Travel

Trumped at My Own Game. A Trolling Gone Very Wrong

What is trolling in social media?

A social media troll, by definition, is someone who creates conflict on sites like Twitter, Facebook and Reddit by posting messages that are particularly controversial or inflammatory with the sole intent of provoking an emotional (read: angry) response from other users.

I was taught to troll by a Master Troller who we’ll call ‘John’. This is not his real name. His real name is Jon.

ed7d63c3fd343f10b22d2c26f9d051800ad902b5a9eb3a564c398273c8ca724bWe troll groups that deserve a trolling. Hate groups mainly. We do it for fun, a hobby, a time waster, make each other laugh, and to try and top the last troll the other guy did. It is a form of cyberbullying, but it’s like cyber bullying the Westboro Baptist Church. That OK. No innocent people are harmed in White Hat Trollling.

John successfully disrupted a group of snooty self-impressed acoustic guitarists back when this was all done on a forum. He taught me to troll with intent. Use my own intellect, talents and Google to make these people miserable while manipulating the group. Give them enough rope and haters will turn on themselves.

I have trolled everything from Anti-LGBT sites to Gene Simmon’s fans. I never had one blow up on me like this…

screenshot-2017-01-13-19-07-10I found a group of Donald Trump fans who were calling Michelle Obama’s MOTHER the worst names you can call a black person while feeling this false sense of pride like Trump himself was watching them. The group was called “The Basket of Deplorables” an obvious play on what Hillary Clinton had called Trump supporters. The group was not even hiding the fact that they were a hate group. Screaming racial epithets at any shade of brown darker than a paper bag, hailing fake news as real and real news as fake. 

lindaThey would ask questions like “Should I be able to fly an American Flag on my property any time I want?” followed by HUNDREDS of “Hell Yeahs” and “Libtards better try and stop me” This is not a debatable group. No discussions under any of the threads, just “Hell Yeah” and “God Bless Donald Trump.” No lie. Not big thinkers but there were 43,000 of them, so they had numbers.

I made the fake Facebook account. DontTred Fred. Disabled, big Elvis fan, Trump supporter. A few image grabs uploaded and memes posted on my page and I was off. I posted fake stories I asked stupid questions and I hit ‘like’ on every redneck, hate spewing post. I was in.

The Best way to troll is to stay just close enough to find their weak spot and jab it. Play along, so to speak.”Obama started ISIS!!!!!”

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This group was a cesspool of ugliness and ignorance. I couldn’t take this much stupidity and hate for long. I told John I was outing myself on Friday.

I would tell them all how I made up the stories and how they are assholes and bigots and puppy kickers. I told them I was going to send those racist posts to their places of work. That I had more fake profiles to spy on them in the group. I would point out their hypocrisy and they would all feel like fools and then I would waste their time as I sat back and let the hatred of 43,000 Trump supporters massage my feet and those of my high horse.

That is exactly what I did. John joined the group to send me updates when they tossed me from the group. It was time, Tora, Tora, Tora, I wrote John. DontTred Fred posted my Big Meme explaining how I had made them fools. I posted it with the words “Don’t fuck with the King.”. Then I waited. kirk-cameron

One guy popped up and said “dumbass.”

I replied “lame. Is that the best you got nimrod?”  Goading the Basket of Deplorables group do their best. Come and kill me in my apartment in Terre Haute Indiana.

Then they started coming in.

“Libtard”
“Trump is still the winner”
“Amazing what the left will do”
“Obummer… 

John hopped in to help get the trolling rolling. He started mirroring them, but as a Trump supporter. IN ALLCAPS RUN ON SENTNCES AND MISPELLED WURDS!!!!!1!!

captureWhere was the burst of hate? Could they see my post? I finally told John in a private message that I was confused. Maybe ten people commented and one of them BUSTED JOHN OUT as a fake.

Slowly I came upon the realization that this simple bunch didn’t know I was trolling them. I called them out and they thought it was about someone else. My plan failed due to incoherence on THEIR part. GUYS! GET MAD!  I THINK YOU SUCK AND ARE IDIOTS! Crickets…

I have had my ass handed to me in a debate, I have been caught as a troll, I convinced a death metal band to change their name, but I have never been outwitted by sheer stupidity and obliviousness. AS I WAS TELLING THEM I WAS DOING IT! 

I’m still in the group. Head down. The troll was slain with slow wit and obliviousness. Well played Trump supporters….Well played.

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Donttred Fred. The name is a family name. It’s French/Cajun

Someone turned DontTred Fred into the Facebook Police. They disabled my page until I could provide them proof of my identity. No lie. They wanted a copy of my ID. With Photoshop in hand, my Troll came back to life. Reenergized and ready to jump back into the business of fuckery!

