When I didn’t deactivate my Facebook account the following day, the four hags enlisted the support of like-minded scoundrels and lobbied in their Status Updates the following notice: ‘Copy and Paste this warning message. Mr Round Square
You have seen many a time these ‘Copy-and-Paste-Warnings’ that so and so is a hacker and if you add them as friends, there goes your account! I too had seen them and never thought the hags were capable of undoing me in such a fashion. But seeing me still lingering my ‘menacing’ face on Facebook, Tipsy Daisy wrote an urgent note and posted it on her Angels Group’s Discussion Board and tagged her friends—and to my horror, we had more than 200 close friends between us. This was a desperate move to tame the adamant Mr Round Square
‘My Good Angles, a serious threat has occurred; a malignant virus has wedged itself where you can’t even begin to imagine. A microbe, lodged where it can cause the most evil grievance and this is in our very core of antiseptic unit—if you may permit me to use the metaphor—right inside the antibiotic research facility. An epidemic has broken out and will spread false allegations like bushfire fanned by strong Eastern winds. Yes, dear Angels, a germ is hacking and feeding on our private information in order to wipe out our good morals.
‘This virus is now in full custody of our confidential and otherwise exclusive information and has profaned the secrecy of our inboxes and, further, reliable source has sent me intelligence, which the substance of it is that, our secrets are about to be disclosed indiscriminately to our friends and enemies alike. We cannot let this happen, Good Angels. We must do something urgently about the impostor who for a long time faked his friendship against our beloved trust. We must never allow the virus to smoulder ill against us to friends and enemies alike. Our good unquestionable reputation, good friends, is now at the mercy of this virus. Our very livelihood and decorum as Good Angels and women of virtue is in jeopardy.
‘It is a serious and sombre subject, my Sweet Angels, and we are obliged to boost up our immune integrity even as we struggle to contain this chronic ailment in our systems. We have also established that not long ago, he has launched a direct communiqué with propaganda networks who would not only marshal to spread misinformation about us, but also by poisonous and disparaging means, wreck our characters. That’s the whole situation, as it is, and now I’d like to open this up for discussion—to destroy or not to destroy this virus. That, as Hamlet said, is the question. Does anyone have any suggestions?’
Sly verbal dexterity decorated with pretended OMGs, LMAOs, Good Grief, and collective disorientation greeted the news bulletin.
CHATTY MOUTH: Are you saying, TD, that right here in this Angel Group there’s someone….
TIPSY DAISY: I am afraid (and she used three other stronger adjectives—deeply distressed, angered and disgraced) that is the facts of the case. We had, until now, an Angel here in this Angel Group—let me emphasize the word angel—who had all along and under a mask of ingenuity, which only confirms his duplicitous character, been bleeding dry the foundations of trust so that he would feast his fangs into our very tender souls.
BIG FOOT: You mean he wanted to be a blood-feasting vampire.
TIPSY DAISY: Not only that, but he is in fact moving from theory to practice. We have learned that he has established connections…
BANG BELLY: OMG!! with vampires?
CHATTY MOUTH: haha!! @CM ;) wouldn’t he have a bit of difficulty doing that?
TIPSY DAISY: That’s enough! I beg you not to mock at scandals that discredit the noble cause of our Angel Group, outrage that is working against our noble assignment and hence a flaw in our gorgeous character, and particularly to me as the one accountable for all our ethical integrity.
You can imagine the tyrannical stillness that followed the revelation, as the Good Angels pretended to come to grips with the matter. But the pregnant silence was soon forgotten when I intruded ‘rudely’ to ask for the identity of this virulent organism.
ROUND SQUARE: @TD, May we know what or who this insidious virus is J ;)
BANG BELLY: No, you may not, Mr Chauvinist Cock.
ROUND SQUARE: come on, even the nannies and the hens are sniffing about it…
TIPSY DAISY: I can’t bear to pronounce that name—but truth must be proclaimed—we’re talking about you, Mr Round Square
ROUND SQUARE: ‘WTF?’
I had to feign pretended shock as well—for the sake of my propriety and to acknowledge my humanity—for to appear astonished at accusations is ingeniously part of our elegant amiability. It’s like the silly grin I sometimes plant in my cheeks when I am being kind to snobs who consider me inferior yet with in their arrogance, it should be the other way round.
