Elaine Ambrose

Bestselling Author, Ventriloquist, & Humorist

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#trolls

Insulted by Amateurs

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This week on Twitter, I was attacked through nasty personal insults from a caustic clan of boisterous bullies. One person wrote that I was “Trash,” and another called me “old and ignorant.” Yet, another witty wordsmith told me to “eat a giant turd for breakfast.” The most painful accusation came from a person who claimed I wasn’t a humor writer. Ouch. I’d send him one of my award-winning, bestselling humor books, but I doubt he reads books without pictures.

What egregious sin prompted strangers to ridicule me on Twitter? I legally and correctly offered my opinion about the Caldwell School Board meeting where the agenda included a discussion about new rules for transgenders that would allow biological males into the girl’s bathrooms.

A writer on Twitter, Jared DeLoof, expressed disdain for conservative objections to the proposed rules. It’s still a free country, so I wrote this response: “More than 1,000 concerned citizens arrived but couldn’t get into the meeting. What is extremist about parents not wanting biological males in the girl’s bathrooms?”

Mark at @MarkRichins1, a transgender supporter, immediately responded and asked me this question: “How do you know if someone is “a biological male”? What happens for XXY kids? Or kids born with ambiguous genitalia?”

I responded:” I really don’t want to get into this, but I must reply. I gave birth to a son and a daughter. I noticed the son had a penis, so he was a biological male. As for the examples you mentioned, what are the statistics? I’ve been alive seven decades, and I haven’t met them.”

That prompted this sweet response from @Manders719:  “Bless your ignorant heart Elaine.” I prepared a response, but she blocked me. So did @Sisyphus43. Apparently, bullies now use a drive-by approach to conversation. Write something nasty, then block the recipients so they can’t respond.

I also commented on a Tweet from Boise City Councilwoman Lisa Sanchez. She moved away from the District required to retain her seat, so she can’t be on the Council. I wrote a true statement about the racist comments she has made. Some locals weren’t happy with me.

Happy RINO @FredWaddel wrote “You’re supposed to be a humor author and this is the best you got? Might need a job change. Try the IFF.”  Oh, Happy Rino, why would you write that to a funny grandmother with heart disease?

An “Antifa Whisperer” at @AntifaWhisperer said I was “Trash.” I find a certain irony in that statement considering how Antifa trashed cities across the country.

@Thomg57 said my “white privilege was hurt.”  I think he found that line in “Liberal Insults to Own the Man.”

There was an obscene comment from @Plasstastic., a guy using the clever name Elon Musky: “Hey Elaine, Eat a giant turd for breakfast.” I reported the tweet to the real Elon Musk.

Here’s one more example to prove the tragic death of wit. Meowmix64 wrote: “You’re too old to still be this ignorant.” I’ve never met this woman. Yes, I’m old and have numerous traits, but ignorance is not one of them.

Why do these people have the right to say whatever they want, but I am condemned for expressing my opinion?

As a free public service, I will teach these struggling, spitting writers how to better articulate their personal grievances against this goofy, misunderstood grandmother. Here’s a blog post I wrote a few years ago. Obviously, they didn’t read it.

 

 

Lamenting the Loss of Literary Insults

At a recent live production, the word “motherf***er” was spoken, much to the delight and approval of the audience. I cringed at the offensive profanity, proving my lonely status as an ancient but lovable old fart. William Shakespeare, the great English poet and playwright who died more than 500 years ago, created a similar insult in his play Titus Andronicus with the words, “Villain, I have done thy mother.” Isn’t that better?

Profanity is mainstream in conversation, online sites, books, movies, blogs, and most school playgrounds. But some of us still refuse to write the f-word, and I resort to asterisks because I can’t do it. The word is brutal and vile, and lacks literary and lyrical language used in outdated manuscripts. Consider more of Shakespeare’s eloquent insults:

“You scullion. You rampallian. You fustilarian. I’ll tickle your catastrophe.”

