Trolling Christards.

Emerging technology presents new challenges for the social conventions governing the ever increasing amount of time we spend interacting socially.  Now that Facebook lets us friend people we don't know and participate in their conversations with an informal ease never previously available for complete strangers to express their opinions, the distance which divides us is brought into sharp focus, as is the importance of maintaining protocols of conduct without which, pointless argument ensues.

As the mores of social networking interaction develop, so new words arise. One of these is 'troll'.  A troll is someone who posts inflammatory, off-topic, self serving messages.
The second is 'Christard.' A Christard is a Christain devout to the point of mental retardation, incapable of rational thought and inflexibly drawn to delusional belief.

The young Mr. Zuckerberg in all his prescient wisdom contrived two alternatives for the Troll and the Christard.  The Unfriend  and the Block option, which I was drawn to yesterday when a South African Christard troll with an uncanny resemblance to the famous silver bearded horse-riding dullard Christard Eugene Terreblanche, took exception to my comment that Leviticus, that odious collection of hateful instruction from the Bible, had its origins in the authors homosexual urge, based on the observation ‎"Can there be any more plausible explanation for this need to kill homosexuals than the inner conflict with that very urge?" 

My troll christard correspondent began by name calling.  Poep hal (South African for an asshole, often used in a derisory context with  homosexuals) and before long addressed me as an idiot who was spouting pro gay rhetoric, for which I was told I would go to hell, and he would help put me out of my misery. 

My reply to which follows:

"John, you have labelled me an idiot, which is your right to assume, but to presume I am in 'misery' is a step too far. You have no insight into my emotional state and as is the case with much of what you have written here, presuming my 'misery' is unreliable. Leviticus was gay. Fact. I am not made miserable by this information. Quite the contrary - unlike every Christian believer I am not intolerant of those who do not conform to my blind-faith based belief and would more readily extend the words of friendly banter than the barbs and arrows of outrageous prejudiced toxic-intolerance that characterises both your words here as well as your wildly exposed, ridiculous belief system with its inherent hateful message of condemn and convert - if your not for me your against me and if your against me you go to hell for all eternity - whose legacy is the greatest scourge to have visited mans evolutionary progress through the ages."

What followed was a ream of standard Christian dogma on blasphemy with the assurance that Hell follows that kind of talk and that it was  a "Good idea not to mock others' belief systems and worldviews." 
   

To which my reply was:

"John, I think you have identified the core issue.  The position we take in respect of beliefs that we do not agree with.  I disagree with your view that it is 'not a good idea'. I think it is an essential part of defining ones own position in the same way that remaining silent in the face of evil actions makes you complicit in that conduct. 

Lets examine the arguments merits using the example of pedophilia. Those who allow the sexual attraction toward young children to direct their belief systems and worldviews. I disagree with their views. I feel so strongly that their way, their choices in respect of what they believe, their worldviews and how that act in accordance with those beliefs, is so harmful and at so much at odds with my own belief in a kind and generous, caring model of a wonderful world, that I will stop at nothing to 'mock and offend' their beliefs. 

Take Islam. A belief system in which a polygamous prophet slaughtered thousands with his own hand, whilst positioning women as chattels, and happily establishing through his own marriage that sex with a 9 year old is appropriate for a man of 52. This conduct and all that this belief system represents exists at odds with my belief in a kind, caring, sharing wonderful world. Therefore I feel it is not just a good idea to mock this barbaric belief system and the worldviews it presents, but, for anyone with double figure IQ, an ethical responsibility. 

Allowed untouched by the voice and action of reasoned argument, this barbarism in the guise of religious belief will return man to the dark ages. One has to look no further than that most perfect of Islamic sects, Boko Haram, and their right-on-the money understanding that religion can only survive in the absence of education. 

