Internet Mischief, Chapter 86

I love the Internet, and I spend a lot of happy time herein, but there are problems.  For example . . .

Everybody thinks that they are a God-damn genius all of a sudden.  They read; they are informed; they have lived a long time; they have opinions; they interact with people that they think are very smart; for whatever reason they think that their profound experience has somehow created in them a great intelligence.

So, a couple of turns around the block makes someone a genius?

So, merely reading things (on the Internet, no less!) can turn someone into a genius?

So, the mere having of opinions can result in the opinions being valid?

I don't fucking think so.  You're born with intelligence or you're not, and most opinions are crapola, including mine. 

And then there is the related problem of people slinging disrespect on the 'Net in double handfuls because they feel safe from repercussions.   Hiding behind weird Internet gig-names usually, clever little noms de 'Net.  Fifty years ago, if you talked big-time shit to somebody they kicked your ass.  Now, it's all clinical and safe.  Just a little typing and a click or two and you can heap scorn and derision on people you hardly know, vicious ad hominem attacks, and in no uncertain language too.  And they can't touch you! 

"You mean I can talk all of the shit that I want and no one's going start twisting shit up off of me?"

The delight is palpable.

"Damn!  I'll take a double handful of that, and everyday!"

Somehow, on the Internet, every punk is a bully, and every bully a king.

When the end of the common Internet comes, and it might, rabbit, I will care less than most of us, because I still prefer books, and many of them will still be available,  I hope.  If not, I'll write, which is almost as good.