Quite recently a thing called a ‘Dapper Laughs’ has been all the very topical. I happen to dislike this person/character/misogynistic abomination, but I have to admit, I very much amused myself by doing a rather uncanny impression of him. Most people have enjoyed it. Most people…
One morning I stretched my carcass from the heap of limbs that several glasses of sauvignon blanc had seen fit to leave it in, and upon checking my Twitter account, found that I had snared a troll. Meet Niall.
I welcome all thoughts and opinions, or whatever you that have most closely resembling them, but this was troll abuse – out-and-out aggression. As with all trolls, he was barely literate and clearly just looking to provoke a violent reaction to justify his mundane being. At this stage I usually ignore the little darlings and would never advocate publicising their misdemeanour to the baying masses, but this one? Well, Niall seemed somehow irresistible, so I mentally cracked my knuckles and replied in the most diabolically enraging way I know – by being polite.
(And I thought I was going to be bored that day.)
That didn’t seem to placate dear sweet Niall.
I think he was bluffing a little here. I mean, sure, his words are saying mean things, but his implication that I’m a fully paid professional comedian? Me? How sweet of him! I immediately updated my CV.
Also please note that gays and drug addicts are now as bad as each other. Say no to crack, kids, both kinds.
I’ve only encountered this level of bigotry once before on Twitter, from a real pro. Hang on, I thought, could this be…
I think that may have been a step too far. Even Niall doesn’t take kindly to being likened to pop flop and general turd bag Brookstein.
Oh dear, did little old me cause offence? I must try to appeal to Niall’s sense of honour.
Wow. “Voice of my generation”. Let’s just take a solemn moment over that one, shall we? Since my flirtation with Niall, Dapper Laughs has been dropped like a molten dog egg by ITV and every university in the UK for being, well, a bit rapey and what’s more, Dapper Laughs’ creator has admitted as much. Oh Niall…
At this point there was a fair amount of noise from the ranks – various men responding to Niall’s initial introduction to insist they find me funny (must have seen me without make-up on) and from various members of Niall’s “generation” insisting that they would rather have their larynx ripped out by a rabid honey badger than have Dapper Laughs for a voice, because really, if Dapper Laughs is the voice of anything it’s the voice of the clap clinic .
Oh, sorry Niall, it’s your turn, isn’t it.
Huh? So this is a cuisine thing? What? Pork pies are now the icon of the down-trodden? I’m a fashion accessory? What, like a jaunty scarf? My friends are rich? Wait, MY FRIENDS ARE RICH?!
At this stage the courtship gets a little off point as other tweeters dominate the arena, but we get to see:-
Politics according to Niall…
Culture according to Niall…
(I’m developing a major crush at this point, the cheeky tease.)
Niall on homosexuality…
Niall on relationships…
And alternative words for “woman” according to Niall…
“Sloshers” (after a quick and thoroughly enlightening Google search) are apparently women of rather loose morals and even looser vaginas. Which confused me, as I remembered the start of this beautiful relationship…
Anyway, enough of all these interruptions from other people – I could tell Niall and I had something beautiful developing; a love that could transcend the ages, so I thought I’d get down with his generation’s lingo and put on the moves.
Huh? I had to rifle through my Modern Thesaurus For The Pork Pie Generation at this one but was left none the wiser so I was quite concerned for my new sweetheart, I mean, he couldn’t die just yet – we hadn’t consummated our sweet Twitter tryst yet.
It was at this point that my passions overcame me and I had need of a nap. I awoke, not to find more sweet words of silken-tongued modernity, but to find Niall’s every word of flirtation that had been sent my way was gone, as though somehow mysteriously “deleted” by a the fairy of remorse. Lucky for my sweetie, I’m the helpful type of girl and they were allllllll still present in the phone app I use.
I really am most helpful, so I sent him each and every one of the tweets that had so unfortunately gone awry. Each. And. Every. One. Because don’t you just hate it when you lose a whole days work – a whole day of bigotry and misogyny? Poor Niall.
And so on.
Oddly something must have spooked my love, for at this point he changed his Twitter name. It’s ok though, because my allure was too great and Still Niall couldn’t stay away for long. He was about to ask for my hand in marriage – I could tell.
Such a tease!
Now, this is more than a little fib on my cherub’s part. He has so many other conversation left undeleted – oddly none quite as special as ours. Still, I know my place as a woman, and it is NOT to argue with the future father of my children.
Careful Still Niall, I’m rather partial to a DILF, even one whose validity was 30 years ago.
“Middle aged”?! He called me “middle aged”. This was a blow. Being called middle aged by an internet troll was definitely the second worst thing to happen to me that week after the work canteen putting sultanas in the cabbage that accompanied the toad-in-the-hole. Truly devastating – I almost felt… nope, hang on. It’s gone.
This was getting so saucy, like something from a Mills & Boon novel. At any moment there would be heaving whatsits and throbbing thingummies.
Oh dear. He’d had me in the palm of his hand right up to that point. “Their”. Oh Still Niall, you told me you weren’t stupid! “THEIR”?! Too far.
And that, tragically is where Still Niall not only changed his Twitter user name, but set his account to private, locked away from the world.
Was it something I said?
This, dear reader, is the classic troll version of buyers’ remorse. Dear Niall hadn’t quite had the day he’d anticipated when his mummy woke him up in his Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles pyjamas. You see, the lesson here isn’t that you shouldn’t go looking for trouble on the internet. It isn’t that you shouldn’t say nasty swears to ladies, or that you should stay in school so that your inane drivel stands half a chance of being treated with a modicum of respect. No, the lesson here is not to try trolling a girl who has PMT, a hangover and a whole day off work to toy with you like a bored cat.
Footnote: I have two. I wear shoes on them.
Additional footnote: This conversation has been truncated with the contributions of many fine people removed for the purpose of pure narrative and stuff. Don’t hunt Niall down please, he’s had his on-line ear clipped and needs to focus on getting that additional gold star on his McDonalds badge.