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    The Hinternet

    Tupper Lake, NY: Small-Town Gossip Goes World Wide Web

    Via the magical modern technological wonder that is the Internet, a construction worker in upstate New York accused of being "scum" and a "useless town drunk" tells his accuser to "get a real life and wake up and smell my balls."

     “I consider myself lucky to live and work in Tupper Lake. It has to be the best place on Earth to raise a family.”
    —“Chamber [of Commerce] member & entrepreneur,” quoted on


    “Two bit shit hole in the middle of nowhere....If you walk in here the sign at the beginning of the town should say, ‘Welcome to Suckerville, We Will Do Our Best To Screw You One Way or Another.’”
    —“A good Tupper Laker,” posting on


    Back in the good old days, the town slut could throw her three-week-old baby into a snow bank and then go out drinking without having to fear that EVERYONE IN THE GODDAMNED WORLD would find out about it.

    Sadly, for the town slut at least, those days are gone.

    Tupper Lake, New York, is a small town with big problems. These problems are not peculiar to Tupper Lake. What’s peculiar is Tupper Lake’s willingness to share its problems with the rest of the world.

    A nasty little pothole on the Information Superhighway, Tupper Lake is one of those locales that would have remained buried and anonymous were it not for the Net. A town of 4,000 hardy souls, it is entombed deep within the big green blob of wilderness in upstate New York known as the Adirondacks. The village is further north than half of Vermont and is geographically closer to Ottawa than to New York City.

    The Adirondacks are considered to be part of the Appalachian Mountains, and it is from Appalachia that Tupper Lake draws most of its cultural juice.

     “This area of NY is more redneck than any southern scene you can imagine,” says one upstate New Yorker of the Adirondacks. “Some of these folks make West Virginia look ritzy in comparison,” opines another. “I thought we red necks in Kentucky were bad, but now I feel better about ourselves,” wrote one man after perusing online posts from Tupper Lake. “Sounds like this town is just fulla monkeys, skanky & otherwise,” added an observer from Texas. “Us rednecks got nothing on you folks.”

    Tupper Lake is a faded logging camp, a place that time forgot and God can’t recall. It rests within ridiculously rural Franklin County, New York. Although the entire county only reported one murder in 2000, it hosts five state correctional facilities. According to the US Census Bureau’s report from the year 2000, over half of Tupper Lake’s residents can claim some French ancestry, while nearly a quarter have some Irish in ’em. Surrounded by mountains and hostile to outsiders, they comprise an ersatz Basque country, a cloistered culture all its own.

    The village is ensconced way up in red-flannel/black-earflaps Northeastern Hillbilly country. Lest you think I’m casting aspersions, I should note that New England loggers are among my ancestors. My paternal grandmother used to cook for Vermont coal miners and lumberjacks, and we called one of my uncles—I’m not making this up—Uncle Nig. He was a logger who looked almost exactly like Curly from The Three Stooges. I don’t know why we called him Uncle Nig, and I don’t know what his real name was, and I couldn’t tell you whether his name had any racist connotations, and I don’t feel like reconciling with my family members to find out these answers for you.

    But Uncle Nig, and all the rest of my wacky rural progenitors, were cut from the same craggy New England white-prole mold, a hard-bitten stoicism forged from generations of brutal winters and ugly women.

    My parents lived in Vermont for a brief spell after getting married, but mom, a Philly girl, depicted small-town Vermont as a savage gossip pit where everyone had their bony red noses up in your business all the time. At mom’s urging, she and dad soon fled back to the Philly area, where people don’t care whether you live or die, much less care to spread rumors about you.

    A long time ago, lumber made Tupper Lake’s economy limber... the town buzzed with pulp factories and wood mills... everyone buttered their bread with wood. But the lumber industry has moved on, and the village barely survives as a summertime resort area. The town’s only department store recently shut down. Residents complain about the moon-crater-sized potholes in the streets. Tupper Lake is a ghost town in the making. A recent observer says the downtown area is “mostly vacant... if a bomb was dropped there, it would leave very few casualties in its wake; if any at all.”

    Tupper Lake has boiled away all its economic potential, and here’s what has stuck to the sides of the cauldron: a demoralized, dilapidated, weatherbeaten, old, grey, ugly, bitter place. And just like the backbiting, gossip-crazed Vermont villa which sent my folks hightailing it to Philly, the citizens of Tupper Lake have their noses buried DEEP in each other’s shit.


