Add Me.

By Monica Marier

Hannah looked at the screen and moaned.
The jolly icon of “Harry Plotter” had popped up in a Halloween-themed window on her computer.

“You’re doing great! For your last task, there’s safety in numbers! Add three neighbors!”

“Add three neighbors? What the HELL!” she screamed.

Hannah immediately closed the “Wizard University” game application and went to vent her frustration on her home feed. Fortunately her game-buddy, Louisa was on.

“We need 3 neighbor-adds to complete the Halloween task? WTF? XO” she typed into the chat bar.

“I know right? *eye roll*” answered Louisa.

“Well what the crap do I do now??” Hannah asked.

“Go to the ap community and add the people on the page. They got to finish the task too.”

“What the ‘add me and I’ll add you back?’ guys?”

“Yah.”

“But they’re all GOOOOOBERS!!!! >_<” whined Hannah.

“You can unfriend ‘em later if they creep you out.”

Hannah typed ellipses into the chat bar and hit enter.

“Or you could just not give a crap. It’s only a game after all,” said Louisa.

“Oh fine. I was hoping you’d side with me on this. Y’ know. Tell me to storm the castle, etc.”

“Have fun storming the castle! :D” responded Lousia.

Hannah closed the chat log and with a heavy sigh opened the community page for “Wizard University.” Louisa hadn’t been wrong. A LOT of people were trying to finish this “add 3 neighbors” task, especially since the mission expired in 18 hours never to be seen again. Hannah perused the wall, her skin crawling like she was investigating a cockroach nest. The comments on the wall were pitiful at best.

PLZ HALP! NEED 3 NABORS FOR HALOWEEN TASK!!!!!!!!!!

Add me! PLZ!!!

NEED 3 PEALPE KTHNXBY!!!!

<3 <3 <3 <3 Pleez ad me and Il ad u to!!! <3 <3 <3

Hannah’s face twisted up in disgust. Who the crap were these people? How come none of them knew how to spell or type? How come they all felt that by using emoticons, bad grammar, capslock and a million exclamation points they would make a good impression on anyone? Who in hell would look at this feed and say, “Oh yes! This person looks like a kindred spirit! This is someone I want to give access to every thought, link, and photograph I’ve ever posted online,”?

“It’s just a bunch of freaking goobers,” she sniffed. But an hour later, the uncompleted task began to needle at her. The prize for completing the task was a magical wardrobe that fit inside her wizard’s dorm room. It would grant her +8 to all offensive spells and her little wizard (whom she named “Nigel Tautbottom”)could jump into it and retrieve an exclusive wardrobe item! This was a once in a lifetime offer and she didn’t even need to plop down any real money for it!

She knew deep down it was all bullshit. Everything she was placing so much value on was nothing more than a collection of pixels and coding. If she didn’t complete the task the world wouldn’t end, and she’d probably go through this same nonsense during Thanksgiving and Christmas too. She’d clog her news feed with boxes begging people for intangible items in the game. It was all just a big waste of time and productivity.

So why couldn’t she let it go?

She thought hard about how to get around her dilemma. “If I make Pete play, and Louisa can get her husband to do the same, that’s two… I just need to friend one goober and my problems are over… still.”

She booted up her laptop and read the Wizard University wall again.

“Okay,” Hannah said to herself. “The first post I see that uses real words will be my game-whore of choice.”

It took a while to find one. Hannah grimaced at what was obviously the collapse of the English language in progress and wondered if these losers knew how dumb they sounded. But, there, the twenthieth or twenty-first post from the top was a photo of a golden lab and the name ‘Darryl Beamer’. His post simply said, “I’m looking for people who aren’t weird to friend me for this arbitrary Halloween quest.”

Hannah managed a small smile and hesitatingly hovered the mouse over the “add +” button. Gulping she clicked it and exhaled. She then hacked into her husband’s account to set him up on the game. She just had to make sure that she uninstalled the application before Pete got home.
She changed back to her account to check on her wizard’s progress again. A window popped up on the chat bar from her new friend Darryl.

“Hi!”

Hannah’s stomach flipped a little and she debated clicking her online status to “hidden,” but she remembered how well-written Darryl was and decided to give him a chance.

“Hi back atcha! :) ” she said politely.

“At you,” said Darryl.

“Come again?” typed Hannah, wondering what he meant.

“You wrote ‘atcha.’ Atcha is not a word. If you meant ‘at you,’ you should have written it properly.”

Hannah blinked. She knew some grammar-Nazis in her day but this guy took the cake.

“Your disregard for the English language saddens me. I see by your profile that you reside near me in the city of Ashburn. I will be over shortly to kill you. Please wear something appropriate.”

