TROLL: PAGES FROM A SPORTSMAN'S NOTEBOOK.

On the last post alicublog had a troll infestation -- that is, we had one troll donning multiple identities, which was observable by the IP addresses and by the lack of variation in style. Not that his tone didn't change: He started out kind of funny, then devolved to tired the-real-racist material ("can't be arsed to even mention Mia Love or Tim Scott, because, you know, the narrative"), then finally personal insults ("You are some stupid unemployed loser who edits for a free libtard blog. Definition of libtard loser," "how are your tits," etc).

I don't like to delete comments or ban commenters, but in this case it eventually became necessary -- and required some diligence because the guy kept coming back with new names. But the effort may have been worth it because it yielded this poignant moment:

The need for acknowledgement, and to humble the object of one's obsession by compelling it -- this, let future generations know, is the essence of troll. You're welcome, internet!