Hello you. It is all fun and games with a laughter that caresses the cheeks during the initial dip in frosty waters. A soak that allows the skin to feel as though it is a baby’s buttocks, a feeling of being fed from a toddler’s bottle until one becomes a victim over and over again. The menace which you bring, as though a covering of black muddy grease is more like spilling depression over an entire body. What an honoured quixotic champion, or should I say, what an honoured unrealistic squatter you are of a page. Your somewhat funny but devaluing expertise in writing captions is a skill to be revered and the methods of singling out people for stones to be thrown at is acknowledged from north to south and with the power to stare the air around people’s mood, I concur to the possibility of your presence in their homes. Secretly owning a bedroom and always present for lunch in a player's home.
Also, I must commend the uniquely enhanced thorns decorated to appear as roses. Despicable roses planted in blood and watered with fallen tears. A source of discomfort planted and watered around the premises of the homes you currently reside without pay. Oh! I must say that there are also happy times you bring in disguise amidst the quarrels, but the thorns and ceaseless traps were not laid to catch an angel neither were they supposed to attract the pope. It was set for you and I, spectators with time on their hands who enjoy playing dirty.
Spectators half of the time, regardless of the method of purchase or type of data plan wonder if and when the stage will be rebuilt to fit a game of either tennis, boxing, judo or hunting. More often viewers hope for a game of boxing, hoping to satisfactorily utilise data bought with hard-earned cash. During a week of combined sporting activities, it makes it a memorable week of lessons, regrets and opportunities. A time which resorts to properly catching up with friends. Hence, gossiping on the phone in hope of acquiring more information or to view each others opinions that later becomes a judging criteria for both parties.
Sometimes, members just want to flick through feeds in peace and quiet without any transmitted bad mood. But when the unexpected bomb falls yet again, when a “comment booster” post hits the naked eye, that is it for the rest of the day. Here comes a direct match with open confrontations, mostly vulgar, which nearly all contributors covertly demand for. During the first hour, the heat amongst players goes from 0 to a 100, gathering chaos to re-enact the battles of the Roman Empire. Players better start dialling that number or better still make those fingers work with @@@@ handles. The squatter is all smiles yet again while lives are set ablaze.
In addition, picking preys to bully in the game of hunting vulnerable individuals has become a trending habit that brings immediate attention from the public. And by knowingly throwing in a few “come back” replies to push more buttons from attackers, targets hide in wait to be the centre of discussion. Faltered in secret, they act as though public observations and opinions are not to be cherished. On the other hand, these “comment booster” type of headlines that influences the flow of praise, judgements, remarks and criticism to a sizeable degree from commenters are held above the head by the squatter, as though a saviour had been born to free the world or the world cup have been awarded. In a bid to acquire fame, the squatter uses this as a measure to feed on bread and milk. As a result, ticking off resolutions by attaining specific goals. An immediate key to the bank safe and a smile on the clown.
After the deed has been done by the squatter of ones’s Instagram life, the loud unbearable and confusing noise not only sends victims into a hole of embarrassment, but it also causes unending misleading and unclear opinions within spectators to argue with their ancestors. How long will the squatter’s wrath be felt, how long will it take to point him out during lunch or when will he stumble on his own trap?.
Did I just hear the buzzer.