    Tupper Lake is a town that truly deserves everything it's getting, and then some. Blame your leaders. Get rid of those who are corrupt and lack vision....Tupper Lake [is] one of the biggest driving forces and inspirations leading to my creation
    —Ed Magedson, founder of and


    Years ago, an investor named Ed Magedson (which, I’m presuming, is pronounced “Maggot Sin”) came to the Tupper Lake area hoping to finagle some real-estate deals. As a dreaded “outsider,” not to mention one with long hair and of questionable ethnicity, he says he met with fierce resistance from the local oligarchy. Magedson claims the city fathers ignored laws and rezoned areas to block his real-estate moves. He says he was also met with police harassment, endured “ethnic slurs” and was even accused by local authorities as being a Mafia shill. When he complained to the city manager, he was met with a defiant “So sue me.”

     “Something was very wrong with our value system,” writes Magedson on his website, “I became infuriated as I witnessed these powerful people and groups engaging in despicable practices with impunity because of the knowledge and confidence that the sheer cost of combating them through the legal system protected them from all reprisals...[But] rather that just attempt to ‘prove it’ to the courts, I decided to ‘prove it’ to the public.”

    Magedson rightly discerned that there exists no better tool to “prove it to the public” than the World Wide Web. “With this global communications tool,” he writes, “we feel that we will be able to expose bad business much quicker and with greater impact [than] ever imaginable.... And as our world expands to a global level, so do reputations; good or bad. “

    Ah, yes...the Internet. The Thing That Makes Everything Public. The Giant Flashlight on All Us Cockroaches.

    Magedson created an online "Bad Business Bureau" whereby disgruntled consumers could file "Rip-Off Reports" detailing their grievances against uppity employers, politicians, and businessmen. Typing and will take you to the same website, featuring logos for both names, confusing things even further.

    What separates from all the other consumer-complaint forums—in other words, the only thing that makes it interesting—is the sheer breadth of its definition of what constitutes a consumer complaint. Not only are you encouraged to file reports about corporate polluters and financial con artists—there are also sections for those who have gripes against “Abusive Parents,” “Drunks,” “Bigots,” “Sex Offenders,” “Dead Beat Dads,” and “Ex-Boyfriends.”

    And although you are free to list the accused’s home address and phone number [!?!?], you don’t even have to publicly list your e-mail address.

    Basically, you can go on there and say anything about anybody, then hide behind an electronic wall.

    So, say that some vengeful ex accuses you of sucking baby cocks. Say she accuses you of sucking a dozen of 'em. Say she gives your home address and phone number and you are eventually hunted down and brutally raped by a cheering mob, which tars and feathers you while inserting kitchen appliances in your anus.

    Don't worry.

    You are allowed to boldly fight back against such false accusations by filing a rebuttal to any reports on You merely need to state that you DON'T suck baby cocks, and everything will be all right.

    How you PROVE that you don't suck baby cocks might be a little difficult. As will be the task of erasing that strong image from everyone's mind once it's lodged there...

    ... you fucking baby-cock sucker, you.


    7 out of every 10 homes/trailers in this town are equipped with either a two-way radio, a scanner, and/or binoculars. ... You people spy on each other in an attempt to live your lives vicariously through others, only to find that their lives suck just as bad as yours.
    —A citizen of Tupper Lake, posting on


    Reading the postings from Tupper Lake is like reading Stephen King's novel "Needful Things", in which the residents of a fictional Maine town called Castle Rock literally destroy the town and themselves as well. An evil entity uses the unwitting townspeople as cat's paws to turn neighbor against neighbor. In Tupper Lake, the Internet seems to be the weapon of choice.
    —An outsider from Minnesota, posting on


    It is said that if you put 1,000 chimpanzees in a room with 1,000 typewriters, that in 1,000 years they'll come up with the works of Shakespeare. I don't think that can be proven, but the Tupper Lake posts DO demonstrate that if you give ten Tupper Lake residents access to the Internet, they'll create a WWW version of the Jerry Springer Show...
    —An outsider from Texas, posting on


    One can tell a lot—almost everything—about a person by the way they argue on the Internet. The collective keyboards of Tupper Lake peck out a picture of small-town assholes and bullies, a miserable burg, a village slowly strangling itself to death.

    With nothing else to do for fun but spy on one another, the Loggers login, becoming electronic stool pigeons and spreading town gossip for all the world to see. Instead of 4,000, Tupper Lake now has a potential electronic population of 6 billion.

    The hinterlands come to the Net—call it the Hinternet.

    Tupper Lake’s compiled online bickering, there for all the world to see in perpetuity, is an important American document. It paints a picture of a small town better than anything Faulkner ever did. It's as if the residents of Mississippi's mythical Yoknapatawpha County had resurrected themselves in upstate New York nearly a century later and wrote their own novel without Faulkner, trading Southern realism for accusations of cocaine addiction and herpes infections.

