If you've been online this week, you may have heard of Charles "Chuck" C. Johnson, an odious conservative blogger who has gained some fame by rolling around in the shit left in the wake of last month's Rolling Stone piece, which told the story of a University of Virginia student who claimed she was raped by seven men at a frat party her freshman year in school. Since then, Rolling Stone has revealed that they really, really fucked up, and elements of the story are inaccurate.
We don't really know how the report is inaccurate, or by how much; there are peripheral discrepancies in Jackie's story, while the fraternity Phi Kappa Psi denies a rape ever happened. This caused an uproar, largely from those who saw this story, and rape, really, as an attempt by the propagandist left to push an agenda of marginalizing straight, white men, or whatever. This is where the fuzzy ginger manbaby comes in.
Johnson is a self-stylized journalist whose lack of skill in reporting is only augmented by the curtain-hanger abortion of his soul. (Here's the full docket on him. He gets things wrong a lot.) Johnson attempted to punish Jackie by revealing her identity, along with a photo and contact information. The monstrous travail turned out even worse than expected; he appears to have doxxed the wrong girl.
Johnson went to Claremont McKenna College, a small, liberal arts school in California. In this school, he had classmates, some of whom are his friends, and many of whom most definitely do not fuck with him one bit. Both factions have tried to reach out to him. Late last night, he posted this on his Facebook wall, addressing everyone. Today, it was emailed to me:
Dear past classmates,
I have received a number of emails, tweets, and phone calls, etc. from you and want to make some things clear about me and you now.
Please relay this message widely as it needs to be internalized by you about me.
I wasn't friends with most of you. Most of you weren't particularly kind to me throughout my academic career. That's fine. I didn't ask for it. I did well despite you. I wrote books, formed companies, got married, traveled widely, and had interesting, formative experiences.
Perhaps you were angry at me because I was poor. Perhaps it was because I was neuroatypical. Perhaps it was because my mother was ill. Perhaps it was because we didn't get along because I was busy making a living and doing interesting things while you were not. Perhaps you were mad because your parents saw more of themselves in me than you and so liked me more and you were resentful. There are many reasons why weaker people dislike strong people: jealousy, misunderstandings, hatred of what's different.
That's not important now.
Now that I have some measure of notoriety and success, I do not owe you phone calls or responses to your condescending "concern" for me. Please know that most of these emails will be deleted or archived. Some will be openly mocked. Others may be retweeted or written about in future things.
Some of you have talked to the press about me and pretended that we were close. We were not but you've decided to trade on relationships we never had in the hopes of seeing your name in the press. This is pathetic.
Here's what you may not do:
You may not accuse me of racism, sexism, blah blah-ish without asking me for my point of view first. I may or may not choose to give it to you.
I'm also not interested in your pop psychological explanations about what's wrong with me.
The truth of the matter is that I'm the happiest I have ever been doing the work I love doing. I'm very busy on that project.
I have lived a colorful, difficult, exciting, crazy life thus far and it's only just beginning. I make no apologies for it. I have made and will make mistakes and some of them may be huge. But I have lived life on my own terms.
Those of you I count as true friends, you know who you are. I owe you the world.
There's some good shit in here! I emailed Johnson about it, and he confirmed that he jammed the above jam. We then went on to trade snarky pleasantries. He told this site not to do him like Cory Gardner; I asked him if he ever played football. "Oh and do please tell Nick Denton I said hi," he directed; "I'm working from home," I replied, regretfully. And then he sent this:
Sure enough, on the Facebook post, there are cryptic comments from friends and former classmates about some mysterious floor-shitting incident.
I'd be inclined to believe the guy, or at least give him the benefit of the doubt. But he's been caught lying many times before, and in the wake of Rolling Stone deputy editor Sean Woods tendering his resignation, it's more important than ever to fact check. And so I ask you, dearest readers: Did Chuck Johnson really shit on the floor in college? Please send context, stories, and photos to firstname.lastname@example.org. If you have physical evidence, you'd be better served just throwing that shit, as it were, on Amazon. As Johnson can attest, he's somebody.