Tentative
Title: The Life of a Hacker Troll
By
Christopher Brown
Have
you ever had one of those afternoons when the world came to a
blistering halt, and your thoughts centered on the pitifulness of
your existence?
Welcome
to the story of my life.
I'm
a troll.
I
know what you all must be thinking—“Well, there are worse things
than being an Internet troll... unless the person is a network
administrator, then it's just awesome sauce!“
No,
I'm not an Internet troll—at least, no more than the average
Internet user. No, I'm a real troll. You know the kind you read about
in fairy tales, fantasy novels, or Internet yaoi fanfics of World
of Warcraft. [Don't ask
me where that last part came from... I was on 4Chan last night. I am
still reeling from the experience. I used up my last bottle of
mind-bleach last week when some genius posted a nude
photograph of the Queen of England holding the Union Jack while
banging a horse. Who comes up with this stuff? Seriously! I guess
that's the advantage of being a magical creature, we actually have
real mind-bleach!]
[Now,
where was I...? Right!]
I'm a troll. Well, a quarter-troll to
be exact. My mother, apparently, used makeup for years
to cover her green complexion. Dad eventually found out, but being a
total nerd, he thought
it was the most awesome thing ever!
To
make a long-story (one that involves a lot of D&D references,
most of which I am unfamiliar with) brief, let's just say that a
geek/nerd/otaku found his fantasy dream girl in a half-troll Zelda
fan from Montana; they've been making sweet music together while
kicking dragon ass ever since. And, as I should mention it, the
dragon ass was real!
As
for me... I'm a quarter-troll hacker who lives somewhere in the US. I
won't say exactly, because then I would be giving away too much
information and ruin the mystery and suspense of my story.
To
be honest, I'm just lazy, like where I live, and don't want to move
again... I'm a member of Anonymous
[the group commonly associated with tea-bagging the church of
Scientology, terrorizing third-world dictatorships, and our continued
alliance with Occupy Wall Street (and the Occupy movement in
general)]. As a result of that fruitful association and its sometimes
annoying downsides, I have to keep my physical location a secret to
avoid every Federal, state, and local agency swooping down on my
little “residence” and having their merry old way with me. Worst
of all, if they actually found out I was a troll, and not the kind
that likes to watch grown men and women descend into stuttering,
muttering, imbeciles,
running about , . I figured no one would believe an author telling
eir audience that e was a troll (or any magical creature for that
matter), but indicating your hacker prowess and membership to the
body “threatening” the elites'
“national security” would wind me up on ever tracker database in
existence. Do you know how much magical energy it takes to wipe every
database on Earth of your identity? It takes FOREVER!
[To
my editors (respectfully): Before you pull out that red ink pen,
holstered in your front shirt pocket like some 1950's western hero,
and start flooding my copy with “helpful suggestions” like a
pedantic high school freshman English teacher, who believes e is the
last vanguard of English rhetorical law—the only thing
standing between the downfall of civilization and moral
propriety—NEWSFLASH! Linguistics of the Enlightenment was falsified
in the 19th
and 20th
centuries! Get with the times! As it pertains to 'eir', 'em', 'e',
'eirs' and 'emself ',
do yourself, my readers, and I a huge
personal favor and search Google (or the search engine of your
choice) for the “Spivak pronoun”. You'll amaze yourself at what
you will find. I did.]