    Everyone in Tupper Lake’s online soap opera—from the original perps to everyone wreaking "revenge"—should be ashamed of themselves. Their infantile rantings paint a picture of humanoids with a bigger need for attention than respect, of people who’d rather win an argument than know the truth. Pudgy, ugly and uneducated. A film of dirty social plaque on the clean white teeth of the Adirondack Mountains.


    Cindy patterson is a low life piece of poo scum slurping uterus she will lie and cheat and steal to get what ever she wants. ... Piece of poo fat butt witch that sucks off of everyone she knows .....I myself and family was kind and took the fat ovary kabob in with her kids and our boyfriend. Then when my back was turned she stole my clothes, jewerly, long leather trinch. Then said that i deseverd it. ... I would like to report this fat bitch and scumbag for many things .like using me to play the roll and to make others jeolous. also for using her own children. like sell there ridalin to make a fast dollor . you are a poor excuse for a humun being. any mother who sell's their kids pills so someone else could get high is sick and don't care about anyone but them self.


    been there

    tupper lake, New York




    Jon Duhaime is a scum bag, piece of corn filled fecal matter who goes around giving girls herpes. How many uteri are you going to plow with before you admit that you have herpes? I hope you feel good about your self for giving me herpes, something there is no cure for. Does Amy Lizotte know you have herpes or did you already give it to her? Girls beware; Jon has herpes. When your are out on a Thursday or Friday night at the Grand Union hotel (Jon's hangout), DO NOT SLEEP WITH HIM. That is unless you want herpes, and believe me, they are no fun. Well Jon, i hope you are happy that i have it, but your day will come, TRUST ME.

    you know who i am

    tupper lake, New York




    tarboxs are scammers and thieves. Mr. greg tarbox likes to steal food and tp from the sumount facilities for personal use. wtf they pay good money at sunmount so why would he have to steal. and his father who works at the demimore prison likes to fake injuries so he can get work comp and ride four wheelers around all day drunk. if hes healthy enough to go four wheeling hes healthy enought to work. Gregs son Kris tarbox takes pleasure in beating up little kids and stealing soda from the piercefield community center and then having his drunk grandfather alen beat people up. you cant blame kris becuase of were he comes from such a fu**ed up family.



    tupper lake, New York


     (all posts from



    The most scandalous story to emerge from all of Tupper Lake's online mud-wrestling involves a girl named Chanell and her tossing of her three-week-old baby boy into a snow bank. She apparently couldn't find a babysitter, so in a fit of postpartum alcoholic psychosis, she threw the little lad into a snow bank in the freezing rain and later went out drinking. (The boy was found, rescued, and taken into the care of authorities.)

    This shocking event triggered a slew of posts on wherein the cackling hens of Tupper Lake roundly condemned Chanell for her abominable mothering skills, going so far as to predict she'd kill the boy if he were returned to her custody.

    When Chanell finally reared her head on the message boards, she seemed much more concerned about dissing the other hoes in town than in caring for her baby.


    She writes to a woman named Jessica:



    She addresses a woman named Penny thusly:



    But she saves most of her venom [while, ironically, going easier on the caps lock] for a girl named Katie:

    Katie Dechene is nothing but a low-life cunt and a ho. You go to mudd puddles wearing nothing but a bikini top and tight ass jeans. ... You are a suicidal bitch. You like to put knives up to peoples throats. You think you are really all that,but you are not all that. you are nasty. ... You better not go to mudd puddles no more or you will get you're ass kicked not only by me but, by other people that also think you are nasty. You may think you will go somewhere but you will go nowhere or be anything for the rest of you're life. .... [she] had two previous boyfriends committ suicide, and was mistreated and abused by her. She gave her daughter that belonged to her her boyfriend, that shot himself , over to her dad. She continually drinks and has affairs for cocaine and a place to stay. She also likes threesomes, she had one with her ex's old girlfriend and ex girls boyfriend. ... Katie is a whore and needs to get a life. She is probably diseased infected by now.


    Through it all, Chanell doesn't deny throwing her baby into a snow bank, nor does she seem capable of pondering the moral gravity of her actions. Instead, she turns it into an online catfight, scratching out the eyeballs of all the other town sluts.

    The men of Tupper Lake seem nearly as charming as the ladies. A consumer complaint lodged against a construction worker named Mark Dewyea calls the man “scum,” a “useless town drunk” and a “useless human being,” accusing him of botching an expensive roof-repair job on their house. Dewyea’s response is startling in its impenitence: “YOU GET YOURE BED SHEETS MIXED UP WITH YOUR UNDER WEAR DOSENT MEAN YOU HAVE THE RIGHT TO JUDGE ME ... she should get a real life and wake up and smell my balls.” Dewyea goes on to accuse the woman’s family member of stealing “poor Percey Trombley’s generator.”