Who wouldn’t be destroyed with this quote from Falstaff in Henry IV? Any fool can call someone a “son of a bitch.” To truly humiliate a foe with words, try this quote from King Lear:

“Thou art a base, proud, shallow, beggarly, three-suited, hundred-pound, filthy worsted-stocking knave; a lily-liver’d, action-taking, whoreson, glass-gazing, superserviceable, finical rogue; one-trunk-inheriting slave; one that wouldst be a bawd in way of good service, and art nothing but the composition of a knave, beggar, coward, pandar, and the son and heir of a mongrel bitch.”

Shakespeare’s talent excelled beyond the boring insults of “asshole” or “creep.” His characters hurled creative verbal abuses such as “cream-faced loon,” “moldy rogue,” and “a toad; ugly and venomous.” Shakespeare was brilliant for destroying a character’s reputation with a single zinger: “Your virginity breeds mites, much like a cheese.”

My current agitation with the decline of proper language was triggered by an official description printed on the registration form for a national nonfiction book award: “Entrant, or it’s duly authorized representative…” It’s elementary for this association to review its knowledge of basic grammar concerning “it’s” and “its.”

I’ve discovered that some current literary techniques and basic grammar rules are being discounted in favor of “creative license.” Imagine a book titled, “For Who the Bell Tolls” or “As I Lie Dying.” Does it make you cringe? Or, am I a useless curmudgeon, smacking my ruler on the knuckles of last century’s students?

I would love for some young writer to reply to my anguish by using some of Shakespeare’s more infamous insults:

“Thou elvish-mark’d, abortive, rooting hog!”

“Thou sodden-witted lord! Thou hast no more brain than I have in mine elbows!”

“Thou damned and luxurious mountain goat.”

“I’ll beat thee, but I would infect my hands.”

Yes, I would appreciate the label of “luxurious mountain goat” over the crass and trailer-trash accusation of being a “motherf***er.” To paraphrase the Bard, to curse with wit and elegance or not to curse; that is the question.

The Good Morning Project

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(Published on The Huffington Post June 1, 2015)

My acquaintance was bullied on social media, and that experience prompted an idea that could encourage others to make a positive difference while challenging the vile cesspool of cruel trolls who infest the Internet. Let’s call it the “Good Morning Project.”

Last year at a writer’s conference, I was introduced to a vivacious, witty, and successful writer. Michele and I shared the stage during a stand-up comedy night, and saw each other briefly during the rest of the event. Later we became friends on Facebook and followed each other’s comments. I admired her personality and talents, and we became associates from across the country.

Recently she was verbally attacked through social media by a former acquaintance who called her vile names and wrote derogatory accusations about her. She was devastated, and she wrote about her bewilderment and pain. I felt her anguish and wanted to help but our homes were too far apart to meet and share a conversation. So I greeted her every morning on Facebook.

“Good Morning, Michele,” I wrote. “I think you’re wonderful.”

She replied with gratitude, and that started the daily exchange of messages.

I thought of her every morning as I sat to read my emails. I remembered some previous messages she had published through her Facebook posts, so I included them to personalize the next good morning message. After the third morning, she caught on to what I was doing. Again, she expressed her thanks.

The morning communications occurred for several days and became a habit. I would begin my day thinking about her and about what I could say to be positive. The entire action took less than five minutes but provided affirmative validation for both of us.

My mother’s generation of women visited and supported each other through regular conversations over coffee or over the backyard fence. A generation later, women my age moved into the work force and rarely had time for close friendships because we were too busy balancing work, families, and homes. The Internet was new to us, and we were justified in being cautious about online exchanges.

Now all ages use social media to communicate, and an online presence is an important part of our daily professional and personal lives. However, just as the Internet can become the supportive and friendly coffee klatch of yesterday, it also contains a dark side that brings out the worst of society. The anonymity gives nasty, insecure, and pathetic users the access and ability to publicly threaten, criticize, and hurt others without fear of consequence or reprisal. Online comment sections are becoming a sewer attraction for those I call Drive-by Bullies.