MOTHER HEN: That is a big fat lie. It can’t be true! Round Square is a sensible and respectable man—I know he is—he loses sleep fretting like a train on matters, which concerns us all. He digs profound truths and attempts to expound extensive arguments to the complicated questions we raise and issues of integrity, ethics and all such things. The connections you allege? It’s just preposterous. It’s simply a big fat lie and I can’t believe it! These are malicious lies circulated by evil people who wish to generate mischief for his charming character.
It was consoling to know that I had an advocate right under their blouses despite the overwhelming malevolent tongues that were wagging themselves silly to bring my untimely ruin. Mother Hen was one of the oldest facebookers I knew. She was prudent enough to distinguish rumours from facts, having eaten the salt in the bread of life longer than any of the other hags. She had been sympathetic to my ‘engagement’ with Cherrie, had even consented, and blessed our union. That’s why she had been made the Moderator of Angel Group because of her graceful age.
But Tipsy Daisy would hear none of her arguments.
TIPSY DAISY: As soon as we’re done here, I will personally arrange for her immediate deletion and blocking. Need I mention that of all times our Angel Group definitely can’t afford the luxury to consign responsibility to a Moderator who apportions blame to members and blatantly accuses us of deceit, can we?
BANG BELLY: Indulge me TD, I think we had better check her Senility Ratio for it’s completely clear that she is manifesting McNoughton Rule—has no control of what she’s saying.
TIPSY DAISY: Yeah, we could ask around if other groups require an SAO—Senile Affairs Officer ;).
BIG FOOT: That’s the most level-headed decision.
Mother Hen was henceforth removed from the Angel Group, and blocked from being a friend to any of the Angels. But in a strange twist of events, she still was technically in the group as she had another profile—so ingenious was Mother Hen—I came to learn later that, like other Angels, she had multiple profiles, just in case of a screw-up!
TIPSY DAISY: @Mr Round Square
CHATTY MOUTH: Yes, witch hunting is inimical to the principles of this group. We bestow indestructible resplendence on excellent members but our goodwill is not extended promiscuously. Our love for good and worthy members does not prevent a genteel abhorrence of those who are impostors. We can read actions as accurately as they are that no impostor can get away. We perceive things clearly in their true colours. No deed can escape the firm constancy of our judgment. And that’s why we desire nothing but the whole truth from Mr. Round Square
Listen to them! I was not intending to take seriously ill-bred hecklers, who were busy raising qualms and snags, hissing reprovingly, in concerted exertions to crush the truth; I was going to ignore and pass them by and give them my meanest of looks like those of a miser in the face of a beggar. I wasn’t intending to engage them in squabbles and useless hullabaloos, nor square things up through a negotiation—you didn’t negotiate with moral terrorists! I was not an amusement for hags who were so liberal with words drenching wet with saliva of integrity about their immaculate characters and yet had no single drop of truth in the slippery tongues between their decaying mouths.
Triumphant truth prevailed all around them, yet they chose to be mute. If they fancied a meticulous truth to suit their revolting pride, I was not going to humour their silliness, for they could always indiscriminately whitewash truth that they stumbled upon with their own. Now they were putting up obstacles against me. Nevertheless, I was not game for the evil angels whose eyes were blind to reality and only saw in false light, ears deafened by clamour and shrewdness that only obstructed the outlets of their perception. I had nothing else to convince blind detractors whose comprehension was just like a sealed envelope, unable to receive any additional information after it was sealed.
But when I ignored them, who else did I find in my Facebook inbox but Tipsy Daisy? I received a composed message from ‘Me’ addressed to ‘Me’, signed by Tipsy Daisy. That was unbelievable. I felt like the man who kept discovering that the earth was actually flat and had to pinch myself that I was indeed reading a note from my nemesis, Tipsy Daisy.
TIPSY DAISY: I have to see you after you ignored me in our Group’s Discussion Board.
ROUND SQUARE: WTF? How did you get in my inbox? And what are you doing here anyway?
TIPSY DAISY: Doing? We have sensitive business to discuss.
ROUND SQUARE: But how did you get my password?
TIPSY DAISY: I never hacked, if that’s what you are thinking. I requested Cherrie for it, and she kindly forwarded to me, for I explained to her how urgently you needed to speak to me, and how we might have a reversal of events if I had to wait long for you to unblock me.
