Velociworld

TO THE ACIDIC ONE

Please indulge me in a rare moment of solemnity to mourn the passing of Acidman. I found Rob over at Instapundit's in 2002, and thought he was the craziest son of a bitch I'd ever read. Then, as I read more, certain locations from his past led me to realize we shared the same stomping grounds growing up, and had somehow never met. We exchanged e-mails, I was getting a blogspot site up about then, and it was great reading someone who really hung their hide over the line.

And hang it the boy did. Whether he was blistering his ex-wife or giving a repugnantly candid account of injecting his cock with a needle for a hard on, it was hard not to read. I used to tell him he was an erudite bloody car crash, and we ghoulish rubberneckers. Just too hard not to look, to read. No topic was off-limits to Robbie. Mulatto whore in Costa Rica? Here's her pic. Bionic Roscoe? Lookee here how they're gonna install that mother fucker. Shit my pants? Grab a beer. I'm going to tell you all about it.

It would be craven to say those of us who blog, and read Rob, were not influenced to creep out of the shrubbery, and have the courage to write the things we often do. The personal stuff one would never have thought oneself capable of publicizing were it not for the fact that, well, hell, Robbie just wrote about a fucking whore date. What's a carbunkle on my ass compared to that? Gut Rumbles was very liberating that way, and certainly played a significant role in dropping the demure veneer for me.

Rob had his issues. He was a stubborn mule-headed bastard at times, and took a savage perverse satisfaction in hurting his friends, especially while befucked of John Barleycorn. He could be positively maddening that way. And I never shied away, because he relished the scrap. We certainly had our ups, and we had our downs, but it wasn't a touchy-feely metro friendship. Too much testosterone. But believe me, if we were fighting we were having fun.

I'm going to miss the ornery little pissant. At least you knew what you saw was what you got. You may not like it, but Rob would be the first to tell you to Kiss His Cracker Ass. And I admired that. I laugh about Catfish having no filters, but I think Rob introduced the blogosphere to mainstream non-filtered bullet-dodging seat-of-your-pants writing. At the risk of sounding trite he did push the envelope, and knock down a few walls. If he went overboard (N-Word!) he would eventually be almost apologetic about it. But you knew deep down he didn't give a shit. He was warts and all. And I admired that, too.

To Robbie. My friend. RIP.