You can help alleviate some of the damage caused by trolls by participating in your own “Good Morning Project.” Select a random name from your list of social media contacts and send a quick, personalized message to her or him in the morning. Continue for a few days and note how the practice improves your attitude, too. Monitor feedback and stop the messages if you think the other person doesn’t need or appreciate them. Select another name and continue the brief exchange.

There are other sites that offer the same service, but the messages are generic and don’t offer a personalized greeting. Positive, significant words enhance the connection between two people, and through the proper use of technology, we can retain our humanity and strengthen important friendships. Good Morning, Michele.

My Troll Hates my Pubic Writings

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A blog has the power to amuse, enlighten, or irritate anyone with access to the Internet and a toddler’s ability to communicate. Bloggers take risks and push the publish button anyway. I’ve had my share of trolls, and I usually delete their messages and chose instead to bask in the occasional complimentary notes. But, now I have a troll who continues to taunt me to publish his messages “if you have the backbone to publish my comment.” And, he says he doesn’t like my pubic writings.

As far as I know, I’ve never blogged about anything pubic. I often write about drinking wine, chasing Studley around the house, and farting in public, but I’ve never mentioned anything about my southern regions. At my age, that’s a wise decision.

So, my troll’s name is Warren, and he began sending messages last week after I posted a blog about convicted sex offenders. My target audience is middle-age women and I wrote the blog for those of us who are grandmothers. Warren doesn’t fit the demographic. His first comment was 275 words, half as long as my blog, and he told me I wasn’t informed about my subject, even though I had researched and cited official sources. I chose not to publish his comment on my website. (After all, Warren, it is my website. Write your own if you want.)

But, Warren was greatly irritated that I ignored him. He sent another message accusing me of running and hiding from the truth included in his original comment. And he said I was shameful. By now, Warren was beginning to irritate me.

A third email arrived with such a glaring error that nasty, ole’ Warren made me laugh out loud. “Censuring differing views (including mine) on your pubic writings…is not very becoming.” (As God is my witness, Warren, I will never expose my pubic writings to you. I agree with you. It would not be very becoming.)

Warren remained mad at me for not publishing his comments on my website. He sent me five messages in two days and the last one was complete with accusations. “You are a liar. You just keep running from the facts and the truth. You are no better than the rest of the media. Fear sells, right? Nice try.”

I don’t know whether to be bored or worried. Warren obviously has issues, and he doesn’t like me at all. I usually wouldn’t care, but he has information about me and where I live. I also wonder why he’s so adamant about the legal registry of convicted sex offenders. (Sorry, Warren. I don’t like convicted sex offenders, and I don’t want to live next to them. If you are on that registry, get professional help, and leave me alone.) I think I’ll return to writing humor. Trolls on my funny blogs are usually silly drunks.

Are You a Victim of CRAP on the Internet?

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I have CRAP Disease, a malady that stands for Compulsive Reader of Angry Posts. I know that certain messages on social media will cause sniveling trolls to wake from their burrow in the basement to slobber over their keyboards, grunt with excitement, and feverishly hurl illiterate, nasty, and incoherent comments. I start to read them anyway, even though I’ll regret seeing proof that colossal fools live among us and threaten to rot the fragile fabric of civilization.

CRAP disease can infest your soul and leave you a cynical, bitter wretch full of CRAP. Be careful, or you also could become a victim.

Here’s how to determine if you’re susceptible to becoming a Compulsive Reader of Angry Posts.

  1. You read comments that others leave on online news articles. Big mistake. Trolls think they know more than elected officials, trained media personnel, and educated professionals. Facts aren’t necessary. They will write just to infect you because they love being full of CRAP and want to share.
  2. You are uncontrollably attracted to comments that include multiple exclamation points!!! Yes, the writer really, really, really wants to shout at strangers. Fight the urge to debate or you’ll end up with CRAP.
  3. You are fascinated with public display of ignorance. We’ve all chuckled at the vitriolic comment that says, “Your an idiot!” Proper grammar and maturity aren’t priorities to people full of CRAP.
  4. You feel a need to help stupid people. Sometimes you’ll gently correct a grammatical or factual error written by someone with limited understanding of basic communication skills. That is another mistake. They will turn on you like a pack of rabid dogs and not let go until you are forced to destroy all your social media accounts, set fire to all your computers and Internet devices, move to a foreign country, and hang a CRAP quarantine sign on your door. If you have a door.
  5. You are a blogger. Beware of the inherent dangers if you post a saucy, 600-word essay on a popular website. The trolls will foam at the mouth and you can almost feel the spray of spit as they pound out snarky remarks besmirching your character, your talent, and your ancestors. Reacting to these comments only will propel you onto the slippery slope toward the cesspool of CRAP.

