Bring it on: A few words from you the reader

Not to brag, but this column has inspired some hall-of-fame e-mail and forum responses.

Since my boss made the unfortunate decision to add a nightlife column to this once-proud newspaper, I've been called a reckless drunk, a sexual deviant and "the Stephen Glass of the Mail Tribune."

All true.

Little do my detractors know that besides Pabst Blue Ribbon, my second favorite spirit to imbibe is reader hatred.

It's the only thing that keeps me going sometimes. I feed on it like a vampire.

So, my darlings, watch as Grandpa Nightcrawler reaches his filthy hand into the mailbag for a few choice words readers have spat at me these past few months.

I present their words as they were relayed to me, spelling, grammar, coherence and overall weirdness issues withstanding. Obscenities have been deleted because, after all, this is still a family newspaper.

Way back in July, I wrote about how hard it is to meet people in the Rogue Valley who are in their late 20s or early 30s. My point was that most young professionals leave the area for cheaper housing and better jobs.

Forum user "krucifor" politely disagreed.

"YOU (blank-blank) LOSER Pull your head out of your half empty glass of fizzy yellow (blank) and get out and enjoy your life!!! Your lucky you haven't "hooked up" with a 20 or 30 something gen x local who didn't kick your #### !!!!!!!!!!!" he wrote.

What a ringing endorsement for the local population, "krucifor." Would you suggest I follow your lead and wine and dine a young lady at Shari's before driving out to Agate Lake to make out with her in the back seat of my 1992 Honda Civic with the green flames painted on the hood, you know, like the cars in your favorite movie "The Fast and the Furious"? Maybe throw on some Slipknot to set the mood?

An August column dealt with the strange places I've lived in Ashland. I described one house in which the landlord forbade having a girlfriend stay over and how I had to sneak her out when she inevitably did.

Shortly after, I took a two-week break from my column after a minor disagreement with the brass.

It seems "fornicator" was saddened by my brief vacation.

"Why is this the most recent posting? Did he catch VD and take a leave of absence?" he wrote.

For your information "fornicator"... umm ... what can I say? One question. How the hell did my medical history become public record?

Oh, but the tastiest bile puked at me was from Ashland's hash running community, which I profiled earlier this month. Apparently, the only thing Ashland hashers take seriously are themselves.

Dig this from "RearAdmiral," a hasher whom I accused of being a slow runner.

"I think Mr. Conrad may have a skewed opinion due to his many nights spent dredging the Beau Club for cheap beer and bad jukebox music. And how dare he spread such slander about me, I'm not "slow" I just don't run so fast," he wrote.

Touche, "RearAdmiral." Now that I think about it, I'm pretty sure you finished ahead of my huffing, sweaty arse both times I've hashed.

How about this from "ShootinBlanks":

"Wow.. the thing that really strikes me about this is how low-brow he makes it sound. First off, Hamm's is down-down beer, meaning we only drink it as punishment," he wrote.

So a guy with the hash moniker "ShootinBlanks" (get it?) whose sadomasochistic streak involves pounding Hamm's is angry with me for pointing out that hashing is somehow "low-brow" fun. Can you smell the irony?

Consider the facts I didn't include in the column, you hashing degenerates.

Did you know 74 percent of all hashers nationwide are Satanists? Or that an average of 11 hashers over the age of 62 die each year from aneurysms brought on by keg stands? And that each hash ends with a wild swinger party/blood orgy involving a golf club-beaten panda bear smuggled in from Asia?

That's right. This group exists right in our backyard, Rogue Valley. I will continue writing expose after expose in hopes of presenting this radical group for what it truly is, a terrorist cell planted in the Ashland community.

I received word shortly after the column that the hashers want me to return for a third time, to stand before them in judgment and receive my hash name.

It's a date. Your primitive beer gods will not protect you from my journalistic wrath, hashers.

You've been warned.

Reach reporter Chris Conrad at 776-4471, or e-mail

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