Crossposted at My Left Wing and skippy.

In a parallel universe, a Washington Post reporter sent me an email two months ago asking to feature me as a representative of left-wing blogtopia (skippy coined that phrase, you know) and the other universe me agreed.

Through a bizarre accident involving the flux capacetor, I managed to get a copy of that story. And it’s an example of why it’s better Maryscott O’Connor represents the left as compared to someone like me.

By David Stinkel

Washington Post Staff Writer

Saturday, April 15, 2006; A01

GERRARDSTOWN, W.Va. — In the macabre, even grotesque life of Carnacki, the horror begins as soon as he opens his eyes and realizes that the president is still George W. Bush. The sun has yet to set and his family is asleep, but no matter; as soon as the realization kicks in, Carnacki, age unknown, is out of his coffin and heading toward his computer.

Out there, among the Scary Left, where Carnacki’s reputation is as one of the scariest of all.

“I’m happiest when I’ve made someone hurl their cereal if they read my blog with their breakfast,” he said.

He inhales deeply. Should he write about President George W. Bush, a man he considers the Anti-Christ, or should he write about Karl Rove, a man he considers a traitor to the country. He checks his email and perks up with excitement. His anger at the administration must wait. He has found the perfect story for his audience and his fingers dance across the keyboards like manic miniature tapdancers high on crack.

Keith of Old Haunts, a man he knows only through his online writing, has emailed him a link to a story about a burglar caught stealing a book made from human skin. “Paging Dr. Armitage,” Carnacki writes, making an obscure reference to a character from a horror short story published in the 1920s. “Dr. Armitage to the courtesy phone, please.”

He leans back and sighs. The joke is weak. The reference so obscure it will go over the heads of all but the most dedicated horror fans. He does not care. He’s too lazy to delete everything and start again.

Next to him on the desk is an empty beer bottle, Rolling Rock. On the book case to his left is a human skull. Gray gargoyles surround him, one perched on a shelf, another kneeling at the top of a book case, a pair holds candles. A death mask of Sherlock Holmes stares down at him. The book cases are lined with occult tomes, vampire encyclopedias and reference books on the supernatural and paranormal.

“Reference material,” he says as he begins writing for a political blog.

His 5-year-old daughter interrupts him.

“What fresh hell is this?” he asks.

“Daddy, Mom says there’s another dead mouse in a trap,” she says. “Can we cut it’s head off and put it on a pike like the others?”

A flash of panic and embarrassment crosses his face and he turns to the reporter shaking his head.

“I don’t, uh, know where she gets these ideas,” he says. “Uh wait here.”

He goes down to the basement and pulls out the mouse from the trap. Small mouse skulls are propped on miniature pikes with a miniature sign posted at mouse height: “Beware all those that enter here.”

“Uh, I didn’t know you followed me,” he says. “Let’s go back upstairs.”

Carnacki checks his blog. No comments. He sighs. He writes a diary offering advice to Democratic House Minority Leader Nancy Pelosi for DailyKos. Ten comments, 20 comments, and more are posted.

“Why can’t I get this kind of response with the human skin covered book?” he wonders aloud.

“What’s wrong with these people?”

He begins writing a new piece.

“That son of a bitch Bush…” he begins.

Is it for another political blog? he is asked.

Carnacki shakes his head no. “It’s for the Sunday school lesson I’m teaching this week,” he says.