Dom's Rambles

I meant to have a new 2,500 word piece polished off last night (and uploaded it this morning) but had to put the final editing on a back burner in order to compose this blog entry.
A few weeks ago I got an e-mail via the link on the main site from the character in our little story whom I called Tony Wilkins (my barking mental flatmate who thought our Pakistani neighbours spent their evenings slaughtering sheep). I didn’t know what to make of this at first seeing as he seemed quite friendly, even if the tone of the thing was a little hurt, as if I’d been unreasonable in the way I described him and accusing me of making things up. Regarding that latter point, I believe I pointed out in the intro section that a few of the peripheral characters are composites. The character Tony Wilkins is 85% the person from the historical record with the other 15% filched from some obnoxious loon who was a friend of the guy I called Barry Pointer.
Okay?
Not knowing how to reply to this I didn’t bother and just ignored it. All of which seemed to rile Tony somewhat as a couple weeks later I got another e-mail. The tone of this one was unmistakably aggressive and was, according to a psychiatric nurse of my acquaintance, classic schizophrenic rambling.
I did reply this time, and in no uncertain terms, telling him to fuck off and not bother me again.
As I heard nothing more I assumed he had taken my advice - right up until I saw a reply in my in-box this (or rather yesterday) morning, which I deleted without even opening.
If you’re reading this ‘Tony’ please do as I said (i.e. fuck off) because all messages from your address now go straight to the spam bin and are deleted before I even see them. Should you try to get around this by using another e-mail account (as I’m sure you will) then any such contacts will be published here, complete with a line by line analysis courtesy of the same panel of mental healthcare professionals I discussed you with before writing you up in the story.
And show a little self-respect please, none of the other people I’ve slagged off have demeaned themselves by rising to the bait. But then they have intelligence enough to know that I'd just get off on it if they did.
I know it must get incredibly boring on the ward, I can't really see you enjoying the basket weaving classes, there’s a physical limit to the number of times you can wank off in any one day and I guess standing on street corners with a portable TV aerial strapped to your head, yelling incoherent gibberish at passing traffic must lose its appeal after a while. I do sympathise with you there, but I have better things to do than bandy insults with a certifiable fruitcake.
If it bothers you that much then why don’t you start your own website/weblog (try here) and use it to take the piss out of me – God knows, there’s enough material to work with. Believe me, you’ll be amazed how much better it will make you feel.
And if it’s funny I’ll even link to it.