You simple bastards got me this time, but DontTred Fred will be back. Don’t fuck with the King.

Hey, you can have a copy of my last album if you click on the button on the side. Hope you enjoy.

It’s a new Year, I miss my friends especially bad. But it is sunny and my window is open. I hear they are getting an ice storm back home. I love you guys. You know who you are.

Like Follow and all that other stuff. Comment. Do Something for God’s sake!

–Sammy

#deplorables # Trumpsupporters #goldenshowers 

Sushi?! Back home we call that ‘Bait’

My lady was eating sushi the other day. It reminded me of the saying “we call that ‘bait’” but not always… There are guys back home that do a type of fishing called Hoggin’.

Hoggin’ is where you and a buddy, go down to the river and you hop in the water and feel around for a hole or a hollow log. Catfish spend most of their time sedentary and laying in a hole or a hollow log.

When you find that hole you hold your breath and go underwater and then proceed to stick your arm into a hole that you can’t see because of the muddy waters that flow down the Embarras (am-BRA) River. If you are lucky, the catfish will attack you in an effort to escape the hole and it bites your hand. Then you hold onto its mouth and yank it out of the water. It’s very eco-friendly.

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Fish Bait not Sushi.

A catfish is really nothing to mess with. They have TEETH! These guys can pull out monster fish. Unlucky Hoggers can lose a finger to a snapping turtle, snakes, or a muskrat all of which also like to live in the abandoned catfish holes. These men have more courage or less sense than I will ever have. They fish with integrity.

When I was a kid there were two certainties in life

  • Muhammad Ali was always the Champion.
  • Evel Knievel was the toughest man ever.

May 26, 1975. Wembley Arena, London UK. Evel Knievel will jump over thirteen busses. His farthest jump ever.

Earlier that day Evel walks into the empty arena. He was wearing his leathers from the night before, he smells of alcohol and loose women, having been on a bender the past few days. Standing with the ABC Wide World of Sports crew was announcer Frank Gifford.

Frank says “how ya doin’ Evel?” with a knowing chuckle.

Evel replies “I’m feelin’ kinda crispy around the edges Frank.”

Evel takes a look at the thirteen busses and turns to Frank and says “I can’t jump that.”

Frank shocked at Evel’s comment says “WHAT??!”

Evel replies calmly, “I can’t jump that far.”

Frank Says “Come on Evel, let’s get the hell out here. We’ll come up with something.”

Evel says “No no no. I said I was gonna jump. I’m gonna jump. What do you want me to do? Give all these people their money back?”

Ninety-thousand people have filled the arena. Evel steps out of his trailer red, white and mostly blue leathers, cape and cane in hand. Flashbulbs are popping, The American National Anthem is blasting out the PA and fireworks are lighting up the air.

Evel mounts his bike. Not a Japanese crotch rocket, but a heavy ole’Harley Davidson. He
revves up the bike and takes off ,popping wheelies and putting on a show for the crowd who’ve come to see this former white-trash, county fair stuntman.

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May 26th, 1975. Wembley Arena

Evel rides up the edge of the landing ramp and gazes across. The take-off ramp is a stretched rubber band that fades off into the rafters. He takes a run at the ramp but at the last minute he turns and speeds by, milking the suspense and bringing the crowd to frenzy like only a dirt-track-carnie can.

Evel takes one more false run before hitting his ramp and roaring his Harley up the bleachers to the top platform where he turns, then pulls the front wheel right to the edge of the ramp.

Evel is now looking at a ribbon of plywood that ends where the thirteen busses start. He can see completely across the distance he has to jump. He in his mind he knows he’s not going to make it.

With a deep breath and a quick prayer, Evel gives his crew the thumbs up. It’s a go!

Evel guns the Harley and screams down the nearly vertical ramp! He’s helling down at top speed! The crowd is on its feet. The screaming is deafening! More flashbulbs pop as Evel hits the end of the ramp and into history!!!!! Now THAT is integrity.

Muhammad Ali died yesterday.

In my mind there are still two certainties.

  • Muhammad Ali will always be the Champion of the World.
  • Evel Knievel will always be the toughest man ever.

You can’t say they weren’t men of their word.

Mom and Dad let me stay up late and watch Ali fight on TV late in his career. That was pretty cool.


Hey do me a solid and hit ‘follow’ and ‘like’ I’d love to meet some of the weirdos who read this drivel. Leave me a hello or something in the comments. 

