Lorbergate continues, and no one seems to have wised up. Yesterday we posted a couple of times about Alexandria Symonds, a student writer for the Colubmia Spectator who received a pleasant bitchslap of an email from Amanada Lorber (she of the MTV reality gem The Paper) after writing a few nasty things about the brash, ambitious high school newspaper editor. Then Symonds' friends allegedly threatened revenge on Daily Intel writer Molly Jane Rosen, who originally posted Lorber's withering email. So, all well and good. People were upset, young confidences shaken. All in a Gawker's work. But these kids, seemingly unaware of some fundamental internet fact, kept sending us emails. Emails in which they bitched and moaned and (sigh, correctly) called us nosy and mean.

You'll remember, I trust, that Rosen claimed that her ex-boyfriend might be sending us (in an attempt at "Gawkering me back") fabricated tips emails suggesting that she had dated one of the boys from the teen sex romp Superbad. We never received said Superbadian innuendos. Well, not exactly. We got two late night emails from the ex-boyfriend, a shaggy-haired fellow named Justin Grace. He'd like to set the record straight and resolve these issues as quickly as possible. By sending us copied-and-pasted Facebook messages. Why, Justin, why? Don't you know what we do here??

And what did they say, these Facebook messages that Grace so painstakingly shared with us? Well they elucidate the Superbad story a bit. Molly wrote to Justin at some point:

You know what else is awkward? My "relationship" with Jonah [Hill]. You guys haven't touched wieners just yet. In fact, you might never touch wieners. Basically we met at his movie set, hit it off, he took me out to the owner's box at a Red Sox game and then out to a party and then we got drunk and he had a "talk" about how he has a crush on me and wants to bone me but has a girlfriend in California, but is moving to New York in two months, and can we date when he moves here? I guess he basically is trying to put me "on reserve," like a very large pair of pants, which is something I guess you're entitled to as a celebrity. However, since said date he hasn't returned my texts (I have sent 2), so maybe he likes his girlfriend more than he remembers and is ignoring me.

He also clarifies his role in the whole fiasco in his first, non-Facebooky email:

My "involvement" with this saga basically boils down to calling Molly Jane Rosen a couple of names that would take Hemingway aback and responding to her (unprovoked) pleas not to "reverse-Gawker"(Really?) her about a story she passed on to me a few weeks back. I'm not going to give details, because it's not my place. Whether or not it was true is for her to know. But I would be damned if I didn't want to let her stew for a while in the same sort of limbo she's been putting Alex through over the past week.

This situation reminds us of other incidences where personal matters were tossed carelessly into the internet void. Lovelorn bloggers worked through their issues on this here site, Hamptons townie kids tried to speak their piece and got lambasted. Again. And who can forget when a Craigslist playa thought that leaving us a weird voicemail was the quickest route to privacy? That's not how the internet works! Nothing ever gets better by sending strange (hopefully drunken) emails to us at 1:30 in the damn morning. I mean, we love them but, really, you're only making things worse for yourself.

Sigh. Though to his credit, Justin did preface the "PS"-subject email that contained the Facebook missives with a helpful "not that I really want these published, but..." Heh. That's like being in the witness protection program and auditioning for a reality show. But! Aha! Could this Facebook message be one the of the evil, ominously portended fakes? Who the hell knows! And who knows if we'll ever find out. For their sake, we hope these crazy kids will use their considerable smarts (she went to Brandeis, he's at Columbia) and decide to stop sending us stuff. Here's our advice: go meet somewhere in Morningside Heights. Maybe Tom's? Maybe Rack and Soul? Sit down. Have a nice chat. Work this thing out. We need not be involved (though we totally will be if you want). Just remember: it never gets better here. We're telling you this because we care about you.