One Pissed Off Blogger

Forget Bush and his evil friends for now.
I am stewing over a personal matter.
Someone I met through my Blog, a frequent Pulp Friction commentator, has spent the last six months or so telling me the most incredible lies and portraying an array of make believe characters online, sucking me into fake online friendships and compelling me to tolerate months of silly, fabricated Internet drama.
Remember Miss Marls, my Blog commentator who died? She was him.
Remember Charlie, her sister? That was him, too.
After "Marls" died, this wingnut brought her back to life and blamed the ruse on Charlie.
"Charlie" and "Marls" were both privacy freaks, with no phone calls allowed.
Why? Because "their sister," who this liar claimed was retired actress Linda Evans, was paranoid about privacy, and her paranoia became a family affair.
Seemed plausible at the time.
This dude was a great liar, able to spend hours perpetrating this incredible hoax. Even when my suspicions mounted early in the ruse, the stories were often so entertaining I allowed them to continue.
Finally, last month I grew tired of the characters he'd created and basically told all of them to fuck off. They were a bunch of drunks, Charlie turned out to be an angry transsexual, and yet another sister was allegedly locked up in a mental hospital.
It was all so ludicrous, it was almost credible.
Recently this liar told me Charlie has appeared in his hometown, lured him to dinner, drugged his drink, dragged him upstairs to her hotel room and tried to fool him into thinking an actor she had hired was his dead lover from 20 years ago.
He said he spent the weekend in the hospital, overdosed from the drug she'd slipped him.

Finally fed-up with his never-ending drama, I demanded proof: telephone numbers from all his made-up characters and receipts from the hospital.
What I got instead was a desperate phone message, saying we needed to talk.
Yeah, as if.
This drama didn't really cost me much, some phone calls, postage and a few exchanged gifts. But it cost me time, emotional concern and some degree of embarrassment for my ultimate gullibility.
This guy knows he's busted and I suspect he knows to get out and stay out of my life.
But it's been a cautionary tale.
And I am pissed off at myself for believing this drama queen, and for making time in my life to accommodate his pathetic fantasy world.
Beware, friends, if an online story seems too incredible to be believed, don't believe it.