Religion without suspension of rational thought, cannot exist. It relies on the unnatural shutting down of rational thought process, in a process called blind faith which might be better named, self-lobotomy.   This belief that religious subjugation, the blind faith avenue to a set of polarisingly divisive conditions determining a heaven for the willing and a hell for the rest, always ends in the same place.

Which brings us to why I, and others like me, feel it is a responsibility to ‘mock’ world views that threaten the survival of our species. The arguments in support of this are widely known to anyone willing to invest even basic research into the subject. Clearly, Christian belief allowed to run unchecked will end the world as we know it in the Armageddon nuclear explosion that hundreds of millions of Christians adamantly believe will happen in their lifetimes, and who will support the system of warmongery that best ensures this so called prophecy. 

Because I believe the submission to ignorance in the stead of reason enables any form of sheeplike exploitation leading to any form of dreadful conduct, as has been shown to be the case over and over and over again, from Bush the Christian who killed a hundred thousand Muslims to make his daddy proud and because God told him to, to any number of similar instances of what happens when you allow blind faith to be your guide. You become blind to reason and become capable of any form of irrational interpretation for which you have a built in excuse for failure, without any personal accountability.  This level of toxic thought, given the widespread extent to which it has taken a hold,  threatens the survival of the planet and the existence of mankind. Religious belief more than any other single cause is the one most likely to lead to mans extinction. Like a fungus growing on the lake of life, its spread kills off the light for all the other organisms in the lake, until, allowed to spread unchecked, the entire surface of the lake is clogged with this suffocating fungus and the lakes life ends. You and your beliefs are that spreading fungus.

Despite knowing many Christians, and knowing how offended and aggressive they become having their world views challenged and mocked, I feel to do any less would make me complicit in the style of mental-sloth which Christianity demands, being as dangerous as it is unattractive.

I am sure you are a perfectly decent fellow, and that calling me a ‘poep hall’ and an idiot who ‘promotes homosexuality’ is in no way reflective of your usual social etiquette, but simply the demonstration of a thoroughly common reaction to criticism of Religious belief. 

My replies have not been personal in any way, which is the point of writing here. It is not personal. There is no call for rudeness or attacks on the person. It is an issue we discuss, in which we hold differing views. The main difference between us is that my belief system, which is essentially strive for a kind caring sharing world that takes care of everyone, does not threaten your existence in any way. I have no provision for an imaginary ‘hell or heaven’ consequence and my need to convince you of how right I am is non-existent. Your views, the Christian doctrine, however are threatening, condemnatory and dangerous, in light of which, remaining silent would make me complicit in, at the very least, conspiracy to commit extinction."

The friendship ended soon after, with a push of the block button, but still the trolling Christard instinct demanded he write to another of the correspondents on the thread, my friend Sir Orpington of Hamburg, serving him with the HELL card and with this lovely reminder for the coward who blocked him because he could not withstand the replies.  

"If you're brave enough, or stupid enough, mock on. After all you have nothing to fear do you, if he's that "silly old imaginary bloke in the sky"? He states clearly a number of times that it is not His desire that any should perish. He's not waiting to whack you over the head, or worse, so that He can ship you off to Hell. He loves every person whom He created, including you, so much, that he sent His Son, Jesus to die on the cross, as a propitiation for everyone's sin, so that they need not die a second (eternal) death.
He is a Holy God and cannot accept, or be in the presence of sin. At the time when He governed over Israel directly, a pure lamb had to be sacrificed so that He could forgive the sin of the perpetrator."

This style of content totaled over 6,000 words on one Facebook thread.

A Psychiatrist friend who read Mr. Langermans 6,000 word troll session, commented "patients spouting this sort of delusional nonsense are immediate candidates for 48 hours observation on a lockup ward."

My Sun story.

With Kelvin Mackenzie giving evidence to the Leveson enquiry, I am reminded of a fabulous memory of when I tried to impress a bar maid by making up a story in the Sun, which Kelvin Mackenzie paid for and published. Here is  the story which I call; 

 

The Sun, the truth and Melanie.

