Troll Spotting.

Every discussion group on the interweb seems to be contorting into some sick dadaesque parody of a detoxing hippy’s nightmare.  Hideous shrieking beasts roam unchecked through public spaces, colliding violently with dumbstruck hair dressers and kindergardeners.  Complete pandemonium.  New users stupidly wandering into the path of innocent sounding chat rooms are sucked in like ATM cards, pulled over their own taste horizon, nearly spaghettified by the terrible forces.  No chance at all for the poor bastards.  But no matter.  Theirs will at least be a quick death.

Where do these vile reptiles come from?  I mean who’s got the *time* for it?  Have we really sunk so low as a people that some rotten punk furiously pecks raging screeds night after night for *kicks*?  Didn’t we used to get drunk and hump each other for fun?  Didn’t we race enormous American cars through the night, knocking off some elderly farmer’s mailbox with a bat made in Kentucky?  Didn’t we torment livestock?  These were the fighting habits of the Rockwellian nerdowell in a bygone age, and even if it was all bullshit, ho ho, at least it had a little pizazz.  I could watch a movie about it and at least feel like kicking my math teacher’s ass the next morning. The idea had teeth.

But the modern troublemaker can raise hell without disturbing the pizza boxes and unanswered mail piled by his mother’s front door.  These Mild Ones can rebel against what ever you got from behind the bullet-proof veil of an LCD panel, ordering up hungry new herds of biters with nothing but a 4 letter stock symbol.  No personal danger and all of the satisfying fun of smoking weed at school or shoplifting from Circuit City.  A teenage slime wave.

So what do you do?  You do what any meat-eating American does: You build a gated community.  Safe and sound and tight as a drum, but usually lacking the raunchy biker bars or pool halls that make a neighborhood interesting.  They tend to get awfully quiet at night, when decent people are watching reality TV as the good lord intended. Not that some damn peace and quiet isn’t a good thing from time to time, if only to let one hangover clear before getting a strong, clean start on the next.

Which reminds me…


~ by ChrissyOne on November 11, 2008.

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