You're right, I got blocked. Gotta say quite the pussy move by Sweets. Especially from the guy who's debate plan is "I'll wear them out." The guy who will go so far as to try and murder his brother can't handle people online? To just give up? Really speaks to his lack of character.
Sissy-boy Sweet runs away again. I would enjoy seeing the dawning look of disappointment on his face when his low-watt perception informs him that, by banning you and other critics, he gets no responses from anyone.
He's sperging about Andrew Dice Clay on some guy's work:
Right, so, now that Jon has alienated his 'friends' at AJM and booted off Doc Troy, he's trying to find another person to talk to. Pfft, sure, arright.
Okay, lemme parse some of this:
And I thought
I was the only one who did
fanart of The Diceman.
No one asked to see your crap artwork, Jon.
Ohh!! See, my problem is, I've always been a shy, quiet guy.
Really, Jon?
That's your problem? Uh, no. Just, no. Also, what's with
"Ohh!!"? See a mouse or something?
The only way I could reach out and talk to folks is by doing impersonations. When I felt nervous or put upon, I'd simply step into a voice, and my fears went away. It was great for breaking the ice, making folks laugh-- when in doubt, just lose myself in some another personality. Back in college
Sixteen years ago. SIXTEEN FUCKING YEARS AGO. Let it die, Thumbskull!
I memorized a lot of Dice's routines, particularly 1994's 40 Too Long album. "Forty? Naw, ya fuck! 42 long! 40 fuckin' short!" Well, you know how it is when folks find out you have a knack for something right?
You wouldn't, Jon. Guaran-damn-teed.
--they always want you to do it for their buddies. One night in the cafeteria, some of the fellas got me to stand up and do my Dice bit. So I thought, okay, what the hell? I did an intro, rattled off some observational humor, then hit them with "Peter Peter Pumpkin Eater" and "Little Jack Horner". Pretty soon they were calling me up all the time to perform. I'd be sitting there at my table, complacently eating my dinner, and somebody would come up and ask me to perform "Jack and Jill" for their friends.
Okay, so, it never occurred to Jon that these same people never ate at his table with him? Never asked him to hang out? Never told him that he should go to an open-mic at a comedy club? Dense, man,
dense.
Which I'd do graciously, I didn't mind. Now I'm told it was all a lie.
By whom? As I recall, the only impression we got around here was that you were dumb and being made a fool of. There was no lying involved. If someone said, "Hey, Jon, eat this taco," and you ate it, only to find out it was filled with spit and cat hair, well, double-dummy on you for being so naive. It's the same thing here. Jon was just too socially dunderheaded to figure out what was really happening.
Once again, Sweet has to affix a loaded term to an obvious show of his incompetence in order to feel that he was the victim.
I also find his wording at the end interesting. It really shows how Jon can be swayed by other people.
I sincerely believed these were my friends.
See above.
Dense.
I thought they were laughing with me, but apparently they were laughing at me. I thought I was making them happy, but secretly, all along, they were resenting me. I saw only the hollow laughter on their faces, not the pained tears in their eyes as they silently begged me to stop.
And the cut-rate Tennessee Williams strikes again. In trying to make himself look both wounded
and significant, Jon tries to put words to his tormentor's thoughts. They weren't
resenting him, they were making fun of him. Their laughter wasn't hollow - they weren't forcing it. They were laughing at the freakishly-ugly retard likely squawking and barking in a pathetic attempt to mimic human communication, a bunch of discordant, shouted gibberish that the twisted creature
thought was some kind of impersonation, but was no more than it's typical belching and wheezing.
They didn't resent him - they mocked him. They weren't begging him to stop. Seriously, think about it: Why would they repeatedly request he do the bit, then want him to stop? That makes no sense.
Jon played the fool and they laughed at the fool. Simple enough.
So is the lament of the mealtime comic, that sad, sad clown.
Sad, yes - and ugly.
If we had anything to do with shattering Jon's perception of an ambrosial past at the ASU commissary (we did), then let me say that I, for one, am quite proud to have participated. Congrats, Kiwis! This is our bowling night!
