Charlton, The Trigger-Happy Ghost

I don't ask a lot of my Facebook friends.

I know they're not all like me, and to be frank this world would be a rather scarier place were there more than one of me.  I realize they're all from different (in some cases radically different) walks of life, brought together on my profile by the common thread of myself--a tenuous thread indeed in some cases.  Accordingly, I realize all these people have their own unique tastes and viewpoints.  That's fine.  I'm not going to agree with all (or even most) of it, but then I'm into some pretty weird shit myself.  They can put up with me, I can put up with them.  In fact, there's really one thing I ask of my Facebook friends.

Don't be a fucking imbecile.

Allow me to explain what brings this on.  Until rather recently I had a certain fellow on my friends list, a guy I had known casually in high school.  This man, whom I shall refer to as "F.H." (short for "Fuck Head"), had managed something I very much had not and found a niche in the sedate redneck milieu of our mutual alma mater.  Reconnecting with him hadn't been something I'd planned--his name had popped up on my recommended list, I remembered not completely hating him and clicked "Add".  Nor, for that matter, did we ever directly communicate--his posts appeared in my news feed, vice versa, and that's as far as it went. 

At first I noticed only two things about F.H.'s posts--his atrocious grammar and his apparent all-consuming obsession with firearms.  Both of these, however, are pretty par for the course in that part of the world, so I didn't fuss about it.

But it wasn't long before F.H. gave me something to fuss about.

As you may have heard, the proposed plans to build a mosque near the site of the 9/11 attacks has aroused something of a furor amongst the more reactionary elements of this country's political landscape.  Aaaaaand right away you can probably see where I'm going with this.  Or rather, you think you can see where I'm going with this.  I've heard enough xenophobic fear-mongering over the past nine years to harbor the foolish belief that nothing could surprise me anymore.  Man oh man oh man was I ever wrong.

 So what were F.H.'s proverbial two cents on the subject?  He was...in favor of the mosque's construction.  Not for any of the typical, sensible, sane reasons, you understand.  No, F.H. approved the project for one reason, and one reason only...

Now, before I continue, I must insist that you, as a passive participant, make certain you are physically and mentally prepared for what I am about to relate.  I am not one to worry overmuch about the well-being and/or sensibilities of my potential readership.  I take it as a given that any reader of this blog knows what to expect, or failing that simply finds the subject matter not to his/her tastes and departs in disinterest/horror, never to return.  Problem solved either way, right?  Still, this is a bit outside the norm by TIP standards.  I just want to make absolutely certain this is understood.

So.  Seated comfortably?  Any sharp objects stored safely out of reach?  Not suffering from any ailments potentially exacerbated by shock?

All right then.

F.H. stated it was his belief the Ground Zero mosque should be built so that it could be haunted by the restless spirits of those who died on 9/11.

Yeah.

No...no!  I'm not fucking making that up.  He actually said that.

YES, F.H. is real!  This isn't some kind of incisive satire of the American right!  This is something a real, living person, one whom I have personally met, said and presumably believes!  No, I don't think he was joking!  Even if he was, it doesn't really help 'cuz it means he's really, really, really bad at telling jokes!

I mean...Jesus.  From this point on, every time I think I'm being a wee bit harsh in my estimations of my erstwhile hometown, every time I consider the idea I missed a prime opportunity to learn how to make the best of a bad situation, every time I entertain the notion I'm just a pretentious, elitist snob...I'm going to remember F.H. and what he said. 

So congratulations, Mr. Head.  You've made my already pretty abysmal childhood memories even more miserable.  It's like you printed them out, stuck them on a target (next to pictures of Osama bin Laden and Barack Obama, no doubt) and chewed them to bits with dozens of MP5 rounds.  I do hope you're pleased with yourself. 

So what did I do after he posted this comment?  Well at first I thought it important not to overreact; I merely hid his comments on my feed.  A day later I thought better of it and removed him from my friends list.  I briefly considered making this blog entry a name-and-shame exercise, but decided at last on an unflattering pseudonym, partly out of a desire not to alienate other high-school acquaintances still on my friends list, but mostly out of a desire to avoid being shot. 

The deed done, I found myself having twinges of something resembling second thoughts.  Had I just proven myself a hypocrite?  Was I not punishing F.H. for speaking his mind, something I myself have always insisted on doing?  Wasn't he entitled to his own dumbass opinions, just like me and everyone else?  And it's not like I'm any sort of virtuous paragon--I mocked a former Senator mere hours after his death, for fuck's sake.

In the end, I decided the expression of the opinion itself wasn't what bothered me, so much as the completely and utterly balls-out retarded means in which it was expressed.  Invoking the tragedy of 9/11 is a tasteless rhetorical device at the best of times, but turning it into an episode of Tales From The Crypt is sinking to a downright chthonic low. 

Hence, the banhammer.  Entitled to his opinion F.H. may be, but he's not entitled to my goddamn Facebook page.