Monday 20 August 2012

Letter To The Complete Stranger I Argued With On Twitter

Dear anonymous person on Twitter,

First of all, know that you brought this on yourself. I'm sure that when you wrote that rather rude tweet about that person I am a fan of, making sure to mention them in it directly, and then that person retweeted you, the last thing you wanted or expected was to draw attention to yourself and make people angry. You probably thought, "Well, glad I lanced that boil! Now to retreat to Gilmore Girls DVD's and kettle chips!" But oh no, my friend, t'was not to be. You've rattled this hornet's nest, and now King Stinger's ready to plant his seed! (A wasp sting is like sex for them, right? That's why they die when they lose their stinger, just like in pornography?) Anyway, you're gonna get the last thing YOU ever wanted: a heated, dashed-off reply that you can easily deflect by using even a modicum of logic!

Following your response, I'll continue my totally unwelcome assault by maintaining a nearly incoherent stream of invective that bears only the slightest relevance to your original tweet. When this predictably fails to shame you into renouncing your views, I'll begin to make personal attacks based solely on either sheer conjecture or whatever scraps of information I can glean from your tweets or your bio. When you counter by doing the same, I'll become unjustifiably defensive and accuse you of making assumptions without knowing anything about me. Then you'll point out that I did this too, at which point I'll start openly mocking you for any reason I can find, no matter how small or petty. You'll stop responding, presumably because I've really put you in your place, and not because you have other things to do with your day. I'll keep tweeting at you for a while, though, just to make sure I've really sunk in the dagger, and not because the act of feuding with you has brought to the surface feelings of suppressed rage and powerlessness that I am now taking out on you. Finally, I'll stop tweeting and bask in a false sense of victory, secure in the knowledge that you've been converted to my way of thinking and that I've dealt you the ultimate blow by validating your existence and instilling in you a sense of power. Won't that make you feel like quite the cur!

After administering my death blow, I'll go for a walk in the park and crow to myself about how foolish I made you look and about what a rhetorical powerhouse I am. Then it will immediately hit me that I spent all afternoon arguing with someone I've never met over something as meaningless as a tweet. Spiralling quickly, I will begin to second-guess every life decision that might have led me to such a regrettable folly. I'll then retreat to the mountains, where an elderly sage named Abner will offer me a tab of acid and share with me the secret to becoming the me that is present in the now. I'll have a lengthy conversation with his pet cheetah Cheetah Rivera, who will reveal to me that my energy should be redirected to establish harmony with the sun and the river. He will offer me morning glory squares and I will refuse. Then I will return to civilization and probably write a self-deprecating blog post about the whole affair. Upon typing the previous sentence, I will hate myself even more.



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