The perils of having a common name (or pseudonym)
So I was tapping away at the keyboard today, as you do, when I got a ping that someone had messaged me on my FB page. I thought, “Oh, maybe it’s someone with a question or comment about one of the books, or it’s the translator who’s currently translating Two to Tango into German. I’d better check it out.”
I opened Facebook and headed to the Messages window, where I found the most astoundingly incomprehensible yet vitriolic message waiting for me:
U wndnt know smutt if hit u in face lol
Statin facks .great mate eh funny when no cunt knows when u hit bk x
Thaught bab writer .u got hidden talent.dnt think so
Now, due to family connections I recognize this as British text speak, most likely from somewhere north of the Watford Gap. I wasn’t sure if someone had gotten pissed off about my recent post about the election or what, so I opened a dialog with the individual to find out what was wrong. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to parse what this person was saying, apart from the interspersed invitation for me to go suck a dick or fuck a guy whose name starts with J. I finally broke it off and blocked her (because life is too short to waste on people who can’t be bothered to use the Queen’s English), then got in touch with the family connection mentioned above to see if maybe this was somehow coming from that direction, including the individual’s FB profile for further clarification.
FC had no idea who the individual was, but did note that the guy I was invited to go fuck was apparently one of the individual’s friends. We decided that this was a case of alcohol meeting vituperative Facebook stalking gone awry.
So, just in case this individual stumbles across this website (because hey, you never know), hon, you made a mistake. I don’t live in England, I’m not fucking this Jamie person, and there are a lot of Nicola Camerons out there and you really shouldn’t jump on the first one you find.
How was your Saturday?