Christian Rockers are Some Sick Mother F***r’s

Listen up sports fans! I’m dying a slow death. Suicide by still life. This is an artist community of people who paint nothing but bowls and pitchers with avocados or apples. The brave will throw some grapes in there.

I had to draw these in art class when I was in high school. I hated it then and I hate them now. Some of these guys can paint them with such realism that you could make a good bet it was a photo. Which brings up the point of painting it in the first place when you could have just taken a picture and not spent a year getting the colors to blend just right on a freakin apple.

There was an art show this weekend. They tossed some heavy dough into a big tent, people organizing and judging, setting up displays, and then they hung 100’s of still life paintings throughout the tent. Some of them had ribbons. Big blue ribbons. They said “Your picture of this bottle/avocado theme is the best bottle/random fruit in this category!” There must have been only two categories. Amateur bottle/random fruit painters and Professional bottle /and random fruit painters.

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This picture inspires me to bust the bottle and cut someone with it while eating an apple.

I assume there was no cash award, making the amateur a professional by definition.

The music. I have been trying to meet some musicians so I’ll have someone to buy pot from since I got here. I answered an ad on craigslist for a guitarist. When they replied the choice of material was obscure and benign. If ever a town needed a pair of jeans, a chain drive wallet, a pair of Chuck Taylors, and a three-chord-shit-kickin’ band busting out Travelin’ Band like they were playing it as if their life depended on it, this is the place.

Where is the passion? The beauty of simplicity, the beauty of painting outside the lines? Like a child. There are no rules. Will my lowbrow style even be considered art here? What if it’s not? I won’t be offended, mine will seethe with sweat, anger, danger and humor. Art without passion is Still Life, music without it is Christian Rock.

What if I told you I was going to start a band, but were only going to sing about ducks. A whole album about me following a duck, or simply saying what a great duck it is. People eat duck so I could sing about various ways to eat duck. It’s a myth that ducks don’t make an echo… After that I’m out of ideas. Maybe I could write a song or two about a duck when the mood hits me, and then write about a cow, or other bovine.

I’ll never understand Christian Rock. I helped out my Mom’s church by playing in a one time band playing three songs. All mid-tempo, extreme graphic violent accounts for the entire lyric and the chorus guilts us into buying a CD because my grandson likes Rock and Roll music. It’s not the music. It’s Christian Rock listeners. Are you kidding me? Hillsong? Casting Crowns? No one smiles. Not the band, Not the audience just the road manager counting the receipts back stage.

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Christian Rock. Not a smile in the creepy-ass crowd

Nothing creeps me out more than the hand raising. It’s way too “Hitler Youth” for me to swallow. Put your hands down and put them together. Maybe Hillsong will crack a smile as they describe Jesus being nailed to a tree. Metallica wrote a song about being trapped under ice on the Ride the Lightning album plus the title song, which I suppose is another description of death. Neither coming close to the description of the Passion. Christian rockers are some sick mother fuckers. A musical snuff film. I have news for you. You can love God and AC/DC.

Longtime AC/DC frontman, Brian Johnson has lost his hearing mid-tour. As the replacement for the late Bon Scott.  Brian could hit the notes and snarled out a comeback album like Back in Black. Due to Brian’s hearing problems the band just let him go. They will be finishing the tour with the dreaded Axl Rose singing lead.

I can only hope they are hiring Axl on to finish the tour, give the fans something special and all of it being a tip of the hat to B. Johnson. If he’s filling in to finish the tour, then Axl will be a hero. If he feels he’s replacing Brian then he will be the villain. I kind of like the idea. Beats trying to buy a ticket for an oldies act from the 80’s with one amazing album under their belt.

AC/DC fans are having a ball. For those about to rock...

AC/DC fans are having a ball. For those about to rock…

GnR back together, doesn’t thrill me and I LOVE the original version of the group. Appetite was on my turntable when it came out. IN 1987! Kids today weren’t even born then. Guys you have been a day late and a dollar short since you became superstars. It’ll be a big-time grossing tour, but it’ll also be playing the oldies, a picture of a once great band. A snapshot of the past. A still life.

Ever notice Axl sound like Ethel Merman? Knock, knock, knockin on heaven’s dow-wow… juxtaposed with There’s NO business like SHOW business….

Ethel Merman was in It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World with and actor named Tyler McVey. McVey was in the movie Captain Newman, M.D. with The Great Santini himself, Robert Duvall.

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Listen up hog!

 I’m 100% immersed into John Steinbeck country. The places I’ve read about in some of my favorite books are right here. I went to the Steinbeck Center the other day. It was pretty stiff. I did get to see his camper from the non-fiction travelogue Travels with Charley and his handwriting and typewriter. All for twelve bucks.

