- Joined
- Aug 22, 2022
You inspired me.
Pat found himself waking up on the fart couch. What happened? Did he fall asleep while writing his latest, sure-to-go-viral Twitter thread about that time he told off a bully at the DMV and everyone applauded him? Well, no matter, it was time to get back to "work."
He went on Twitter and saw he'd gotten hundreds of new notifications. No doubt those nasty OnA stalkers. He cracked his fingers fatly and got ready to dominate.
He opened the first notification, a Tweet from an account claiming to be the sweat in between his chins. They were making the claim that he was a fat pig and that his first wife didn't love him, obvious delusional lies from a sTalker. Pat typed out a brilliant response that called this delusional criminal a child at least three times. As he ended with a classic "Wait for the knock," he hit send - another idiot owned. But something was wrong.
An error message appeared. "Failed to send." He clicked send again... the same message. Fifteen more attempts followed, but every time, that same damn message. "Failed to send." He refreshed the page and tried a few more times. "Failed to send."
As he furiously tried to Tweet out his amazing comeback, he got a new notification: the account Patrick's Chin Sweat had tagged him yet again. The stalker wrote: "Wow guess Rick agrees, it's been on his timeline for at least an hour with no reply lmao." Red hot fury filled Pat's jowls as he started typing out a reply. But he hit send and got the same message. "Failed to send." What was happening?
He restarted his computer. He opened his browser and saw that same Tweet at the top (Twitter was, of course, set as his home page). Pat furiously typed a new reply, even better than what he had typed before. But as he clicked send, there it was again: that dreaded error message.
Pat went straight to Twitter Support. He typed an astoundingly long, expletive filled message to them, that for some reason brought up Tesla a few times and called Elon a child predator. But as he clicked send, there it was again: that same damn error message. But how could that be?
He finally said to hell with it and went over to grab the keys to his Mustang. If he couldn't Tweet here, he'd just go to Hoolies and eat some garbage food and drink some shitty beer, his second and third favorite hobbies. And hey, maybe the issue was with his internet, so he could finally own those damn stalkers once he was on the Hoolies wifi!
He opened his door and what he saw was unlike anything he'd ever seen before. There was... nothing. Just infinite, empty blackness as far as the eye could see. Black on black on black, stretching into infinity. His half hovel was there, floating on a chunk of land suspended somehow in that inky void. Even worse, his prized Mustang and motorcycle were nowhere to be seen.
He grabbed his phone to call the police. A woman picked up and he frantically explained what was happening. But the woman on the other end of the line seemed to hear none of it. "Hello? Hello?! Sir or madam, do not call this number unless there's an emergency." And then she hung up.
At this point Pat was getting desperate. With how hungry and sober he was, he couldn't think straight. He decided he would just eat and drink here, then figure out this whole "Failed to send" business. After all, there was always leftover food from Hoolies and beer in the fridge. But when he went to the kitchen and opened the fridge door, all that filled the shelves were logs of rotting pepperoni, practically bursting out of the refrigerator. Each one had the face of a small black child on it, frozen in a grimace of fear. All at once their eyes opened, and they began screaming at him in a cacophony of urban anger. He slammed the door shut, utterly terrified.
In the other room he could hear the sounds of Twitter notifications. He collected himself, then ran back to his computer and saw that there were hundreds of them, possibly even thousands. He scrolled through them and saw that they were all troll accounts, Tweeting their delusional lies.
He had to correct the record! He typed and typed and tried to send, but every single time, it was fruitless.
"Failed to send."
"Failed to send."
"Failed to send, Rick."
"KEEP TRYING RICK!"
And then, in that silent void, a single scream echoed out into the blackness.
He went on Twitter and saw he'd gotten hundreds of new notifications. No doubt those nasty OnA stalkers. He cracked his fingers fatly and got ready to dominate.
He opened the first notification, a Tweet from an account claiming to be the sweat in between his chins. They were making the claim that he was a fat pig and that his first wife didn't love him, obvious delusional lies from a sTalker. Pat typed out a brilliant response that called this delusional criminal a child at least three times. As he ended with a classic "Wait for the knock," he hit send - another idiot owned. But something was wrong.
An error message appeared. "Failed to send." He clicked send again... the same message. Fifteen more attempts followed, but every time, that same damn message. "Failed to send." He refreshed the page and tried a few more times. "Failed to send."
As he furiously tried to Tweet out his amazing comeback, he got a new notification: the account Patrick's Chin Sweat had tagged him yet again. The stalker wrote: "Wow guess Rick agrees, it's been on his timeline for at least an hour with no reply lmao." Red hot fury filled Pat's jowls as he started typing out a reply. But he hit send and got the same message. "Failed to send." What was happening?
He restarted his computer. He opened his browser and saw that same Tweet at the top (Twitter was, of course, set as his home page). Pat furiously typed a new reply, even better than what he had typed before. But as he clicked send, there it was again: that dreaded error message.
Pat went straight to Twitter Support. He typed an astoundingly long, expletive filled message to them, that for some reason brought up Tesla a few times and called Elon a child predator. But as he clicked send, there it was again: that same damn error message. But how could that be?
He finally said to hell with it and went over to grab the keys to his Mustang. If he couldn't Tweet here, he'd just go to Hoolies and eat some garbage food and drink some shitty beer, his second and third favorite hobbies. And hey, maybe the issue was with his internet, so he could finally own those damn stalkers once he was on the Hoolies wifi!
He opened his door and what he saw was unlike anything he'd ever seen before. There was... nothing. Just infinite, empty blackness as far as the eye could see. Black on black on black, stretching into infinity. His half hovel was there, floating on a chunk of land suspended somehow in that inky void. Even worse, his prized Mustang and motorcycle were nowhere to be seen.
He grabbed his phone to call the police. A woman picked up and he frantically explained what was happening. But the woman on the other end of the line seemed to hear none of it. "Hello? Hello?! Sir or madam, do not call this number unless there's an emergency." And then she hung up.
At this point Pat was getting desperate. With how hungry and sober he was, he couldn't think straight. He decided he would just eat and drink here, then figure out this whole "Failed to send" business. After all, there was always leftover food from Hoolies and beer in the fridge. But when he went to the kitchen and opened the fridge door, all that filled the shelves were logs of rotting pepperoni, practically bursting out of the refrigerator. Each one had the face of a small black child on it, frozen in a grimace of fear. All at once their eyes opened, and they began screaming at him in a cacophony of urban anger. He slammed the door shut, utterly terrified.
In the other room he could hear the sounds of Twitter notifications. He collected himself, then ran back to his computer and saw that there were hundreds of them, possibly even thousands. He scrolled through them and saw that they were all troll accounts, Tweeting their delusional lies.
He had to correct the record! He typed and typed and tried to send, but every single time, it was fruitless.
"Failed to send."
"Failed to send."
"Failed to send, Rick."
"KEEP TRYING RICK!"
And then, in that silent void, a single scream echoed out into the blackness.