    No gossip scene would be complete without multiple allegations of child molestation, and Tupper Lake is full of outraged parents blowing the whistle on who’s blowing our children. We learn that the recent high-school principal, a dreaded outsider, was fired due to prior kiddie-touching charges. Regarding the school board’s hiring of a janitor who had been previously accused of fondling tots, one acrimonious Tupper Laker uses the word “pervert” eight times in a single post. A mother from Tupper Lake says she’s “discusted” that yet another convicted chomo is on the loose. She says she would have “shot the sick basterd” if he ever came near her children and expresses a wish that he be imprisoned and brutally raped.

    So is this the best of Tupper Lake? Or is it the worst? A scary thought—maybe these are the ones who were bright enough to use a computer, and we should REALLY be worrying about the other ones.

    Who is the village idiot if everyone in the village is an idiot? I’m sure there are some nice people in Tupper Lake. They just aren’t the ones posting.

    The Internet is made for morons. Give a shit-talker a forum in which to talk shit, and they will almost always do it. Give 'em enough telephone cords and fiberoptic cables, and they'll always hang themselves.


    I think you can simply say this town is filled with people that have been taught to hate and discriminate. I was born and raised in that little town. It starts in our school system. If your name is one that is considered a good old boys club then you are not held accountable for any of your actions. If your name is not of the good old bays club then you can expect the maximum. ... People in this town have thier rights violated on a daily basis. Both the town and the biggest employer, think they are above the laws ,both federal and state. ... The corruption in the politics in this town is so real. Believe it or not people in this town are afraid to stand up and speak thier opinion. It could cost you plenty in that town. I have seen people move out of that town rather than try to change things. Fear is what makes that town tick. ...Wake up tupper lake before the town is dead.


    These people use coercion, intimidation and fear as a tool to teach the people of this town that there is no hope... .These tactics gain control over you financially, politically and economically  ... These so-called prominent people of this community can do anything outside the law because these people have convinced themselves that they themselves are above the law.


    (posts from Tupper Lakers on


    There is, to be sure, much fun to be had at the expense of this town's misery. I want to know everything about them. I want to watch them destroy themselves on my computer screen. I want to Windex their bloody carcasses off my monitor glass.

    But there's also some poignance, at least for this writer, amid all the accusations of sewer crotches and stolen fish sticks. If one listens closely enough, one hears the plaintive wail of a long-suppressed underclass. Tupper Lake appears to be an alpine fiefdom, an almost feudal two-tiered social structure split sharply between haves and have-nots. Beyond all the juvenile mongoloid name-calling, there's some sincere frustration being expressed on these message boards. One hears again and again how the powers that be let their rich buddies get away with murder while the poor folks in town always catch heat.

    Until very recently in world history, the media has been controlled almost exclusively by the very rich, the same oligarchical forces who are mainly silent on these message boards. Why are they silent? Because the mainstream media and the court system already do the talking for them.

    Despite the ghastly immaturity of many of these posts, one can also sniff a certain giddiness at a newfound power—the power to disseminate information and voice opinions previously silenced by the powermongers. The net moles of Tupper Lake, in control of information for the first time in their lives, hold electronic kangaroo court and convict those who've bullied them around. If only temporarily, they are able to wrest control away from the Chamber of Commerce and their false, self-justifying platitudes.

    With that in mind, one might forgive their atrocious lapses in taste. If anything, Tupper Lakers wind up fighting one another because they can't fight City Hall. When you can't fight the power, catfights are all that's left.

    Building on Tupper Lake’s inimitable model, Net Monkeys from all over the country are using to spread nasty rumors about others. And so the dysfunction slowly, steadily spreads like hot tar under a steamroller: There’s a racist girl named Kimber in Portland who answers the phone, “Yes, nigger.” There’s an Amanda in Ontario who “carries many sexualy Transmitted infections.” There’s a Kevin in Calgary who will “beat you until you can not walk and anally rape you after a beating until you are so blinded by your tears you feel like it all must be a dream.” Jason in Long Island will rat you out to the police whenever he gets busted for drugs. And there’s an alleged child molester in Estacada, Oregon, who bounces young girls on his lap while he has a boner and walks around in the summer with jean cutoffs and no underwear so that “his testicles hang out half the time.”

    What, if anything, is to be learned from all of this? That there’s an eternally fine line between “fighting back” against abuse and becoming abusive yourself. Being obsessed with the guilt of others is always questionably moral. There is so much much dishonest much sublimated criminality...nested within this idea of "justice." Nietzsche advised us to beware those whose urge to punish is strong.

    Beware, then, the angry villagers of Tupper Lake.

    And beware the angry global village that is sure to follow.


    Copyright © 2018 Jim Goad  ::  The World's Bravest Man

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