The following is fiction. Period.
Bill was going about his day. He had lawsuits to defend, websites to attack, and posts to ridicule. But his regular retired schedule was interrupted. Why couldn’t they leave the package on the front stoop, like always? With a sigh, he stumbled to the door.
Bill pushed the door open, and found a postal employee waiting. His Jeep was running close to the mailbox. Apparently the civil servant had something too important to be left in the cheap Home Depot box Bill had purchased last year.
Ah, it seemed. The requested the court had given him had hit the service providers he’d asked. This was good news. Gladly Bill signed for the letters. Finally, beyond a doubt, he had what he need to expose a most vexatious anonymous blogger.
There were two letters sent to him The first was from Twitter. It was basically a Fuck You letter, demanding far more than the dispensation the federal court in Maryland had given him. Bill could appeal the decision, but he had another letter in hand. Why fight the fight, if the other internet service rolled over like a wet poodle?
Bill opened the letter he signed for, and sure enough, WordPress gave up the ghost. With just a glance, Bill was sure WordPress had given him the whole enchilada. The full volcano. The hill of beans. Bill finally had everything he needed to prove who Paul was.
Hands shaking in anticipation, Bill fully opened the letter. This was the important everything he had worked for in the past few months. Finally Bill could identify his most insulting, defaming, worthless blogger to ever walk the earth. With shaky hand, he opened the letter. It was time to know who Paul was.
Bill read the letter with glee. Till he got to the end. Then all the blood drained from his face. Fear crept into the deepest part of his bowels. He didn’t have the experience to accept what he just read, but the evidence was clear. There was no mistake. Wordpress gave up everything. Paul was…
Paul was Chuck Norris.
As Bill processes the information, there was the distinct sound of knuckles being cracked well outside the manufactured home Bill resided in. He peeked out the front door. There, at the edge of the property was a man. A man with the most epic beard Bill had ever seen. Despite what he’d seen in the movies, there seemed to be absolutely no firearms on the man’s back. But he was still unmistakeable. The man was Chuck Norris.
And as if the mere act of looking out the window was enough, Chuck Norris responded. In an indescribable roundhouse kick, Chuck Norris broke through the simple door of the the manufactured home and connected his heel with Bill’s chin.
Bill sat upright in the middle of his bed, drenched in sweat. It was but a dream. But ever since he sent those demands to various internet service providers, he hadn’t made it through a night with out dreaming the violent, deranged Chuck Norris didn’t come to his home. This was yet another such night. Hopefully, no meaningful mail would come. A single nights sleep would surely aide in his rest and world view.
But what if, just if, tomorrow word came, that the man Bill thought was nobody turned out to be Chuck Norris.
Grown men have wept for less.