Kilgore Trout whiteknights awesome Chronicle troll-action

In a damaging blow to what might have otherwise been a fruitful trolling endeavor, chronicle.su editor Kilgore Trout trolled his own news agency by warning would-be writing contest participants that the whole thing is an utter scam. Terrible author Frank Mason countered with undue name-calling followed by a dense string of offline gravity bong hits to the face.

“It was worse than anything I’ve ever seen,” said a frowning Joanna Mason, Frank’s mother in Fairfax, Virginia. “He was so high. So happy.”

Mason was not available to comment but wrote Saturday, “I don’t give a flying fuck what you say, it’s going to be really funny when someone tries to write another unintelligible centerpiece about an orgy of world leaders atop President Obama’s stinky sock collection. Rooting around in his dirty fucking socks, Bill.”

The writing contest would have entrants reporting on an alleged plethora of simultaneous sex acts, all taking place on a pile of unwashed clothes previously worn by the President during the exact moment in which he lied to American citizens. “But beyond that,” Mason clarified, “You are free to write anything you wish, adding what you like.”

Chronicle writer Frank Mason

Frank Mason, terrible author

Trout’s white knight leak is an attempt to limit the overall “collateral damage” of chronicle.su as she recklessly tears through the internet in the name of good comedy, lest she incur yet another case in a myriad of legal axes threatening to drop. By calling attention to Mason’s attempt at baiting bad writers into ridicule, Trout may possibly have prevented another lawsuit.

“Mason maintains all the ethical practices of a trapdoor spider,” he explained. “Oh, he’s a charming young man. Sure. And he’s good at videogames. But he is ugly inside. Inside, Frank is a venomous snake.”

Mason conceded, “At any moment, authorities could intervene . . . and the next thing you know we’re embroiled in a seven year legal battle with someone over use of . . . his face on the end of a penis.” Frank put one hand on his forehead, and looked up at the ceiling. For almost a minute, Mason posed in the lamplight, thinking. At last, he finally said, “Maybe we should just say somebody died. Somebody white this time.”

As of Saturday evening, participation in Mason’s contest is virtually nonexistent.

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