In 1993 I had a weekly gig at the Albany pub in Thames Ditton, a popular riverside venue opposite Hampton Court Palace in Surrey where, every Saturday night from 9, I would perform two fifty minute sets of popular songs to a room filled with seasoned music loving drinkers, one of which was a great friend of mine, Mike Rick.

Mike was an American, exactly the same age as myself, we were born 15 days apart, who once played drums with Steppenwolf and worked as a Chippendale in Los Angeles before arriving in Surrey a few years previously. Mike was a popular local character, tall, blond haired blue eyed with a six-pack, which he would display at any given opportunity, and that year he attended every one of my 280 gigs in London and surrounds.

With two young children to support, Mike had turned his back on his acting and modeling career to set up a Photo agency, the Mike Rick Agency (MRA) through which he would sell any manner of photo to any manner of buyer.

One Monday night on a rare night off from work, I arranged to meet Mike for a pub meal at the Albany, where landlady Denieze ran a quite outstanding kitchen offering home cooked traditional pub meals at the shortest of notice. While I waited at the bar for Mikes arrival I looked through the pile of the previous days papers. A copy of the News of the World had dedicated its entire front page to the story of a wife swapping arrangement gone wrong.  I read the story to learn that the two couples, who were local to the area, were in court after one of the men, a serving police officer, had attempted to murder his wife following her unsanctioned meeting with the husband of the other. Pretty standard NOTW fare.

Behind the bar that night was the buxomly attractive Melanie. A flirtatious 19 year old who lived in one of the neighboring roads, and always worked on the nights I performed. 

It was a quiet Monday in the bar and so Melanie joined us in conversation, remarking on the NOTW story about the wife swapping couples. The conversation led to the subject of chequebook journalism and soon after that, I explained to Melanie that ‘As long as you identify the demand for a story, you can make up more or less anything and the tabloids will print it.’

Incredulously Melanie asked "How does that work then. Surely they can’t print made up stories."

“How it works is simple supply and demand. You look at what the demand is for. For instance, looking at yesterday’s papers, they all have a wife-swapping story. They will want more stories on that same subject. So if you supply a new wife swapping story, they will almost certainly print it.”

“Your making that up" said Melanie. “They can’t run made up stories."

A customer arrived, demanding Melanie’s pint pulling attention and once she left my conversation with Mike turned to a dare. “I’ll bet you I can make up a story about wife swapping and get the Sun to run it, and then show it to Melanie to demonstrate how easy it is to make up stories.”

“You write it up and I’ll sell it in" was Mikes reply.

Soon after finishing our meal I went home and started to write my Sun piece. 1,000 words, telling the story of a couple, who lived in Surbiton, which seemed to me a prime location for this sort of suburban past time. Because the current story was about wife swapping gone bad I decided to make my one provocatively upbeat. My characters would be bored with their long marriage and turn to wife swapping for a bit of fun and then find that it strengthened their marriage and both loved the arrangement, creating an easy opportunity and an open invitation for some editorial moralizing on the tale, as is so integral in a good tabloid story. 

The story wrote itself and half an hour after starting I called Mike to read it to him on the phone.    

‘That’s right on the money’ was his reply. ‘Now all we need are two actors for the photo shoot. They wont run the story without pictures, but with a photo shoot I reckon I will get 2 grand from them, so we could use that to pay actors.’

My friend Ken, who I often did duo gigs with and is a handsome West Indian origin musician, immediately sprang to mind. He was single and game for a laugh and would be grateful for a nice pay day. I called him. 

“Ken, I have a possible gig for you. Will take you one hour and pay you one thousand pounds. Interested?”

“What’s involved..”

“Its an acting gig for a Sun story that I am making up to prove a point to the barmaid at the Albany. You come round to Mikes tomorrow. I have a script. Read the script and recite it. In a nutshell, you will be a married man who does a bit of wife swapping. You love it and it has done wonders for your marriage. They take a photo or two of you and your wife and that’s it. About a Month later they pay the bill and you get a thousand pounds.”