“It ain’t much of a crime, whackin’ a surly bartender.” ~ Captain Augustus McCrae (Robert Duvall)

~Arlo

 

 

Reverend Horton Heat

Head west. When you get to the Pacific, take a right.

When I was traveling for a living I always had a sense of dread when I came back to my home town. The faces looked the same except the names illuded me.

The town I live in is like every other Mid-western town. A population of 1500 people. One four-way stoplight and a Casey’s General store. The best business in town are the bars. I used to pull in and get ready for soundcheck and visit and meet old friends. As I’m walking through the bar I see the same faces I saw the last time I was in town, only a small section of a younger crowd. The soon to be regulars, who will take the places of the alcoholics at Greenup-Il-Signthe end of the bar. Similar to an assembly line of human livers, alcoholism, and ultimately death. Everyone just moves over one seat.

I don’t know what to feel. Pity? That they think a ballgame and a night out in the tourist trap nearby city is a vacation. Never knowing about the bands who play where the locals listen or that great restaurant in a different part of town. How much of an asshole does this make me for feeling pity at what brings these folks such joy. Pompous ass. I’m adding to the problem. I can’t make anyone want more? It’s like music. “Oh you hate that song, let me explain to you why you are wrong.”

I have no idea where I got the different tastes, or liberal values. It has to be through music and reading. Visiting cities like NYC or London, riding a bicycle along the Revolutionary War Trail with nothing but what you can carry on your bike. White water rafting in Yosemite and West Virginia. Hitchhiking to gigs with an amp and a guitar, because my car broke down… More adventures than I ever expected and now that things have slowed down to a speed I can handle, I will be adventuring again. Remembering that thrill. The unknowing, the “can I do it?” that has been missing for so long.

Small town or not. These are the people who never questioned why I was home. The girls at the grocery store call me by name. Same for the bank, or a person walking down your street. I probably know you. You listened when I cried and you laughed when I laughed. You asked me to use my skills to raise money for friends and friends of friends. I will do it happily. If I pass you on the street I will smile and I will hold the door open for you.

Some of the best people and closest friends are here. Trapped maybe, or by choice.

You see a small town has a way of making you feel secure. It’s like setting on a couch with a broken spring. Comfortable enough for a while but a bitch to get out of when you are ready to go. I confuse boredom with stability.

There are a lot of people I will miss. In my old life my job was to entertain as many people as I could. I accepted everyone for the chance of selling a song, or another face at the gig. I

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The Village Of Porches. Greenup, IL

have been exploiting myself for so long it just comes natural.

I weeded my FB account down to only people I could actually speak to, and actually knew and cared about. Not to say that I don’t care about others, but some chick who I met at a show and liked my songs is my friend? She doesn’t remember where she knows me. And why should she? Hopefully the song made a bigger impact.

Maybe that’s me. Maybe art, music, far-out ideas. Maybe the things that I read and have seen impacted me more than the familiarity and community of knowing people and knowing they would smile back and thank you. The older ladies used to ask who my Father was. That’s how you are known and that is passed on in the oral tradition. I now ask the kids who their folks are. “Oh yeah, I know your dad. Let me tell tell you how he got his nickname. I was there!” Kids don’t wanna hear that shit. Kids wanna rock.

–Arlo

P.S. I Love You

This movie sucks and I’m walking out.

I’ve walked out of dozens of movies. I have seen thousands of movies I would have walked out on had I had the chance to. I love movies and haven’t seen a good one in years.

I’ve never went to a movie just so I could walk out about 30 or 40 minutes in. I do it in a heartbeat. Do something, even if it is wrong. Beats sitting for an hour or so knowing it’s going to suck. I’ll take my chances.

Toward the blissful twilight of my doomed marriage, Becca made me go see a creepy chick flick called “P.S. I Love You” It’s about this couple. A handsome couple. The guy dies, but before he does he leaves all these cryptic posthumous letters and gifts seemingly from the grave. The movie is the Notebook, Night of the Living Dead and the Davinci Code in a ps_i_love_you-1poignant, paint-by-the-numbers and heartwarming package. The only saving grace I had, were three middle-aged women setting directly behind me giving a play by play in their speaking voices. I still remember one of them saying “Oh my God! Ireland!”

Fact 1. That movie sucked. I don’t need every movie to be the Road Warrior but come on, at least some gratuitous nudity.

Fact 2. My wife was probably screwing around on me at the the time.

Fact 3. THAT guy should have had to set through that piece of shit movie.

Fuck that.

I’m out of here…

~Arlo