Was Marc Antony Caesar's Sock Puppet? Discuss.

I am reading on my favorite liberal blogs that some nameless blogger for some nameless online magazine -- all this "nameless" business coming not from my contempt for him or it but from simple laziness in looking it all up -- has lost his gig because of sockpuppetry. That is, he pretended to be someone else and posted nice things about himself and unkind things about those who posted unkind things about him.

If it were worth the trouble -- if anyone other than Geraldo, Prince of Crackers, were commenting on my posts -- I suppose I would gin up some phony identities and praise myself or even damn myself in weird self-satirizing ways that would cause you to hate the commenter.

That would be much more subtle.

Of course, it would be wrong.

But I best not get too self-righteous. Back in my Atlanta Magazine days -- buckle up, children; the way-back machine is going way back, nearly 30 years -- I decided that the magazine needed a monthly contest involving some sort of wordplay. I wanted the magazine to be more like the New Yorker, or what I though the New Yorker was. I initiated these contests, and almost no one entered, though we would get one or two legitimate entrants each month, which enabled me to give away the one or two prizes I made available. I think I coaxed one of our friendly advertisers into giving away a couple free-drink coupons.

But a laundry list of contestants including only one or two entries made participation in the contests seem a little thin. The Atlanta editor at the time was a legendary local journalist with a drinking problem that was more than legend. It was impressive enough without embroidery. His, uh, preoccupation was one reason I was able to waste valuable space on my little contest. This editor had several imaginary friends; that is, in a playful way he liked to menace those who disagreed with him with visits from Balls Lundigan and/or Overcoat Charlie.

I think I have this right.

So to swell my list of contest entrants I would make up funny responses and credit them to Mr. B Lundigan of Smyrna and Mr. O.C. Charlie of Sandy Springs. Month after month. I wonder if people wondered why these two gentlemen chose to persist in entering a contest in which they always fell just short of a prize?

I suppose I thought it was all an inside joke that devoted readers would get. Anyway, look for Mr. B. Lundigan to weigh in here soon, as soon as I can grease up my hand and whack my conscience smartly in the vicinity of its super ego.