So, like, you know, I keep up with the search-terms on this blog.
Recently, I noticed that I’ve been getting a lot of hits off of the name “Gerard Butler.” There’s no conspiracy going on here: I’ve featured Gerard, and, coincidentally, people are now searching for Gerard, because “RockNRolla” is out. Nothing out of the ordinary, right?
Except that, this morning, I noticed several bizarre, rambling, accusatory comments in my queue. Now, I was a bit harried this morning, seeing as the power kept going out, and I had about forty e-mails to get through before my coffee got cold, so, irritated, I just pressed “delete.”
Now that the day is almost done, though, I have remembered that oddly similar comments were thrown at One Female Canuck, when she wrote about meeting Gerard briefly somewhere. It’s a strange coincidence, and it has me wondering, is there, like, one truly special individual who stalks the blogs of anyone who dares mention Gerard Butler and then goes off on a weird little rant that accuses the author of having a clandestine relationship with this actor?
I suppose there are worse things to be accused of; I’ll take the accusation of bagging Butler over, say, being accused of serial-killing orphans or wearing shoulder-pads, but still, there’s nothing pleasant about being told something along the lines of “you were SEEN with him recently, you home-wrecker, and soon you’ll be EXPOSED!”
It just really annoys me, because I’m a fan of Gerard, and if there is one thing I take seriously it is my fandom. DO NOT IMPINGE ON MY FANDOM. Don’t tell me who I can and cannot write about, whose pictures I can and cannot post, and whose awesomeness I can and cannot speculate upon. My fandom is like a sweet baby tiger with adorable little whiskers, and I am the enraged, roaring mother tigress standing at the cave entrance, about to flail your miserable ass alive for daring to come anywhere near my sacred domain.
OK, seriously now… If you show up on people’s blogs and endlessly prattle on about how “Gerry is [your] man,” chances are, that’s news to him. And, if I were to give you any advice at all, it would be this:
Take a walk. Get out and meet people who exist in close proximity to you, in more than just the two-dimensional sense (action figures of King Leonidas do not count). Your fantasy life, while certainly rich and elaborate, is turning you into a major creepy jackass. It’s sad, it’s pathetic, and it’s not the kind of stuff I want to be staring at when I have my deliciously bad Nescafe.