crazy is beautiful brother right on right on

Here's a blog post where the comments are closed. It's about a blog comment that made it to what the Feministes call "the special moderation queue." This one comment - all 13 kilobytes of it - is stone wack, dude! Go read it yourself. Down in the comments I read:

Nobody: Laughing at a schizophrenic is one step up from paying homeless men to fight each other.

Well bullshit says I, and I oughta know, because nobody ever paid me one God damn cent.

All right! Thank yew, internets! I've always wanted to indulge in a little of that goodole Identity Politics, and now, finally, here's my half-assed chance.

Any of you bozos ever have a doctor prescribe you phenothiazine tranquilizers? I have, three different varieties in fact, and I've got the permanent side-effects to show for it. Had the doctor officially inscribed you on his magic pad as a genuine diagnosed schizophrenic? Me over here. yeah. Does this sort of thing run through your family tree? Mm hmm! Heard voices no one else could hear from the inside out? Alla time, you betcha. They guide me in my every act. Heard those voices arguing? Uh, yeah, but that's really no fun at all.

Here's where the fist of Identity Politics bangs down on the table: Unless you checked the "Yes" box for at least three of the questions on my quizlet above (don't fib!), then I assert you had no right to comment on the original post.

Continuing: Did you find that original rant entertaining as Hell? I sure did, and don't forget, as I claim above, regarding issues which touch upon any of the various overlapping special identity-groups in which I happen to fall, opinions expressed by me and my identity-group are the only ones that matter.

Finally: Would I like to buy that commenter a beer or two and draw him out a bit? Yes sir! You see we nuts have this special acid language all our own - yeah though maybe you can't tell the difference, it isn't merely line noise but an actual communicative language, cryptic yet semi-functional - and as a tired exile in your dull flat land of the Norms, it's a special delight to hear the old half-forgotten native tongue spoken in full throat every now and again.

PS: Note to Ann Bartow: This post is not signed by the same name printed upon my birth certificate. Bug off anyway.

PPS: Were it configurable I'd prefer to sign this one as "johnny ambiguous," my other old NNTP nom de réseau informatique.