It goes something like this: Wired runs an article in which it reports that Xybernaut's CEO--offended at some random posting that said something about the fact that the company has never turned a profit and so he must be an idiot--decided to sue the poster. For my part, I've noticed that companies failing to turn a profit are often led by incompetent short men with napoleonic leanings. I'm just saying.
Next, RageBoy weighs in with a post urging us to decide for ourselves whether or not this CEO is a fucknozzle. Well. That is an interesting question, since you can use that same said "own mind" of yours to run through conjured images of what a fucknozzle might be. But more on that later.
Next, b!x blogs about this matter, putting RB in perilous legal danger by stating that RageBoy called the fucknozzled CEO a fucknozzle.
Rageboy sets the record straight with this post, in which he categorically denies calling the CEO a fucknozzle, although he would urge us to do so.
By now you are maybe wondering, why all this noise over fucknozzle? Either that or you've already clicked off to Doc's blog, where things make more sense.
Those of us familiar with RB know he is litigation-phobic. You need only to read his latest book to see how careful he is in his writings about companies, other authors, and especially his past employers. Kiss up much, RB? So let's dig a little deeper. Why is RageBoy--champion of the common man and business automaton--so often silent on important matters that may be perceived as controversial--even slanderous?
As with all truths, the answer is buried in his past.
When RB was 14, he was seduced by a powerful female lawyer, who shall remain nameless because I too am afraid of litigation. This unscrupulous 30-something adultress coerced RB into becoming first her pool boy, and next her underage lover. One evening, her husband away on business, she called young RB to her lair. What was he supposed to do? What would any 14 year old hormonally-challenged young man do? He slapped on some acne cream and ran all the way to her house.
She greeted him at the door, led him up the stairs, and sat him on her bed, where, expectantly, he licked his dry lips and oogled her as she walked provacatively to her dresser. As she opened the top drawer, he craned his neck to see what was in store for him. And he saw. "Wow," he gasped. "Um, what is that?" he asked, his shy young voice barely audibile.
"This, my dear young man, is a fucknozzle."
Fade to black.
