Friday, June 17, 2005

So I was going to be a nice guy and give Scott-O-Rama a graceful way to exit this little spat while saving most of his face. And what does he do?


I would like to point out a few things to Mr. O-Rama. First, if you Google the phrase "Famous Author," my Blogger profile is the eighth result, as well as as the twelfth result (via Tin Man's blog), just in case you think the #8 ranking was a fluke. That means I'm the eighth most Famous Author ever. Do you hear me, Scott-O-Rama? Ever!

According to Google -- and remember, the guys who founded it are gazillionaires, so they know what they're doing -- that means I am more Famous than Fitzgerald, Hemingway, Hawthorne, Melville, Wolfe, King, Twain, Poe, all the Whartons and Brontes, Doctorow, Steel, Cartland, Clarke, Dostoyevsky, James, that other James, and all the guys who wrote the Bible.

I rest my case and want a retraction.

Now, in fairness to Scott-O-Rama, I thought I'd Google him to determine our respective levels of fame. But you know what I found? Besides a lot of personal ads, that is? That's right... Scott-O-Rama is a breathing apparatus facepiece! Do you understand what I'm telling you, blogosphere?!

He. Is. Not. Even. Human!

Okay... one last thing before I possibly let this drop for the weekend: Scott-O-Rama desecrated my photo, but hasn't posted a photo of himself as an adult. Fortunately, we have some mutual friends -- who will soon have to make a personally painful decision, of course, but I'll save that for another day -- and I was able to get a copy of his picture.

No desecration necessary. Now do you see why he's so bitter?