The other night my computer wizard friend, I’ll call him John S., came over to help analyze some data from my website and see how I might “optimize” my site.
About ten minutes in, he suggested we take a look at the unique visitor log, see where the people checking out my site were coming from.
That’s when we both had a shock. Because, it turns out, I’m getting a lot of traffic from a remote village in central Russia called Razvilka. What the f — k?
Let me clarify: my posts are 95% political satire and all are written in English. Satire is a subtle kind of humor that doesn’t translate well across borders, cultures, or languages. And American politics is an opaque, chaotic affair to most people living in other countries, especially totalitarian ones. In other words, not many foreigners are going to appreciate my political satire.
So what is a citizen of Razvilka, Russia doing reading my posts on Medium every day, and checking out my website frequently and in depth? Not just a single web visit for a fleeting minute, mind you. More like 20 minutes at a time and scouring all the pages. My website isn’t that big, only five pages, so a crappy typist could probably re-keystroke the entire site in 20 minutes, much less read it all in half that amount of time.
I looked at John and he looked at me and I could tell we both came to the same conclusion at the same time — Razvilka must be the place where that fat guy lying on his bed with a laptop has his base of operations. I’m talking about the obese nerd that President Trump warned us about!
Jesus A. Christ, I thought, here I am, an unwitting, aspiring humorist living in New York City, minding my own business, and all this time I’m being obstructed, disrupted, and destructed by one of Vladimir Putin’s ruthless, overweight computer hackers.
Suddenly, it all made sense. Because since the middle of the summer, when I turned up the intensity of my satirical attacks on Donald Trump, there has been some really weird shit going on.
Like the little green camera indicator on my computer screen suddenly lights up and I’m caught like a digital deer in the headlights, staring back at my 400-pound saboteur.
Or I’ll be in the middle of crafting one of my posts and — THWACK! — there’s a burst of light and my laptop powers down and I’ve lost all my writing before I’ve had a chance to save it.
Then there was the massive computer crash I suffered last month on my fairly new MacBook Air. I brought it to the skinny nerds at the Apple Genius Bar, but they had no explanation. Hard drive looked okay, battery intact, all systems go. It had to be the work of that meaty menace holed up in Razvilka.
I’m not sure what all this means, or what I need to do to protect myself, but I have no doubt now that the Kremlin is onto me and wants to put an end to my persistent satirical resistance against the Trump presidency.
Sound paranoid? Okay, I am. I’m a little hypochondriacal, too, if you must know the truth. But that doesn’t change the fact that there are chubby computer criminals in our midst determined to hinder any opposition to Putin’s American ally, Donald Trump, aka Adolf Twitler, aka the Orange Accident, aka Das Gropenfuhrer, aka Trumplethinskin.
We mustn’t let the fat hackers get us down, people! We must not be deterred! The time to RESIST is now!
(Oh, shit, the camera light just went on again. Read this post, then delete it. I’ll try to keep the tubby techies at bay while you hide the children. Stay safe!)
Thanks all the many readers, fans, followers, and even my frenemies, for reading and commenting on my posts throughout the year as I continue my commitment to post every day, 7-days-a-week until the Orange Accident is no more.
Remember, I read every comment. And I try to answer.