Skull Dog was still not feeling well. The virus had knocked him back for six. It was the tiredness more than anything else. It was cutting into him like a mauling from a beast. Social media had not been an option for a long time. He was sick of it, anyway. But hauled up in bed, snivelling, like a child, weak, and miserable, unable to watch TV, or read a book, really, at all, even over Christmas, Twitter had become the final resort. He had never expected it to become so triggering. His political antennae had become electrified. All those right-wing American wankers babbling on about vaccines, trans people, missiles to Ukraine, abortion, the Twitter files, and deregulation. It was just too much for his underlying values. Because just because his own path had got so messed up in life, didn’t mean he couldn’t have an opinion. Because he did have values. And they were good values. The right wingers online all reminded him of the Three Amigos in the Baptist Church, in Blockie Town, back in 2019. Those three pastors with their varying prejudicial views.

Matthew had wanted his new church to be only for the ‘Irish’, and not for ‘foreigners’. Kirk thought that gays were the spawn of Satan. And Mike thought that the police killings of black people in the US were righteous killings. God damn these people. Didn’t they have a heart? How could they call themselves Christians and even have such thoughts, let alone voice them? Okay, he could be fairly judgmental, too, he knew it. But why were these people so cold, and why did they truly believe they were right, in everything, and not only that, but victims of the world-wide Liberal conspiracy against them? Millionaires who had grown rich telling lies, preaching to the rest of us how we should live, but claiming at the same time they were being cut out, that their voice was being stifled, that they were being pushed out to the margins. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. The hidden hordes of true Satanism were coming out from under the floor boards as the swarms started back on their rants and conspiracy theories, shepherded by the Greatest Mini-Me of them all.

The Musk dude, proclaiming injustice. Injustice to poor old Trump. And injustice to Him. Hadn’t they banned Trump because he was trying to get the Proud Boys to assassinate people? Oh no. That was all bullshit too. Donald was okay, if only you happened to open your blind Liberal eyes, Skull.

So he had ventured forth, in the daily constant of full oil-blasted radiator heat, and a restless dog, and endless phlegmatic coughing, and a pounding headache, usually, to launch his Own Private War, against Elon, and his Worshipful Muskovites.

Skull had located the lists on His Twitter page, which no one else seemed to be using much, and he kept bombarding them, and hopefully Him, with his leftist views, posted in his pinned post, or with a link to some obscure Substack page. While hiding under the continental quilt. Didn’t this Musk guy realise the risks he, Skull, was taking, even being on social media, with all his dormant internet addictions and past sex addictions? All he had to do was click on one of those web cam direct messages that he kept being inundated with, and he’d be sucked into the nefarious vortex, where Asian twink babes would writhe and gyrate and taunt him, until he was pulling on his wire 24/7, like a seventeen year old. And how could anyone fall for this free speech bullshit He was nuking the whole world with? He was basically Trump’s mini-me. There was no doubt about it.

But somehow He was funny. And, dare he, Skull, admit it, a little entertaining. And some of His (Elon's) stuff, Skull could sort of understand. Kids being given the right to biologically transition, for example, or the new woke generation cancelling authors they disapproved of, or chasing academics out of universities for challenging fourth-wave feminism, and its apparent exclusion of any fundamental feminine identity.

He even sympathised with Jordan Peterson for a brief moment. But the new Twitterland was drawing him in, and he knew he was in a precarious zone in terms of his addiction. Spending such long times looking at his phone, porn was just around the corner, if he wasn’t very vigilant.

Characters would pop up. Some would divert him. There was some dude Saucy, an animator, not yet discovered, but talented, but there was also Jessica, another new artist, who would speak in this sexy, albeit baby, voice. She looked like a princess, there was no doubting it.

Skull Dog was still not feeling well. The virus had knocked him back for six. It was the tiredness more than anything else. It was cutting into him like a mauling from a beast. Social media had not been an option for a long time. He was sick of it, anyway. But hauled up in bed, snivelling, like a child, weak, and miserable, unable to watch TV, or read a book, really, at all, even over Christmas, Twitter had become the final resort. He had never expected it to become so triggering. His political antennae had become electrified. All those right-wing American wankers babbling on about vaccines, trans people, missiles to Ukraine, abortion, the Twitter files, and deregulation. It was just too much for his underlying values. Because just because his own path had got so messed up in life, didn’t mean he couldn’t have an opinion. Because he did have values. And they were good values. The right wingers online all reminded him of the Three Amigos in the Baptist Church, in Blockie Town, back in 2019. Those three pastors with their varying prejudicial views.

Matthew had wanted his new church to be only for the ‘Irish’, and not for ‘foreigners’. Kirk thought that gays were the spawn of Satan. And Mike thought that the police killings of black people in the US were righteous killings. God damn these people. Didn’t they have a heart? How could they call themselves Christians and even have such thoughts, let alone voice them? Okay, he could be fairly judgmental, too, he knew it. But why were these people so cold, and why did they truly believe they were right, in everything, and not only that, but victims of the world-wide Liberal conspiracy against them? Millionaires who had grown rich telling lies, preaching to the rest of us how we should live, but claiming at the same time they were being cut out, that their voice was being stifled, that they were being pushed out to the margins. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. The hidden hordes of true Satanism were coming out from under the floor boards as the swarms started back on their rants and conspiracy theories, shepherded by the Greatest Mini-Me of them all.

The Musk dude, proclaiming injustice. Injustice to poor old Trump. And injustice to Him. Hadn’t they banned Trump because he was trying to get the Proud Boys to assassinate people? Oh no. That was all bullshit too. Donald was okay, if only you happened to open your blind Liberal eyes, Skull.

So he had ventured forth, in the daily constant of full oil-blasted radiator heat, and a restless dog, and endless phlegmatic coughing, and a pounding headache, usually, to launch his Own Private War, against Elon, and his Worshipful Muskovites.

Skull had located the lists on His Twitter page, which no one else seemed to be using much, and he kept bombarding them, and hopefully Him, with his leftist views, posted in his pinned post, or with a link to some obscure Substack page. While hiding under the continental quilt. Didn’t this Musk guy realise the risks he, Skull, was taking, even being on social media, with all his dormant internet addictions and past sex addictions? All he had to do was click on one of those web cam direct messages that he kept being inundated with, and he’d be sucked into the nefarious vortex, where Asian twink babes would writhe and gyrate and taunt him, until he was pulling on his wire 24/7, like a seventeen year old. And how could anyone fall for this free speech bullshit He was nuking the whole world with? He was basically Trump’s mini-me. There was no doubt about it.

But somehow He was funny. And, dare he, Skull, admit it, a little entertaining. And some of His (Elon's) stuff, Skull could sort of understand. Kids being given the right to biologically transition, for example, or the new woke generation cancelling authors they disapproved of, or chasing academics out of universities for challenging fourth-wave feminism, and its apparent exclusion of any fundamental feminine identity.

He even sympathised with Jordan Peterson for a brief moment. But the new Twitterland was drawing him in, and he knew he was in a precarious zone in terms of his addiction. Spending such long times looking at his phone, porn was just around the corner, if he wasn’t very vigilant.

Characters would pop up. Some would divert him. There was some dude Saucy, an animator, not yet discovered, but talented, but there was also Jessica, another new artist, who would speak in this sexy, albeit baby, voice. She looked like a princess, there was no doubting it.