Because Twitter has locked my account for encouraging self-harm, I have to make this statement here. The “self-harm” I encouraged was telling an abusive person to “breathe water” after he suggested I “stop breathing.” Why would I do such a thing?
Last night, I said some inflammatory but true things about the NRA. I said they were a terrorist organization responsible for every single mass shooting in the United States.
You heard me. True. That is a true statement.
After a few hundred responses calling me a fat cunt and advising me to die, I tweeted that we should melt down all the guns in the country and drown all NRA members and Trump supporters in the vat of molten metal.
Those who follow me on social media know that this is very on-brand.
I also stated that I didn’t care if Trump voters and NRA members lived or died. This is only a partially true statement, as I was directly addressing the people who were sending abusive tweets. But alt-right troll Jack Probesiec isolated that tweet and broadcast it to his hundreds of thousands of followers. Including other alt-right trolls including Curt Schlitter, Ian Miles Cheong, Joe Walsh, and NRA spokeswoman Dana Loesch’s husband, whose name I can’t remember because he’s not as important as his wife. There were others with large followings, as well, who decried my “death threat” tweet.
Because to these fools, not caring deeply about their lives and their right to own as many shooty-go-bang-bangs as they can stockpile in their arsenal is a direct death threat. And they responded with:
- Various comments about my weight, mental health, sexual orientation, and religion/culture because several of them were convinced that I’m Jewish
- GIFs and photos of fat people they find to be abhorrent and grotesque
- Remarks about “Arabs,” “Muslims,” “immigrants,” “jihad,” “Asians,” “Koreans,” and “gang bangers”
- Comparisons of African-Americans to chimpanzees
- Allegations that I’m fatherless…which is true but not really my fault unless you lack critical thinking skills
- Detailed fantasies about how they’ll watch me or my children being raped and do nothing
- Pity for my “cuck” husband, who is forced to be with me
- Various fish-related insults that probably felt very clever at the time
- Demands that I come to their house and try to take their guns, that I meet them in person, and one person even posted their own home address
- My home address, former name, the names of some of my relatives and even the place of my husband’s employment
Some of them were, ironically, mocking my “large hands”. Considering it’s coming from the Trump crowd, who defend him and his bigly, bigly yuge hands all the time, this seems like a weird criticism. Also weird? The guy who tried to roast me by saying that I can’t give my dad an erection.
How widespread is this? Well, according to Twitter analytics, in the months of March, February, and January I averaged around four million “impressions” per month.
I’ve also averaged four million “impressions” this month. Which is…four days old.
At one point last night, I had blocked 200 people, only to scroll up and find 809 notifications waiting for me.
Not all of the tweets were abusive. A lot of people are “sad” for me. Or they’re praying for me and hoping Christ will come into my heart and tell me to put down the donuts. Many of them were simply telling me how much they don’t care about my opinion. Thousands of people don’t care so much that they had to flood my Twitter mentions, message me on Facebook, find any public Facebook post I’ve ever made, and track down my husband to make sure that we all know they do not care.
And gosh. All of this has just worn me down, right to the ground. And I want to apologize. Because I’m very, very sorry.
I’m sorry so many of you were in the Armed Forces. You should not have been representing our country abroad. I do not thank you for your service, despite the several of you that demanded I do so.
I’m sorry that you feel the best way to communicate your ideas is through sloppy memes of Hillary Clinton.
I’m sorry that one of you has an Abraham Lincoln parody account but can’t appreciate the irony in using it to defend guns.
I’m sorry that so many of you don’t have mirrors in your homes and don’t understand that a fat person calling another fat person fat isn’t the devastating insult you think it is.
I’m sorry that your mom’s abortion didn’t take.
I’m sorry that so many conservative women have figured out how to bleach their hair with drugstore products, but don’t know how to follow it up with toner or conditioner.
I’m sorry that MAGAs uniformly don’t know the difference between “your” and “you’re,” and it’s unfortunate that they mix those up while calling people ignorant, idiots, stupid, and uneducated.
But most of all, I’m sorry that you think that because I said I don’t care about you or your right to own your toys, I should be afraid of you. I am not afraid of you. I will never be afraid of you. Because if you need to own sixty guns, you’re a coward. If you need to assert how tough and manly and violent you are, you’re afraid. Because your fear bleeds through every one of your pathetic, uninspired, unimaginative words. You call for civil war, violent revolution, rising up, and then the moment there’s a mass shooting, you move fast to avoid being blamed for it. You’re pretty shitty terrorists if you won’t own these attacks. Even Al-Qaeda took credit for shit they didn’t do.
So, do what you’re going to do. You’re already contacting Amazon (who will obviously be very eager to help Trump supporters right now, I’m sure they’ll get right on that), companies who published my books a decade ago and with whom I’ve burned my own bridges, thanks, people I work with (who are fully aware of who I am and what I represent), and whatever other institution you think is going to come along and spank me for being mean to you about your boomsticks.
You don’t matter. You’ll never matter. You know you don’t matter. And that’s why you need a controversial object in your home to reassure you that somehow, someday, you might be able to prove your worth in a fantasy home invasion or public shoot-out. Continue stockpiling all your unnecessary accessories to make your Great Value rifles look like the video game version of a useful tactical weapon. Because at the end of the day, no matter how you threaten, no matter what you lob at me, I still walk away without the blood of murdered children on my hands.
You can’t say the same for yourself.