.....but does he possibly have a case here?
Damage would have to be done, to make a case.
The integrity of myself in real life has not been damaged; just a screen-name that I use.
Even during the height of the Scamdal nearly six years ago, when my real name, real address, and real telephone number (I had a telephone at the time, for taking messages, but later tossed it) were posted on Skins's island, no damage happened.
Of course, my fellow alum Skins yanked that in something less than two minutes, so damage to my real person
could have happened (but obviously did not), if it had been there longer.
It had been suggested by some primitives that I be "bothered" by a flood of junk mail, and that did happen, lots and lots of junk mail, but for some reason they were usually from book clubs. Making lemonade out of lemons, on some of them, I just ordered the four books for a buck, and then during the year bought four more at regular prices, but there wasn't anything done that would be considered "damage."
Then a couple of primitives, posing as representatives for Michael Moore, unable to reach me by telephone, called random people in the town they mistakenly thought I lived; now, that was a really weird experience, but no damage was done me.
Fat Che, the Bostonian Drunkard, the sensitive lad the piano-playing primitive, Doug's stupid ex-wife, and some short little shrimp from the Mike Malloy board posted threats of coming out to the vast Sandhills of Nebraska to "play baseball" with me, but these of course were primitives, all talk no action.
What came out of that was that people in town, and neighbors and acquaintances, when cleaning out their basements or attics or garages, or going to garage sales, brought over old baseball bats. I ended up with something like 58 of them (this was a while back, and I think that's what it was), these baseball bats. This was just before I moved out here in the country, and was at a place that had a fireplace. I didn't have to collect any wood for that fireplace.
So no damage to myself done there.
That backfired on them, because these
were threats, and reported to the proper law-enforcement, which obtained, and showed me, photographs of the suspects. That's how come I know exactly what Fat Che looked like, his belly hanging down and in front as if an apron. (Fat Che, who was no spring chicken then, has aged and gained considerably since then).