Gary, you freak! You gotta quit dressing me up in these weird outfits. What's my new Yahoo Personals girlfriend gonna think? We'll she's not really my girlfriend just yet, but you know what an optimist I am. True, she's a bit taller than me (especially in heels), but she does love to read. And the way I look at it, that's the main thing. But what is she going to think if she keeps finding these twisted grafiks of me that you insist on shooting up all over the damn web? Look at me in that picture! I look like a psycho killer, alright. I look like a goddam Hell's Angel is what I look like! One of the ones from Altamont, probably, who stomped that guy that just kept talking, talking, TALKING, until I couldn't help myself, I swear. And I only gave him a little push is all. So yeah, that's what she's going to be thinking. Because no way can I like disguise myself or anything. Say, "RageBoy? No, never heard of him. Why do you ask?" Well, OK, actually, I did mail her the pointer to your blog so she could go see for herself. But I told her all about you first, the voices, the recurrent fantasies that you're really someone else, the fits of mania that require you to launch whole new websites due to overwhelming compulsions that come over you merely by looking into your own refrigerator, the campaigns, the obsessions, the self-deconstructing narratives, misdirections and irrational delusions, yes, I told her all of it. And yes, I am well aware, believe me, that some would argue it is simply wrong, morally and ethically repulsive, to air the mental health problems of others in a public medium such as this. I have heard these arguments, yes, and I have attended to them. I have looked at them and turned them over in my mind. I have given them due consideration. And after much thoughtful reverie of this kind, and of other kinds I am not at liberty to go into here, as they entail my own state of cognitive cohesion, I have concluded that, no, it is not wrong or odious or maladaptive or immature or even just plain stinking rotten of me to alert the world to the dangerous and tortured mental state of people like yourself, who think it fun, nay, a great guffaw, to impugn my hard-won dignity, my impeccable record of adamantine integrity in the face of withering public scorn, besmirchment and humiliation, just so you can have your little chuckle at my expense. Therefore, I am booking a flight this very evening to your rat-infested so-called country, where I will hunt you down and dispatch you as I would a yammering beagle. There was going to be more... I forget now. But just you wait, Gary Turner. Just you wait!

Didn't I see you down in San Antone
on a hot and dusty night?
We were eating eggs in Sammy's
when the black man there drew his knife.
Aw, you drowned that Jew in Rampton
as he washed his sleeveless shirt,
You know that Spanish-speaking gentleman,
the one we all called "Kurt."

Come now, gentlemen,
I know there's some mistake.
How forgetful I'm becoming,
now you fixed your business straight.

I remember you in Hemlock Road
in nineteen fifty-six.
You're a faggy little leather boy
with a smaller piece of stick.
You're a lashing, smashing hunk of man,
your sweat shines sweet and strong.
Your organ's working perfectly,
but there's a part that's not screwed on...

Come now, gentlemen,
your love is all I crave.
You'll still be in the circus
when I'm laughing...
laughing in my grave.

.....Jagger/Richards, Memo From Turner, 1968