Our New Addition To The Wall Of Shame Is A Perfect Example Of How Not To Ask For My Help.

Mockarena, Co-Founder

Holy crap, you guys.  You’re not going to believe this email exchange I just had.

Now, before I show you the exchange, I need to preface by saying that whenever we get polite emails from folks who think they’ve signed up for some sort of email list because they get notifications from us, I try to respond to them to let them know that a) we don’t send people emails unless we’re responding to a message from them and  b) we don’t have the power or capability of signing people up for notifications from FB, or from our site, or with any other platform.  Notifications are things that y’all sign up for or select from your settings/preferences on the various platforms you subscribe to.

When people are polite, I respond in kind and genuinely try to help.  But when people send me messages that are bitchy, I respond in kind and don’t give a crap if they’re helped or not.

Which brings me to Frank.

Here’s how our email exchange went.  His subject line and initial message was about a mailing list, which we don’t actually have, and not about notifications at first; hence my reply.  I recognize that the size of these screenshots isn’t particularly conducive to easy reading, so I’ve transcribed the text in red after each set:

Frank to me: Not sure where on your site I can opt out, please advise.

Me to Frank:  We don’t send mail (except in response to messages like this one), so there’s really not a mailing list to opt out of.

Frank to me:  Well I keep getting notifications across my screen, so shut them off.  Whatever you are sending me quit.  Is that fairly clear?

Yeah.  So, I don’t respond well to dudes who aren’t the boss of me saying, “Is that fairly clear?” to me, as if I’m in any way subordinate to them, which in this case, I most certainly am not.

Plus, I don’t know if y’all have noticed, but the older I get, the less patience I have for people.

Things did not go well after that.

Me to Frank:  We have no ability of putting notifications on your screen.  We’re not magicians.  If you signed up for notifications of some sort, then figure out how to un-sign up for them.  Is THAT fairly clear?  You could have gotten a lot more help from me if you weren’t rude.  Good luck figuring out how to internet.

Frank to me:  F*ck you a$$holes.  I’ll just block you c*nts. 

Ah yes.  Frank’s true personality comes shining through.

Me to Frank:  Awesome! Although if you knew how to do that in the first place, why did you write me? 

Frank to me:  F*ck you c*nt.

Me to Frank:  Here.  You’re clearly in need of this (and then the picture of the Attention Hand.)

This was the point that I thought to myself, “Self – I wonder what interesting information I could find out about this loser from a search on his email address?”

Since his email address went directly to his LinkedIn profile, and his email address is also LISTED in his LinkedIn profile, and his disgusting, creepy, profile picture is there, horrible toupee and all, I was, of course, able to see where he’s employed.

Now, I’m not in the business of doxxing people, but it’s good information to have in my back pocket.  You never know when that might come in handy, amirite?

Anyway, suffice it to say that this psychopath is in a position of some stature, probably makes pretty good money, and is probably good at making people around him feel like he’s normal even though he’s anything but.  He’s a fascinating case study really (although that might just be the part of me talking that just finished watching the new Netflix documentary about Ted Bundy).


Frank to me:  Cuz I like to write to women who suck off horses and donkeys.

Me to Frank:  Do the folks at (name of employer redacted) know that about you?

Frank to me:  F*ck your a$$, b*tch.

Frank to me:  Is little miss c*ntface going to report me, hahaha.

Frank to me:  Taking a page out of a liberal playbook, good luck with that knucklehead

At that point, being called a knucklehead seemed almost like a compliment.

It’s fascinating to me that when this guy doesn’t get his way, he immediately decides that I’m liberal.  No, psycho, the fact that I’m not bending to your will has literally NOTHING to do with my politics.

Me to Frank:  I’m glad you find yourself amusing, but I don’t indulge the fantasies of dudes with terrible hairpieces.  Thanks for giving me fodder for our Wall of Shame.  A post about this will now contribute to our revenue.  YAY!

Frank to me:  F*ck you liberal b*tches!

That actually made me laugh because he took Actual Time to increase the font size, as if that would have a bigger impact.  Like – I have to giggle at the thought of him thinking, “THIS WILL SHOW HER!  I’LL WRITE IT EXTRA BIG THIS TIME!”

Which is why this was my response:

Frank to me:  F*ck you liberal b*tches!

Me to Frank:  Yes, you already said that.  And I thought I made it clear that I don’t indulge the fantasies of dudes with terrible hairpieces.  Are we just going to repeat ourselves now?

Listen Frank – I gotta go write the post about you now.  I don’t have time to keep responding.  Surely you have better things to do?  Like figuring out how to stop our notifications? I mean, I wouldn’t want you to get notified when the post about you goes up or anything…

Anyway, this’ll be my last response.  You take good care of yourself, and maybe get some anger management therapy or something.

Bye now!

I won’t be responding to him again, but you guys, he responded with this, which tells you everything you need to know about him.  Holy mother of mommy issues.  Guarantee you this dude is on every incel message board that exists right now. Every. Single. One.

Frank to me:  Post this as well.  If women didn’t have c*nts you’d all have bounties on your heads.  I used to help everyone, now only men and I just passed a poor gal carrying heavy bags on the highway.  Women have some sickness they have to be in control and will also justify themselves and any method they use to force their way.  I quit with women, my mother had no respect for your gender and told me so on many occasions.  Go bash some other men.

Ho. Lee. Crap.

Frank – women don’t have a sickness.  You do.  Get help.

Got a story you'd like to submit for possible publication by the Chicks? Submit your article to [email protected]