of writing that I am going to submit to a producer who asked me if I had anything written down.
And so I must conclude that everything happens for a reason, even this petty cyber-beef. I can't be mad at you, S____, since all of your attempts at hating on me have benefited me.
I needed the time off, to devote to the animation, to devote to the bands... so there's a silver lining to this cloud.
But you, S_____... what are you going to do with your life? Do you really think you're going to make a name for yourself in this town? I've seen people with more talent than you'll ever have get eaten alive in this city, because I've lived here all my life and I've seen them come and go.
Hey, maybe I can talk to my buddy M-- maybe he can get you a job writing screenplays for real movies, with big budgets... movies like Wonderland, directed by M's college buddy.
Why haven't I hit up M myself? Because I'm not some starry-eyed East Coast transplant looking to hit it big. I'm an Angeleno who hasn't had to work very hard to get by in a town where sharks circle for fresh blood daily.
Go back to NYC, kid. You're strictly amateur. This is Los Angeles, not Ground Zero.
Now that I know the truth about you, S____ E_______, I'm going to do a few things:
1. To appease my bosses, I'm going to cut off communications with you 100%. They were right about my using company time to trifle with you... but they were also right about what a complete phony you are.
I'll still blog, but only after I'm done with my work shift.
2. I'm cutting off the comments on this blog until you no longer come around here. You wanna talk to me? E-mail me at one of my accounts.
After you read this post, I suspect you won't be at the club tomorrow night.
4. I'll remember this moment in my life as one of great irony. To think that I actually felt bad a few weeks ago because I thought that maybe your bosses were going to talk to my bosses and have the both of us canned for stupid reasons. I'm not proud of my role in this feud, but I'll tell you what: I no longer have contempt for you, S____ E_______.
I feel sorry for you.
Because you're not going to get what it is you want, as evidenced by your obsession with me, a "nobody" (your words, not mine). Anyone who is somebody will not consort with nobodies.
That means that you are not somebody, or even something.... No, you are far worse, my dear boy.
You are an NYC transplant who thinks he's going to make it in L.A.
I hope you prove me wrong, S____, because it sounds to me like you're losing your hopes real quick. And this is a small world, kiddo-- we'll meet again, in the flesh perhaps. Your name will come across mine in this town, and vice versa... but you've sullied your name by fighting with me, while my name has received a higher profile just by virtue of your attacks alone.
So, I wonder what the band is going to start their set off with-- not to mention the fact that another great band will be playing, as will my friend Dominic's band...
A lot of my friends will be there tomorrow night.
And, possibly, the bitter wannabe writer will be there too.
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