If you need a CRAP fix, you can dabble in the occasional comment, but be ready to take some vomit-inducing drugs to purge your mind and body of the offensive swill. For example, recently a local television news station posted a Facebook message about a tragic accident where a bicyclist had been hit and killed in traffic. Here is an excerpt from one of the prolific commenters:

“This is the worst state in the united stares…i have been driving sense i was 17…man you people are dumb as a bag rocks were did you get your licenses again bahahahahahaha”

I shouldn’t be so critical, but it’s remarkable to have that many errors in such a short comment. And, as usual, the troll snorted that the rest of us were as “dumb as a bag rocks.” Obviously, my CRAP sensor intensified after reading this and I needed medication to recover. I shut down the computer, poured a glass of wine, and enjoyed a quiet evening free from trolls. Bahahahahahaha.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Love Note to my Internet Trolls

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As a syndicated blogger, I’m accustomed to receiving unsolicited remarks about my posts on various social media websites. Regular readers know I write humor targeted to middle-aged women, and they anticipate a certain level of sassy irreverence. It’s a role I enjoy, mainly because I can write from home while wearing pajamas and sipping wine.

The last few days, however, brought new extremes of praise and punishment for my writing skills. The copious compliments were tempered with caustic criticism, almost enough to crush my delicate soul.

Four of my essays were published last week on the Huffington Post. My only serious piece was about my ailing mother and titled “If My Mother Died Today.” http://www.huffingtonpost.com/elaine-ambrose/caring-for-elderly-parents_b_5979904.html

The post received almost 1,000 favorable likes on Facebook and many middle-aged caregivers wrote to thank me for giving a voice to their feelings.

In the essay, I wrote about playing Tennessee Ernie Ford’s spiritual music for my mother when she was in critical condition in the hospital. I ended the piece with Ford’s familiar saying, “Bless your pea pickin’ heart.” The next day I received a touching email from Ford’s daughter-in-law. She loved the blog and offered to send me some of Ford’s spiritual music. I requested “His Eye is on the Sparrow,” one of my favorites. She responded that she was sending a 40-song collection. I am honored and humbled.

The next day, Huffington Post featured my humorous post titled “Why Small Print Makes us See Red.”

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/elaine-ambrose/small-print_b_5989416.html

The message was an exasperated, satirical plea for manufacturers to increase the size of print on products so middle-aged women wouldn’t need to wear eyeglasses in the shower to decipher the shampoo from the conditioner. The responses came immediately. One person offered to send me a free pair of “Thinoptics” – a pair of reader glasses in a cell phone case. I accepted. Another offered me a deal on Lasik eye surgery. I declined.

The essay received more than 2,600 likes on Facebook, 344 shares and 160 comments. I’ve only been blogging on HuffPo for a month, so the response was exciting. But I was unprepared for the vitriolic assaults. Here are some of the published comments:

“This was supposed to be humorous? Well, keep on trying.”

“”Another female problem to kvetch about.”

“We already cater too much to Boomers.”

“This was humor?”

Additional comments deteriorated into attacks about misplaced priorities, gay rights, and trolls living in basements. I answered a few but then stopped because I didn’t want to get down to their level. I peeked back the next day and found more than 100 positive comments, so I felt better. Still, I wondered what possessed a man (yes, most of the mean comments were from men) to make nasty comments on a humor column targeted to middle-aged women. With all due respect, bless your pea pickin’ hearts but take your sorry asses and go troll somewhere else.