“What time shall I be there” asked Ken.

As his wife for the purposes of my story I asked another musician I knew who would appreciate a four figure payday for a one hour photo-shoot, Audrienne. Her reply to my request was “Where do I sign.”

Tuesday morning arrived and at ten o clock Mike made the call to the Sun Newsdesk, outlining the story on offer and negotiating the £2,000 charge plus his usual agents fee. He called me straight after to confirm the sale and that the journalist and photographer were scheduled for 2 pm for the photoshoot and interview at his home in East Molesey.  

Ken and Audrienne showed up at 1.30, thrilled to the bone. "I've never made a thousand pounds an hour before" said Ken. 

Almost exactly at 2 o clock a very polite young pair from the Sun arrived, a photographer and a journalist, who read my two page story, which was of course credited to Ken, before clicking some posed pictures of Ken and Audrienne. Ken wore a suit for the occasion and Audrienne dressed up as well, looking very much the part of the couple from Surbiton. The Sun pair left at three, one hours work for my actors as promised.

On Wednesday morning I stopped by the Newsagent on my way for morning coffee and picked up a copy of the Sun. The story was featured as a double page center spread. A fetching picture of Ken and Audrienne and my 1,000 word story edited down somewhat, but more or less exactly as I had written it. As a cherry on the top, on the sidebar of the spread was a comment by Sun Agony Aunt Deirdre Sanders, commenting that although wife swapping had worked for this couple, they were ‘lucky to escape disaster.’ She urged readers not to try it at home, or in the schoolyard.

I enjoyed a wonderful sense of elation that morning as I drank my cappuccino whilst reading a story I had made up just 48 hours previously being presented as news in a National paper read by some 9 Million people. My first thought was, all that cost them was £2,000 plus a few expenses and they filled two entire pages.

That night I went to the Albany to claim my gloating prize from young Melanie.

“Melanie, do you remember our conversation on Monday about making up stories in the paper” I asked. “Yes, you told me papers make up stories” she reminded me accusingly.

“Have you see today’s Sun” I inquired. “No, why should I have” she replied. With a flourish I opened a copy of the Sun to the center page spread and placed it in front of her. She looked down and started reading. “A wife-swapping story. What’s your point" she asked.

“It’s a made up story. I made it up on Monday after we spoke" I said, a little taken aback that she hadn't spotted the obvious. "And here it is appearing as a true story on Wednesday in the Sun.” 

A perplexed expression descended across her face. She scanned the article and found what she was looking for. “Your making it up. It has the name of the journalist with the story and its not you.”

“Well, that’s correct, its not my name on the story, but I did write it, and look at who that is in the picture". Ken had played in the Albany many times and Melanie knew Ken.    

“Why am I looking at this picture” she asked. "Don’t you recognize who that is”. She looked again. ”Its Phil Jefferson” she replied, reading the name I had made up for Ken. 

“Does that not look to you like Ken” I inquired. She looked again. “Yes, it looks a bit like Ken, but this guy is Phil Jefferson, look at the name on the picture”.

Melanie was adamant and would accept none of my attempts to convince her, leaving me with the assurance that the picture of Ken was definitely Phil Jefferson because ‘There is no smoke without fire.’ 

I had set out to demonstrate to a young lady how chequebook journalism follows a supply and demand model placing very little reliance on truth, and although I had failed to convince her, I had succeeded in entertaining an audience of 9 Million along the way, given two musical friends a £1,000 an hour pay day while earning for myself an important lesson.  

My truth was that I had made up a story and seen it published to a huge audience. Melanie's truth is that some fellow named Phil Jefferson and his wife Terri had tried wife-swapping and the Sun had published their story, which, for some strange reason the musician had tried to pretend he had invented.

The overall truth, the one on which tabloid journalism depends, is that you can never overestimate the public stupidity.