nature of public personas (Tiger Woods, anyone?). In the end, people would shake their heads, but they wouldnât scrutinize the credibility of the report.
Besides, my chips were already on the table. Iâd set things in motion the night before by posting a recap of an incident from my past, a true story that would serve as the perfect foundation for fictionâ¦my feud with the Amish.
October 20: The Amishâ¦
Iâm sitting in a coffee shop in Intercourse. Rather than make more puns, I thought Iâd take a moment to reflect on what got me here.
The Amish and I have issues, and Iâm here to settle them.
Turn the clock back to February 3rd, 2001. It was a more innocent time. The dangers of Y2K had passed, and the future looked bright to all who gazed ahead. How could I not be optimistic about life? I was 17 years old and the most popular and handsome senior in Middletown South.
It wasnât just my husky frame and great comic book collection that made me popularâit was also the award winning graphic design work I did for the school paper. It brought me the respect of the men, and the affection of the women. I truly knew nothing but wild success.
That all changed the night of February 3rd. It started as a celebration. It was the inaugural game of the XFL. Yes, the XFL. The short-lived football league that first brought Ron âHe Hate Meâ Smart onto our televisions and into our heartsâ¦
While I watched history unfold, something arrived in my inboxâ¦the end of my innocence. A few days earlier, Iâd discovered that the Amish donât have to pay all of their taxes. Iâd long suspected that their âcash onlyâ policy was just a ploy to keep their furniture-making income off the booksâ¦but this was different.
It turns out they have special exemptions on whatever fraction of their income they choose to reportâ¦they exploit the very religious freedoms won by the very wars theyâre exempt from fighting!
This felt like an injustice. Their beliefs were being held to a different standard than yours and mine. I was blinded by rage and determined to catch these hypocrites in the act. And I didâon the internet.
They use websites like Amish.net and AmishHeartland.com to sell their wicker baskets and home-made candles, and to brazenly mock us with their existence. There was only one course of actionâ¦an anonymous, strongly worded email.
When I received a reply to my anonymous message, I learned there are stronger words than the ones Iâd been willing to write. Words like my full name, my home address, and the name of my high school newspaper. I was hit harder than a He Hate Me tackle.
They went for blood. They contacted the newspaper award committees to sabotage not only me, but my hard working colleagues as well. When I told them they sucked, I did so with honor. But honor is a concept as alien to them as Social Security Tax.
So they strong-armed an apology out of me. They humbled me through threats and humiliation.
Iâve never forgiven them for this.
Amish, I know youâre monitoring my profile, so know this:
You may have scared a child, but itâs a man who walks towards you now. Each step I take is a grain of sand falling through the hourglass. Your time runs short and your hypocrisy goes unchallenged no longer. February 3rd wasnât just the beginning of the end for the XFL; it was the day that sealed your fate. What does the X in XFL stand for? It stands for âX marks the spot.â And the spot is New Holland, PA.
Iâm coming, as soon as Iâm through with Intercourse.
Other than a few self-aggrandizing flourishes, thatâs exactly what had happened in real life. Yes, I was that kid. The high school senior easily (if a bit facetiously) enraged by the federal tax policy. Yes, it led me to write an angry email to several Amish webmasters, ending with the phrase âYou suck.â Yes, one sent back a
Besides, my chips were already on the table. Iâd set things in motion the night before by posting a recap of an incident from my past, a true story that would serve as the perfect foundation for fictionâ¦my feud with the Amish.
October 20: The Amishâ¦
Iâm sitting in a coffee shop in Intercourse. Rather than make more puns, I thought Iâd take a moment to reflect on what got me here.
The Amish and I have issues, and Iâm here to settle them.
Turn the clock back to February 3rd, 2001. It was a more innocent time. The dangers of Y2K had passed, and the future looked bright to all who gazed ahead. How could I not be optimistic about life? I was 17 years old and the most popular and handsome senior in Middletown South.
It wasnât just my husky frame and great comic book collection that made me popularâit was also the award winning graphic design work I did for the school paper. It brought me the respect of the men, and the affection of the women. I truly knew nothing but wild success.
That all changed the night of February 3rd. It started as a celebration. It was the inaugural game of the XFL. Yes, the XFL. The short-lived football league that first brought Ron âHe Hate Meâ Smart onto our televisions and into our heartsâ¦
While I watched history unfold, something arrived in my inboxâ¦the end of my innocence. A few days earlier, Iâd discovered that the Amish donât have to pay all of their taxes. Iâd long suspected that their âcash onlyâ policy was just a ploy to keep their furniture-making income off the booksâ¦but this was different.
It turns out they have special exemptions on whatever fraction of their income they choose to reportâ¦they exploit the very religious freedoms won by the very wars theyâre exempt from fighting!
This felt like an injustice. Their beliefs were being held to a different standard than yours and mine. I was blinded by rage and determined to catch these hypocrites in the act. And I didâon the internet.
They use websites like Amish.net and AmishHeartland.com to sell their wicker baskets and home-made candles, and to brazenly mock us with their existence. There was only one course of actionâ¦an anonymous, strongly worded email.
When I received a reply to my anonymous message, I learned there are stronger words than the ones Iâd been willing to write. Words like my full name, my home address, and the name of my high school newspaper. I was hit harder than a He Hate Me tackle.
They went for blood. They contacted the newspaper award committees to sabotage not only me, but my hard working colleagues as well. When I told them they sucked, I did so with honor. But honor is a concept as alien to them as Social Security Tax.
So they strong-armed an apology out of me. They humbled me through threats and humiliation.
Iâve never forgiven them for this.
Amish, I know youâre monitoring my profile, so know this:
You may have scared a child, but itâs a man who walks towards you now. Each step I take is a grain of sand falling through the hourglass. Your time runs short and your hypocrisy goes unchallenged no longer. February 3rd wasnât just the beginning of the end for the XFL; it was the day that sealed your fate. What does the X in XFL stand for? It stands for âX marks the spot.â And the spot is New Holland, PA.
Iâm coming, as soon as Iâm through with Intercourse.
Other than a few self-aggrandizing flourishes, thatâs exactly what had happened in real life. Yes, I was that kid. The high school senior easily (if a bit facetiously) enraged by the federal tax policy. Yes, it led me to write an angry email to several Amish webmasters, ending with the phrase âYou suck.â Yes, one sent back a
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