Why am I not surprised?
It is a crapshoot really, picking a seat on the train. You can only do your best. Even before the train comes to a halt, you spy through the windows to see if any seats are empty, which helps in making a decision before those sliding doors open. A wrong choice could prove critical. Whether you hit the upper or lower deck, choose wrong and you're stuck with a symphony of conversations the entire trip. Or the company of vomit smell. Or some drunk who had nothing else to do than get something off their chest.
Well, this drunk just decided it is good form picking on an old woman sitting opposite her, minding her own business. The old lady doesn't take it well and starts to issue a barrage of insults at the drunk woman.
Just as it is getting interesting my phone dings.
A message.
FROM: SILVERTROLL TO: CAVEMAN RE: DEEP FRIED LAPTOP.
Dear Caveman, due to your obvious lack of intellect, I decided to melt your machine and spare the internet from your retardness. Regards. Silvertroll.
I think about my response. I figure I need to keep this shithead engaged long enough for me to fish information from him. I fantasize about tracking him down and grabbing him by the ears. I would yell and shake that frigging skull of... his. Hopefully, it's a he. I could not imagine what I would do if it were some sad female doing this.
What if it were a fat pubescent boy?
Regardless. When they meet my rage, they will regret ever being born.
I thumb my reply.
I appreciate you admitting to what you did. But you crossed the line when you infected my laptop with whatever that was and caused it to overheat and malfunction. You can't go doing that, it's called destruction of property. So you are now liable for this damage, and I will be pressing charges against you. I am going to the police, so you'll be hearing from them, soon. Regards. Caveman.
I look around me, the train carriage is empty.
Beep. Beep.
A new message.
FROM: SILVERTROLL TO: CAVEMAN RE: RE: DEEP FRIED LAPTOP.
Hello Nathan, Thank you for your reply. You have just proved, yet again what kind of retard you are. While I accept you have the right to live in complete stupidity, sometimes an idiot has to be shown that they are what they are. A dumb-ass. In your instance an absolute dumb-ass. The government should certify dumb-asses like you if they were serious about fixing the economy.
I look up and check the carriage. I spot the Yellow-vest Man seated a few seats away, alone, facing me, and asleep.
I read on.
This certification would declare retards like you incompetent and ban you from using technology altogether. Think of all the wastage this action would curb. No more suckers losing their money. No more internet broken by idiots clogging up the bandwidth with garbage.
I am unconvinced however about your threat to go to the police. I fail to comprehend why even a retard like you would expect the police would waste their time on a trivial brain fart such as this.
I was faced with a situation a few months back. Someone parked across my driveway and began washing their car. I rang up the police and told them, there's a guy in my driveway washing his car. They said that they could come down and fine him, and since it was blocking emergency vehicle access to the property they could also have it towed away.
But they warned me.
'Do not try to threaten the owner or attempt to move the car by myself.' This would be a crime and they would come and arrest me. Maybe it was my tone of voice that tipped them off, prompting them to issue such a warning.
Nevertheless, the guy finished washing his car, towel-dried it, and left. No cops arrived, Nothing.
This probably isn't an exciting story but it should serve to illustrate the futility of your mindset.
Mind you this guy returns every second weekend to re-enact this ritual. I cannot stop him, even though he is breaking the law. If I were parked across my own driveway, I would be breaking the law. But I do not intend to rely on the authorities to seek justice. I vacuum up the thick dust that has accumulated over a thousand years in my attic and dump it on my neighbour's lawn. Bad luck when the neighbour mows the lawn it blows across my driveway.
I read this again. The phone isn't the best viewing device in the world, so I struggle. I try to collate what relevant information this Silvertroll revealed in the letter. He lives in a house with a driveway. Not really a whole lot to go on, so I sink down into the seat, click reply and try again.
Was that little story of yours a hint directed at me? Do you want me to find you and resolve this in person? If that is the case then stop hiding behind anonymity and tell me who you are. Or are you a coward? A pencil-neck coward.
Not only do you hide behind technology, you hide behind the law. Even when I find you, I guarantee you I will, the only thing stopping me from breaking your face is a prison term. Please note, however, once a prison term ceases to be a deterrent in my head, God help you.
I wait for a response. My eyelids grow heavy until I close them. Waiting, until...
...I doze off.
I wake in fright.
The Yellow-vest Man is seated in front of me, a slight grin hidden beneath his short beard.
The Yellow-vest Man speaks, "In reality, you can't guarantee anything. You failed to guarantee the safety of your own prodigy and yet here you are claiming shit you know is beyond your capability. You need to see a medical specialist to quantify the level of your stupidity, and if need be ascertain whether this stupidity was genetically inherited from some moron in your ancestry who by chance happened to survive into breeding age."
I feel my face burning red.
The Yellow-vest Man continues, "This may indeed be a fluke of nature, idiots surviving into adulthood AND finding a mate, but biology is based on flukes isn't it. Nature knows what it is doing, so when an idiot specimen is killed before they could breed and produce more idiot specimens then this could mean that nature is doing its job." The Yellow-vest Man leans forward. "It's survival of the fittest, not survival of the dumbest. It's science. That's why animals have not evolved to fly around outer space outside the atmosphere of Earth. Outer space has no breathable air, deadly radiation, why would animals evolve to live in conditions like these.
The Yellow-vest Man moves and sits next to the Caveman. "But dumb-asses like you don't understand anything more profound than the erection you get when your eyes feast on the fugliness that barely qualifies as the opposite sex." The Yellow-vest Man pulls out a phone and shows the Caveman. "Speaking of which, you sure found the ultimate mate to guarantee the continuity of your Down-syndromesque genetic lineage. Keeping selfies of her naked on her laptop just demonstrates the level of brain disorder that has polluted the human genome."
He shows me images of Alicia... of her naked. I feel like I'm about to explode, but I cannot move, as if I am struck by like sleep paralysis.
"Thankfully," says the Yellow-vest Man, "a car crash put an end to this strain of sexuality transmitted stupidity. Hopefully, you'd grow some brain matter and get a vasectomy.
My head quivers, hard enough to hurt my brain. I open my mouth and say," First up, asshole, animals HAVE evolved to fly around outer space outside the atmosphere of Earth. They're called Human Beings.
I jump to the opposite seat.
"Second. What part about illegal don't you get? You have breached our privacy AND destroyed our property, on top of defaming my family. When you are caught, you will be facing criminal charges."
The Yellow-vest Man is unperturbed, "No. I won't get caught. You are simply too stupid. What you will find however is your spouse's titties and ass circulating all over the internet. I will give you a better glimpse of the material, just in case it's been a long time you've masturbated your little dick over these pictures and forgotten."
Woop...
... I check my phone.
HTTP://WWW.OGIGO.TEN/SHARELAG-TEPFU9BX&DTF=DQ&6NFA=FI
The Yellow-vest Man smiles, "This link may be opened by deciphering the following set of clues to how it works. Perhaps you could invite your wife and treat it as a kind of treasure hunt: One, click the link."
"Go fuck yourself," I tell him.
"Two, click the link."
"Fuck yourself."
"Let me make it extra easier for you," says the Yellow-vest Man. "I will give you a third clue in the form of a complex action; Move your finger and hover it over the link, and press.
I yell at him, "FUCK YOU!"
My eyes open, the Yellow-vest Man is gone. The train carriage is full of commuters, giving me awkward looks, and some nervous stares.
I look at my phone.
Regards, Silvertroll.