ROUND SQUARE: So much for monkey tricks—this is so very you!
TIPSY DAISY: You suppose that I hacked? I could, if I wanted to, as you use the same password for all your accounts, anyways.
ROUND SQUARE: We don’t have anything urgent to talk about. I’m done with you liars, you must get out of my inbox. I’m changing my password now.
TIPSY DAISY: Don’t be foolish—we have a lot to square, Mr SquareBalls, because of what took place recently—we shouldn’t dally, the Angels are waiting for our answer.
ROUND SQUARE: And who told you to confirm all those pages and friends’ requests?
TIPSY DAISY: Well, I had to make myself useful in order to occupy the time—besides, I can vouch for them, you’ll be charmed to know them.
ROUND SQUARE: And what about these flattering comments on my cousin’s photo?
TIPSY DAISY: You hassle too much brother man! Anyways, what do you think about our little conquest?
ROUND SQUARE: Which conquest?
TIPSY DAISY: It’s incredible, I can hardly imagine it would work so fast. You have the talent Round Square
ROUND SQUARE: I have no clue of where this ‘crap of discussion’ is headed!
ROUND SQUARE: It’s ironical, but now that I’ve finally abandoned my hill, and the next one I am trying to climb is also crumbling, whatever I know from hacking your accounts has no function for me. You are right—I was just a harebrained lunatic who thought he could exploit the powers of evil without rubber-stamping away his moral fibre. And as we all know, it’s impossible to dupe the devil.
TIPSY DAISY: Whoa whoa… there! Can you deceive what you can’t see?
ROUND SQUARE: But I busted you up hags! Evil is a tangible thing and you can feel it brush past your ear lobes towards your addled brain to whisper flowery lies, and proceed to spew them out of your mouth.
TIPSY DAISY: Are you pointing a finger at me?
ROUND SQUARE: No, you’re merely his pampered playgirl!
TIPSY DAISY: Hang on a sec, if I am to understand your parables, you are saying that Daddy’s little girl is incapable of addling your brains, isn’t that what you mean?
ROUND SQUARE: No it isn’t! I am merely stating the obvious; that you use your sophistry as a versatile missile for assailing everything that intimidates your Old Man made of Bones but behind your confident countenances, is a miserable existence with an empty shell soul like those of spent cartridges.
BIG FOOT: Is that the heritage you want to be remembered for when you leave Facebook?
ROUND SQUARE: Yes! My pang of conscience is not gifted enough to comprehend your decadent ideas, nor is my spirit amply subtle to cogitate their exposition! We are like chalk and cheese! We have a vacuum between us! Why worry about me? You go your way, and I shall go mine!
TIPSY DAISY: Whoa ;-) It’s a little commonplace—this silliness with men—every other time their pride is wounded, it boils down to a woman. Now you can understand why Delilah was blamed for Samson’s stupidity and Eve, even when Adam’s groin itched after hers. But a heritage is a heritage and despite your masochistic stance towards us Angels, we’ll demonstrate to you in good faith, how altruistic we are by stifling our nausea and eulogizing your final homage!
BANG BELLY: That’s how tolerant our bang bellies have always been….
Etc etc bla bla bla yap yap yap….there was no stopping verbal diarrheic hags!
Try as I could, my tender all-persuasive urgings fell on rigid hearts. Their solo refrain was, ‘Kick him out! Him and his indignity.’ And that was expected, for when deference and consideration for truth was furrowed against hypocrisy, what avenue was there for common sense? Yet hypocrisy and depravity had their own jagged edges of imagining being tolerant! ‘Oh, yes!’ They claimed. ‘We are very charitable and forbearing!’ Of course, that implied charitable only in so-called virtues that never translated beyond their vile mouths.
‘Send Cherrie back to the noble assignments of Angels and we shall amiably exonerate the two of you.’ They cried after me. Noble assignments of Angels! My foot! The hags meant entangling innocent souls to corrupt morals, spreading poisonous scandals, steeped in dishonesty beneath curtains of benevolence and sophisticated words etc etc! Perhaps Cherrie and I were sterilized and absolved after all, even in our little failings.
