Little Patience with Loser from Liverpool.

First of all, this is what started the fight. PLEASE tell me you find this funny.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4s2O9zTdjTg

My daughters and I sure do. This is Peter, falling into the snow.

If you knew how graceful Peter actually is – and how this pratfall is actually intentional, you’d laugh even harder.

NOW:

My daughter has a YouTube account. She is twelve years old. She has a digital camera that shoots 10-minute YouTube vids. What’s the harm? After all, she found the Charlie the Unicorn videos for me on YouTube, and that alone was worth letting her have the account.

So this jerk comments on the video:

“it was kinda gay but yet i couldn’t turn away from the screen…i watched it like 5 times…i don’t know why!?!?”

HER: he fell on his face, that’s funny and how is that gay?

HIM: you don’t understand because your american!!!!

HER: and u r…?

HIM: english!
i wud lyk it if u didnt reply cus evry time i clik on dis page i hear ur laf!
it goes thru me!
ewe!

ME (enraged mother – unbeknownst to HIM – and, incidentally, someone who has BEEN to England, and who has ABSOLUTELY nothing against England OR against FOOTBALL):
I thought the UK was into that slapstick kind of humor. After all, aren’t you lot the ones who keep Rowan Atkinson making movies? (shudder.)

I could go on with more UK “humor” – which sometimes IS quite funny – but I’d’ve thought this one would go over quite big, really.

I mean, how many “Arse:nal” jokes are out there, polluting the world, anyway?”

(But sorry, you’ll never hear me shout “Manchester United.” I’m Arsenal, all the way.)

HIM: Uk humor as you call it is better than being american and laughing at the word pudding thank you very much!

So go get a life!

I messaged him back, explaining I was the girl’s mother, that Liverpool wasn’t far, didn’t he get tired of sounding like the Beatles, (I think I also said something about Lennon being a poser – yes, I definitely think I said that – because, well, it’s totally true), and that the Beatles statues festooning the city weren’t too heavy for me to pick up and throw at anyone hassling my kid.

He wrote back something unimaginative and misspelled – kind of getting hysterical about me insulting Liverpool – he’s a Liverpool Football fanatic – I can picture him, lonely, twitchy and high-strung, downing Guinness after Guinness, wishing desperately that some girl (or boy) would please, please, come talk to him, or that he could manage to say something appropriate just this once, instead of the stupid angry shit that always seems to come out of his mouth, poor sod.

So I gently tried to explain that I didn’t insult his beloved hometown – what I DID insult were (1) The Beatles, which of course are long overdue for some bitch-slapping, and (2) his own insults, and I even gave him some friendly suggestions (wasn’t that nice of me?)

“F’r’instance, here are just two examples of what you might have said:

“Is that your laugh, or were you suddenly attacked from behind?”

“Good Lord, I thought Beatles music was the worst sound on earth until I heard that laugh in your vid.” (Yeh, yeh, I know you lot have statues and all that worshippy bit in Liverpool. I still think Lennon was a poser, and McCartney was a pop-machine.)”

He wasn’t very grateful, though, for my Cyrano-style response.

So I finally lost patience and blocked him as a user.

After all, trading insults can be a lot of fun – if someone has even the smallest amount of intelligence, or wit. But just receiving “nyah, nyah, stupid! American!” gets old fast.

I went to his page. All the comments – all 378 of them – were from like, one or two people. I started to feel really sorry for the poor, sensitive wretch. Nobody really likes him, it seems, not even his other loser friends.

So it was just a sad little contact. Even my own kid outwitted him, really. Which is probably what peeved him in the first place.

Loser from Liverpool. I’m sure it’s a nice little place, although the Beatles were sure delighted to shake the dust of that place from their sandals as quickly as they could. You didn’t see any of them racing home to build their mansions there, did you?

“Ah, home again, Ringo.”

Didn’t think so.

Maybe all the statues made them feel weird.

I know at least one weirdo there. Well, I feel as if I know him. Ick. Or, as he would write: “ewe.”