There are now well over 4,200 comments on that Foxy Brown post. We're going to open the fifth seal and hand out some white robes and say unto you that you should rest yet for a little season, until your fellowservants also and your brethren, that should be killed as they were, should be fulfilled. Because you people are clearly bringing on the Apocalypse.
The comments on the Foxy Brown post now number 3382, probably due to the use of human growth hormone and other substances banned in weblog commenting. The last one we saw had something to do with Patty Hearst's ex-boyfriend and real estate. You people are rehabulous, as in, we're going to put you in one.
At approximately 11:20 this morning, the comment count in that Foxy Brown post passed the 2,500 mark. At this point we're expecting floods, fires, and the second coming of our Lord at any point now. What the hell is wrong with you people? It's like being forced to watch My Dinner With Andre over and over forever.
There's a new award in town! We realized this week that some of our commenters are just so gosh-darn helpful in relaying the kind of information that we absolutely need to know to, as they say, move the story forward, that they deserve an award. Herewith, the inaugural Helpful Critters awards. Oh, and while we're at it, we've decided to execute people whose comments this week make them decidedly Unhelpful Critters. Go back from whence you came!
This time each week, we coo and kvell
O'er comments that made us LOL
That's self-indulgent? Yeah, you bet!
But face it: so's the Internet.
See, the thing is, we don't really like getting rid of our commenters. Or, you know, we do, but we get distracted really easily. Ooh, look at that adorable puppy outside. OMG so cute! What? Oh, yeah. As we were saying. Sometimes we forget that it's time to clean out a little bit of the dead wood 'round these parts. And then sometimes we remember. Today is one of the days when we remember. Security, please escort the following folks out:
What sort of person reads the New York Times? The comments section from a post about this morning's commuting issues on the paper's City Room blog might provide a clue. Since the Times doesn't seem to do it, we've gone ahead and picked out Gold Star recipients from the wealth of worthy insights the paper's readership provides. Enjoy!
This was such a magical week for comments, you guys. Seriously! (A circle jerk of hilarity amid the vituperation!) We sometimes found ourselves laughing so hard we cried. Laughing and crying, you know, it's the same release.
We asked for your stories of drunken dining and you obliged: "I dated a girl that could cry on command, and we used to go out to really nice places and stage fake fights when we were wasted. I would yell and scream and shes scream and cry and then cinematically run out in tears. I'd chase after her and then we'd just meet up outside and laugh about how stupid it all was." [X on the MTA]
Over time, we get to know our commenters fairly well. There are some we know and love! Some we know and find mildly amusing. Some we don't know and are afraid of. Then there are the ones—or, the one—who seem to arrive only to defend the New York Times. Let's meet our commenter Urnidiot! Is s/he—we're kinda going with he!—a Times employee? Married to a Times employee? Let's go to the evidence!
This week was a banner week for excellence in commenting. In addition to the commenters listed below, we'd like to extend a special honorary group gold star to everyone who commented on that 'singlefiers' post, except Thomas Pynchon, who can go eat the four week old lite cottage cheese from a single lady's fridge.
From our commenter Far-Far: "i got arrested at Patricia Fields on 8th street for shoplifting fake rubber nipples that were selling for SEVENTY DOLLARS. FAKE NIPPLES FOR SEVENTY BUCKS! i basically only wanted them because i was imagining taping one to a doorbell, or plopping a fake rubber nipple at the bottom of someone's milkshake, or... well, yeah. when the cops came, the angry drag queen behind the counter said, "Matching silver bracelets for you, Missy!" and that single line was the most embarrassing part of the whole ordeal. I hate that place and its fuscia shag carpeting and leopard print wallpaper and overpriced nipples. good riddance."
Each week, we celebrate some commenters, because we mistakenly think that commenting isn't its own reward. (Actually, it so is!) This week, I'm giving out awards! Not cash awards. But made-up awards, like the Nobel prize or a Nebula or a Hugo or something. Wait, first I'm going to make a pot of coffee. Okay, back! Let's do it!
Regarding last night's non-terrorism: "I work on Madison and 44th and the boom came loud and clear through sound-proof windows. My co-workers all ran downstairs and started heading West along 44th. I was walking next to a young, fashionable woman who was simultaneously crying, smoking a cigarette and shouting into her cell phone, 'No, no, you have to stay on the line with me and tell me what happened. If this is an act of terrorism, we are going to lose fucking MILLIONS!!'"
