from grunge conformist to archie bunker bull:

loud and proud jimmy, loud and proud...

I still get criticized by people I knew in University.

I’ve never picked up on the social cues of the world.

Jimmy, sometimes you’re writing is so on point. Other times, well… I’d like to share your work but…

But what?

I was stunned by one of my oldest friends.

But what?

Well Jimmy, there are times you just sound too much like Archie Bunker. My reputation could be hurt by associating with the likes of you. Look. You say you want to get published? Your stuff is really umm… Canadian. And some of your attitudes? They don’t jive well with what’s popular with the current litterati. It’s a bit problematic.

What the fuck do I care about the litterati? I want to write funny stuff for people who…

Who don’t read Jimmy. You’re writing for people who don’t read.

At the age of fifty, I thought I was past this. Sure, this was a valid criticism, but what was I supposed to do - write Hallmark cards for faux progressives who want novels from people from hot climates and names that are hard to spell?

But alas, as a troll I’ve learned to insist on living life on my own terms and shooting my mouth off despite the rules of the more refined class that I used to run with back in the day.

We trolls are not so much born as formed.

We are formed by a poor relationship with societal rules and norms.

Initially, many of us are guileless, the ways to move through the world seem strange to us even foreign. Games of status don’t make sense.

Instead, these unspoken rules of social norms become painfully clear through officious enforcement.

At first learning the rules hurts. Eventually though, a good troll becomes desensitized to the pain and in fact delights in making others feel uncomfortable due to their complete lack of shame.

My salad days were spent during the laid back time of grunge rock hipsters.

And the people I hung around with?

They were the kind of laid back insecure parasites who thrived on these rules and social norms.

As the author of The Book of Wrong Answers - A Trolls Guide to Arsing Up Everything, here are some of the rules that shaped my social alienation and rebellion from a group of posers who thrived on pretending to be socially alienated rebels.

In reality?

These posers that made up the Halifax Grunge rock music scene in the 1990’s were a bunch of insecure dorks who thought they discovered a new form of rock and roll and believed they were somehow more cool, more cunning, more cleaver, more awake and tuned in than those who came before them.

Here’s a list of rules from those glory days:

• Thou Shalt Worship Obscurity (But Only the Right Kind): Liking anything mainstream was instant social death. The key was to champion bands/artists/filmmakers that were just obscure enough to signal your superior taste, but not so obscure that nobody had ever heard of them (thus negating your opportunity to feel superior). Bonus points for claiming to have "discovered" them years before anyone else.

• Thou Shalt Affect Disinterest (Passion is So Mainstream): Enthusiasm was gauche. The correct posture was one of detached irony and world-weary cynicism. Even if you secretly loved something, you had to express it with a knowing smirk and a self-deprecating comment.

• Thou Shalt Embrace Thrift Store Chic (But Curatedly): Looking like you rolled out of bed in someone else's hand-me-downs was the goal, but it required significant effort. The rips had to be just so, the band t-shirt authentically vintage (and preferably from a band no one liked anymore), and the overall effect artfully disheveled, not genuinely poor.

• Thou Shalt Espouse Left-Wing Politics (But Primarily in Theory): Loudly proclaiming your progressive ideals was mandatory, especially when railing against "the man." However, actual activism that inconvenienced your social life was generally frowned upon. The focus was on talking about change, not necessarily making it.

• Thou Shalt Champion "Authenticity" (While Performing Your Identity): Everything had to feel "real" and "unpretentious," even though the entire subculture was a carefully constructed performance. Admitting to trying too hard was the ultimate sin.

• Thou Shalt Possess the Correct Canon of Cool: Knowing the "right" bands (Velvet Underground, Sonic Youth, Pavement), the "right" filmmakers (early Tarantino, independent documentaries), and the "right" authors (Kerouac, Bukowski, obscure feminist poets) was essential for social currency. Deviating from the canon risked ridicule.

• Thou Shalt Scorn Materialism (While Accumulating the Right Kind of Stuff): Ostentatious displays of wealth were bad, but owning the correct vintage record player, obscure art books, and ironic collectibles was a sign of being "in the know."

• Thou Shalt Frequent the Correct Hangouts (And Look Bored While Doing So): Certain dive bars, independent coffee shops, and "grungy" art spaces were the designated zones for displaying your non-conformity. The key was to look like you'd rather be anywhere else, but were tragically cool enough to be there.

• Thou Shalt Judge Relentlessly (But Subtly): While outwardly preaching tolerance, the grunge hipster art school crowd was a hotbed of subtle judgment. Everything from someone's musical taste to their choice of footwear to their perceived level of "selling out" was silently scrutinized.

• Thou Shalt Believe You Are Radically Different (While All Dressing and Acting the Same): The ultimate irony was the intense pressure to fit into this specific brand of non-conformity. Individuality was celebrated, as long as it aligned with the established codes of the subculture.

The weaponization of coolness and taste is still wildly wielded by these aging ugly outta shape and insecure motherfuckers.

They still vote for the same people and voice the same jingoistic slogans. They aren’t so much political. They pretend to be while fighting wars lost decades ago. There’s no room to stand down. If they did, how would they determine the rank within their plaid clad social order?

Maybe a sliver of my roaring trolls heart still twinges at the faint echo of "you're not cool enough." But then I remember the suffocating conformity of these so called non conformist in the Halifax scene.

Thrift shop poseurs, desperately performing authenticity. That twinge though? It doesn’t last long at all.

It passes more easily as I connect with you dear reader, metaphorically dropping the turds of those juvenile outdated status fucker anxieties.

Let my Archie Bunker voice echo amongst the porcelain halls as I poop on their values and so called ‘good taste’.

Their fear of my uncoolness? It's their problem, swirling harmlessly in the bowl while I get on with the glorious, messy business of being myself.

Now who wants to give this arsehole a book deal eh?