TO THE FRIENDS OF DANIEL HANDLER
There's a funny thing about the Internet. Contrary to what the anonymice who lurk on it believe, there's no privacy on the Internet. None whatsoever. Every post can be tracked. Every sent e-mail leaves fingerprints pointing to its source, and if there are no fingerprints, it wasn't sent. Every attempt to delete or change the fingerprints leaves its own fingerprint.
The Handler problem is that he's been circulating faked e-mails which aren't from me. Any attempt to prove them real would instead demonstrate their fakery. Forgeries can be shown to be forgeries. He would only dig himself deeper.
I've had few dealings with the person-- an exchange of a dozen or so e-mails (and reading masses of his anonymous blog postings)-- but even with that find him to be a pathological liar; in his intrinsic corruption, the living embodiment of everything this blog stands against. His mendacious personality proves every point about the literary world I ever made. His friends, those who know him, have to also know his personality and what he's been doing.
Who are these friends, you ask?
Why, his famous colleagues; literary luminaries like Mr. Eggers, Mr. Moody, Mr. Sedaris, and Mr. Elliott. One or more of them may have even been involved with the childish children's author in his childish games.
How far do they want to go down the path with him? Do they want to go down with him?
That's for them to decide. As for myself, I'd say the game is up. It's time to turn on the lights.