Hannah stared at the screen feeling numb. Was this guy serious? Was he just one of those socially impaired people who confused sarcasm with humor? What was going on?

“What?” she typed.

The chat bar’s text turned to grey as it informed her “Darryl Beamer is no longer online. You may leave him a private message.”
Hannah closed her laptop and unplugged it out of panic
Her eyes darted to the door. Her husband would be home soon. Would Darryl beat him there? Was he really coming after all or was he just pulling her leg? She locked and dead-bolted the door and ran around the house closing the windows. When she returned to the living room there was a heavy knock on the door that made the wood buckle. Was it Pete? Was he having trouble with the deabolt lock?

“Whozat?” she asked in a trembling voice, causing her words to jumble.

“I think you mean ‘who is that?’ Hannah. Clearly you talk as poorly as you type,” said Darryl.

Hannah fell to the floor, sobbing as the lock broke.

Morning People

Today has been made of suck for me, but I stumbled accross this passage from a WIP I abandoned called "Go Forth and Discover, Young Americans!"

I stumbled into the kitchen with a pounding headache. Kev grimaced as he noted my floppy pajamas, and unwashed hair. He was completely ready for work (except of course for the last ten minutes of running around asking 'April, where'd I leave the      fill in the blank     ?') The kids, however were still in their pajamas and asking for food.

"'S there any coffee?" I mumbled.

"No," said Kevin.

"Can you make there be coffee?" I whined.

"Yes," he said cracking a small grin. Apart from the fact that he obviously forgot to brush his teeth, he really was rather cute.  I suppose it was inevitable for me to fuck up the moment.

"Why isn't there any coffee? You know I can't function without it! You're always up before me and it’s the simplest damn thing in the world! Would it kill you to just remember to make a pot every day?"

I glanced at Lee jumping up and down to the Wiggles.

"Why the Hell aren't the kids dressed? My GOD, Kev! You do this every morning. Lee's diaper is huge! Did you give Ursula her cereal? Turn some lights on! Good grief! It's like a bloody cave in here, how is anyone supposed to wake up with no lights on? What the HELL are all these dishes doing in the sink? The dishes in the dishwasher are dirty, for Christ's sake! Did you check? I'll bet it didn't occur to you to check and see if the dishes in there are dirty! I see you left last night's frying pan on the stove! GOD! I guess I have to do it all myself, again!!"

Kevin's smile slipped down around his ankles, as he cowed under my assault.  He rolled up his sleeves, brushed past me roughly and turned on the water as I kept flooding him with complaints. I didn't stop either. I just couldn't shut-up, I was in the middle of a sermon about how no one helps me out, and how everything is plopped in my lap like it's my job.

I was aware of a hot uncomfortable feeling in the back of my eyes as my list of complaints gets longer and louder. Lee started imitating me, while I changed his diaper.

"Keeeevaaaaaaaan," he whined nasally.

Kevin shuffled around, cowed, while he emptied the trash and the diaper pail. He looked at the floor and said nothing. He was brought up by his mother and three sisters to listen and obey. Something in his genetic makeup just made him react to a female voice like a dog-whistle. A very tiny voice in my head told me I was going too far. I couldn't push him like this, not if I wanted him to respect me. I had never listened to that voiced before, and I don't do it now. Years of training from my Mother were blossoming into fruition.

It was only after Kevin gave me a peck on the cheek, kissed the kids and walked out the door, that I shut up.

I then realized that of the 2 hours we had shared that morning, I had spent the entire time giving him orders. We hadn't talked, we hadn't blissfully prepared for the day ahead together, I wouldn't make him his sandwich. I had shouted, "make your own damn sandwich! You got hands!"  We hadn't even had breakfast together.  What was happening to us? I thought glumly.

 Then I realized. We NEVER did mornings together. When we'd first got married, Kevin would get ready for work and leave me sleeping. If I ever made his lunch, it's because he was eating what I had made for dinner the previous night. I shook it aside and said, "I'm just not a morning person, that's all." 

The tiny voice said, "Maybe you're just not a marriage person."

I told that voice to go to Hell.

The next morning, I got up as early as I could and stumbled to the kitchen. Kevin was frankly surprised.  Normally I didn't get up unless the kids were up, and they were still asleep, tired out from staying up late last night. I gave him a weak smile as he pulled me into a warm hug; my chin scraped against his scratchy unshaved face and he ruffled my dirty hair. I inhaled his smell and sighed with content. It had been worth getting up early for this... Until I saw the cold coffee pot... and the cold slimy dishes... and the pork roast from last night left out.

"Keeeviiiin..." I began. And then stopped.

"Whaaaaat?" he countered with a pained expression. I gritted my teeth, and took a shaky breath.