Even the providence of God sheltered little men with little sins because no ‘farthing’ escaped His keen eye. Was I capable of abandoning my proverbial hill of decency and climbing on alien ones? Leaving Facebook for good and dissociating with my friends I’d known all this time? Perhaps it was an unspoken inducement as well as an intimidation. ‘If you turned back and winked at our double standards, we shall nurture you with the leftovers of our conquests. If not, out you go in scandals!’
Beware Soul Brother—I had to admonish myself against the scandal-breathing hags as I mused over crucial questions in a bid to calm down my anxious conscience. But, how would I reconcile my contention to posses a moral might, and accordingly despise hypocrites, while on the other cheek, I aspired to attain the confidence of charlatans, and when one of them actually sought after me, not only did I imbibe with her the art of deceit and beamed with joy at our joint forces—and even covering up for her—instead of kicking her out and spitting in her face? That was the most difficult part of my dilemma in attempts to reconcile my exterior by appealing to my inner conscience.
Perhaps it may appear imprudent to you, but I initially felt that my endeavour to liberate those enchanted by charlatans of scandals and my objectives to wrestle against such impostors wasn’t to be cramped in sheer hypothetical guesswork and arm-chair presumptions only. I had been and still am confident that, it would have been impractical to boast of a hands-free battle—and in an attempt to keep my hands clean—while pretending to confound the frauds in a battle, as I was in that sense. I could only fight by walking my talk; otherwise, my struggle would just have amounted to resurrecting the same old cobwebs of ignorance about hypocrisy, which I was battling, but in another pretext.
Furthermore, how would I respite my rebellious ‘inquietude’ when impostors lay sprawled at my doorstep to waylay me? I wasn’t going to act like a theoretician chilled in his theories; I wasn’t turning the other cheek for the hags to smite. I had to uncover the evidence of their guilt by practically gathering my data untainted with those rumoured by self-same scandalmongers about armchair struggles. In short, this was a battle, and like all battles, I had to wield my armour and practically run after the fleeing foe!
It was my mandate then to conclude what I had begun; to travail the hell of the road to Damascus
If I was to stand on moral Ararat, then I had to have power over their information while submerging them with own disinformation; to wipe away their real tracks, while hoodwinking them with false ones. To exploit their own associations to salvage those of us whose interests were under threats while invalidating their empty bravados. To support our struggle by being our own spy concealed in the jaws of the enemy, indeed, in the very tongue of the enemy’s mouth specially intended to slander against us!
CHERRIE: I never whispered anything deliberately or otherwise. You know, am not mad at your scruples, or exposing me, or even the way you argue so bluntly, and now tardily trying to amend, but that you actually thought about it at all! If you are gifted with such thoughts about me, then there’s no reason being friends. You too, have to go, like the rest of the evil brood.
MOTHER HEN: :( :( :( LOL!! I was a fool to accuse you. I always end before I even begin and end up ruining everything so stupidly. What would I do without you? I am a very beautiful mess.
CHERRIE: You think you’ll win me over by appealing to your emotions? Whoa ^_^.
MOTHER HEN: Have you forgotten what we vowed to each other on your birthday?
CHERRIE: Don’t drag my birthday into this, that’s nothing to us now. You’ve betrayed me deeply to talk your way out by manipulating our memories of the past. Moreover, I ordered you to do something….
MOTHER HEN: Are you serious we should discontinue our friendship?
CHERRIE: Dead serious. Bite me!! Gggrr! I don’t intend to humour your silliness anymore.
I had that flattering consciousness that Cherrie was standing up to her exploitation. She was no longer in the company of the hags. She was dissociating herself from their vile company. I was once happy that she had at last found her voice to yell back at Mother Hen—but still unhappy that we still had our differences. But it was better first to chase the fox away then later warn the hen about wandering too far into the bush. So first, I had to celebrate no mean feat in the break of ranks resulting from incessant bickering and Tipsy Daisy’s high-handedness. My penetrating escapades were paying dividend after all for the hags were having their scruples. Damn the Angel Group! I was about to say to TD to enjoy her—but it was a high office of the retribution gods to avenge it, but just mine to wish for.
Sick as we were in our own ways, Cherrie and I got back together once again and started making plans of even meeting in person. Read how we took our joke of relationship a bit too far in the next episode ‘Concrete Plans’.
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