"Nothing...uh I was just going to ask if you had taken your shower yet?" I said, thinking quickly.

"What, really?" Kevin looked around uncertainly, like he was searching for hidden cameras.

"Yeah, go ahead, I'll take care of this and get the kids up and dressed," I said, giving his hand a squeeze.

"Really?" asked Kevin in the manner of a man probing a canker sore. "It's just that when you said 'Keeeviiiin' like that, I thought you were gonna yell at me for something." I laughed this off as lightly as I dared.

"Noooo!" I said, giving him an affectionate pinch. "What would make you think that? Go on, before Lee wakes up!" I said shoving him towards the bathroom. Kevin wasn't fooled for a minute, of course, but he understood, and gave me a wink.

"I love you," I said, meaning it.

"I love you too," he returned, flashing me a brighter grin than I'd seen in a while.

Of course when he left, I was faced with the gooey dishes and no coffee, but I took a deep breath and plunged in. Hindsight being 20-20, I should have started the coffee so it'd brew while I was doing the dishes. Being short on coffee in the first place though, I wasn't thinking very clearly. I was about to wash out the cold coffee from yesterday, when Lee started banging his crib against the wall and Ursula started crying.

"Kevin?" I called out. Nothing. Damn. I'd have to get them myself.

Moving slower than tectonic plates, I slowly changed diapers, wrestled the kids into clothes, and plopped them in highchairs with a handful of Cheerioes each.  This bought me time to make the coffee before they demanded breakfast. 

I realized, I couldn't wait for the fresh coffee, I'd never make it, so I emptied the cold dregs into a bucket-sized mug and shoved it in the microwave for a minute while I made the fresh pot. My progress was halted when I heard popping and hissing from the microwave. I'd left my spoon in the mug, and it was sending up sparks. I took out the scalding hot, incredibly bitter coffee, and looked for some milk to help it go down easier. I'd done this before. When you added milk to day-old coffee, you often couldn't see the difference. It might change in color from pitch black to charcoal gray, if you were lucky.

A quick look in the fridge told me we were out of Milk. I was about to whine "Keeeeviiiin" again, and halted in my tracks. I would just deal with it. I looked around for a substitute. My best bet was some ancient, freezer-burned vanilla icecream from the freezer. It worked pretty well, and at least it brought the coffee down to a temperature safe for human consumption.

Lee looked up, saw the icecream container and pointed. "Bite? Bite? Icebeam! Icebeam tone!" he chirped.

"No honey," I said calmly. "No Icecream cone. How about juice? Okay?"

Lee frowned. "No Juice! Icebeam! Icebeam! Icebeam tone!"

I cringed, "Lee-honey, Icebeam's not for breakfast. You want some toast? Toast for breakfast?"

Lee paused, his elfish face screwed up into a scowl. He started to make whimpering noises as his cheeks began to turn red.

I decided to give in, it wasn't worth fighting. I scooped out some ice cream and plopped it in his suction-based bowl. To make it more breakfasty though, I poured Rice Krispies on top.

By now the coffee maker was done trickling, and I had that glorious first cup. The anticipation made it transcendently good. I look around at my clothed, and eating children. Kevin strode in, fresh from the shower, and we sat at the table and ate our breakfast, making small talk while Dora the Explorer played in the background. I could get used to this, I thought. I then and there resolved to get up early every morning.

 

The next morning I pretended to be asleep so Kevin would leave me alone and get the screaming babies. I then lay in bed for an hour until Kevin brought me a cup of coffee. I burned my tongue and spilt it on my covers.

Maybe I'll get up early on Tuesdays... I'll start with Tuesdays.

#Twitterpocalypse

The rash of bots has made me paranoid. This story is the brainchild of that paranoia. Enjoy.

Image of Fail Whale by Yiying Lu


The sky was blue, an unnatural neon shade that made one see bright orange upon blinking. White puffy clouds dotted the celestial dome like darling cartoon sheep, only they stayed fixed in the air, unmoving.

The four figures stared up and blinked at the static, sunless sky. With a deafening fanfare and an explosion of fireworks, they saw it. Descending from the sky, suspended by a multitude of chubby birds was a large whale. The leviathan nodded benevolently at his small assembly as the birds (with no small effort) lowered him into his tank. It sang a few bars of “Pokerface” and then turned to his men. Whales cannot giggle, but a cetaceous squeal of mirth was piped in the air as it breached.

“WELCOME!” said the Fail Whale. “I’ve invited you three to this special hashtag chat (#twitterpocalypse) because as denizen of this social media network, I have grown bored. I believe that Twitter has evolved beyond its purpose and must be destroyed. What started out as a neat way to stalk celebrities and piss off people with abbreviated sentences has turned into a place for people to connect and share ideas and promote and support each other. It makes me sick. That being said, with my awesome Fail Whale powers I hereby begin the destruction of Twitter! That’s why I have called you four together! What say you?”

The four avatars looked either unimpressed or ignorant of what was going on. The Whale eyed them critically. One was a smiling man in his late fifties standing on his yacht in Eddie Bauer shorts. Another was a Young woman with far too little clothing, who kept shifting into poses she probably thought was alluring. One was a badly sampled image lifted off the internet of a Cat with a Lime rind on it’s head. The last was simply an egg. The egg confused the whale most of all.

“Um, guys?” asked the Fail Whale. Perhaps they hadn’t heard him.
“‎"We must not allow ourselves to become like the system we oppose." - Bishop Desmond Tutu” said the man on the boat.
“i wood totally have hawt sex w. lady gaga!! ; )” said the young woman.
“GLENN BECK IS THE DEVIL WE SHOULD STAB HIS BRAIN WITH A TOOTHPICK!” said the cat in all-caps.
“writers wanted: http.tiny/iouoa9357q9ls.fke” said the egg.

“You’re not the traditional four horsemen are you?” asked the whale with sinking realization.
“Visualize the “you” you want to become. You are only as strong as that positive image!” said the man on the boat.
“OMG! Jus Beiber iz cuttin hz hair!” cried the girl.
“OBAMA IS A RACSIST WARMONGER!” shouted the cat, beginning to foam at the mouth a little.
“Protect your computer,” said the egg, who then posted another link.

“Who the heck ARE you guys?” asked the Fail Whale in despair.

The be-shorted man blinked and briefly got off his yacht.
“We’re the four horsemen of the Twitterpocalypse. My name is “Life Coach.” You’ll have to forgive me, I don’t interact with people much. I generally just post quotes by other people and platitudes.”

“Why do you do that?”

“I like to think that if I follow several million people and one million of them follow me and find my quotes inspiring that I can feel educated and superior.”

“But they’re not your thoughts or words. You haven’t posted one original idea!”

"Success is the ability to go from one failure to another with no loss of enthusiasm." - Sir Winston Churchhill”

The whale shook his head sadly. Life Coach would not be his lead horseman. He lacked initiative and originality. Maybe the others would make up for it. He eyed the scantily-clad girl with enthusiasm. She was evil, there was no doubt.

“Would you like to bring this media site to its knees, um… are you ‘Porn?’”
“Um… kaynothnxbye,” said the girl in annoyance. “Im, StalkR. I foloo pple I like an post evry aticrle, video, and link abot thm. I alzo offr my body daily to thm in the hopes tht they aknoldg me or evn block me.”

The Whale had trouble deciphering the string of consonants and creative spellings, and eventually stopped listening.

“Why can’t I understand you?”

The girl flipped her hair and scoffed. “YU tri tweetg whl drivin, ass! Itz fcking HARD!!!1”

The Whale lamented that the one word the girl had bothered to spell correctly was “ass” and moved on to the cat. He hadn’t much hope for this one. His doubt was justified.

“Alright. Who’re you?” he asked the cat.

“COLD WATER GIVES YOU CANCER! THE LIBERALS FUCKED THE WORLD! MY FOOT HURTS! WHAT IS A GLEE? GLENN BECK IS HIDING ON MY LAWN IN A PANZER!”

“Oh, you’re a Moron. I get it,” said the Whale. He swam a few inches away from the glass walls of his tank in case the cat attacked. Breaching again, he cursed his luck. How could he bring about total destruction with a small army of paranoid, elitist, illiterate ass-hats? He looked at the egg.

“Okay, egg. Impress me.”

The Egg Robot spun a little on it’s wide base and glowed. It then began shouting a strange litany in a monotone voice.

“United Church of God, Masses Weekly! (link) RT this ad to get a pink iPad 2 (link)! Real estate Prices are crashing! Get your forclosure today! (link) Obama wants to pay you to go back to school! (link) Why you need liability insurance! (link)…”

The whale froze in awe of the robotic voice devoid of emotion trying to reach the hopes and fears of hopeless mortals. The egg spun faster and glowed brighter. The Whale could feel the glass heating up from the shear energy and turned his large head. After a blinding flash of light, the whale dared look out the glass again.

There were millions of them.

A million eggs. Each spinning and glowing and making more eggs. An army of eggs. An invasion of cold, unattached mercenary eggs.

The Fail Whale looked out at the egg robot army and nodded his approval. It was good. He would lead this army to the ruination of Twitter.

It was the dawn of the Twitterpocalypse. None would be left in their wake.

Parody picture by Sabrina @introvertedwife