In Nayderlunch, they have a saying: Met de grijze haren komt de wijsheid, which, roughly translated, means: With the grey hair comes the wisdom.
In my case, unfortunately, it would seem as if my grey hair came alone – the wisdom got lost in translation. The older I get, the more I find that I haven’t got the faintest *inkling of what makes modern society **tick.
I get the distinct impression that most people are without any depth or substance; have very few original thoughts and ideas; are virtually illiterate; have an extremely short span of attention; lack insights into most matters – but have opinions and views on every subject under the sun.
And that’s when they use Twitter…
When the world’s newspapers – as well as the electronic media – carry the tweets of some tramp who has twittered on the subject of her twerking derrière, my grey hair sorely yearn for the wisdom that was supposed to accompany them into old age.
There was the case of dim-witted Justine Sacco (of whom I have never even heard). She was sacked and caused a Twitter revolt after posting: “Going to Africa. Hope I don’t get AIDS. Just kidding. I’m White!”
In South Africa, we have no problem when some idiot sings: “Shoot the farmer, kill the Boer.” Or, “garlic, onion, and beetroot, will cure AIDS.” Maybe that is what Sacco should have posted!
But, be that as it may, when some nondescript, Talk Radio “personality,” tells listeners to: “Follow me on twitter,” my mind (what’s left of it anyway), boggles in a rather painful manner.
I fail to understand why anyone, in his/her right mind, would want to follow this bumbling ***poepkop anywhere! I wouldn’t even follow him out of a burning airplane, which was plummeting out of control on its way to the ground, if my life depended upon it.
And the Twitter language is something which I fail to understand – a strange, twisted tangle of craptacular words.
Those who post tweets on Twitter are called Tweeps. I prefer to segregate them by gender, calling them: Twats and Twattresses (T&T’s). I have heard horrendous tales of guys mistaking the gender of a potential skelmpie, until that crucial moment, when all was revealed in the dark. I’m strictly a heterosexual old fart; terrified of inadvertently attempting to have extramarital twit with a Twat just because I was too lazy to ascertain the gender beforehand.
(Not that the wife would ever approve of this sort of thing, you understand! But I’m just saying… I’ve always been a warm-blooded Twattress’ man.)
T&T’s don’t have names: they’ve got “Handles.” Each Twitter Handle has a unique url. And this is where it starts to get very confusing:
T&T’s are not allowed to have Handles measuring more than 15 characters on the Tweet-scale. According to a study that was published on the salon.com website, the average Twat Handle is 14.7cm long when fully erect – just short of the 15 character limit.
Twattresses, for obvious reasons, have no difficulty in staying well within the 15 character limit.
Both Twats and Twattresses apparently have Tweet Buttons. (It is considered to be exceedingly bad form to press someone’s Tweet Button without permission, or in the company of strangers.)
Tweeps of both sexes can Retweet their twaddle. Retweeting is very popular with Twats and Twattresses, mainly because they simply regurgitate the twaddle Tweeted by their fellow Twats and Twattresses on Twitter.
T&T’s are not allowed to Tweet twaddle of more than 140 characters (including spaces) at a time. This is because the average T&T have a very short span of attention; 140 characters represent the outer limit of that span.
Until they reach the age of puberty, the tweet little children are called “Twitterati”. At that stage – much like a chicken sexer – a Tweet sexer is called in to scrutinize the Twitterati’s url’s. They are then classified as Twats, Twattresses, Transvestwats, or Hermaphrotwits. (Note: There is no such word as “Hermaphrotwit” in Pedi.)
Some of these juvenile Twats then go to initiation school where they are circumnavigated by traditional healers. Many of them become infected, and some even die from this barbaric ritual – just like some young boys still do in Mpumalanga, to this very day.
Twats and Twattresses have no social lives. They live in a virtual space called the Twitosphere; a social networking vacuum for those who have deregistered from the real world. Thirty years ago they would have subscribed to “Hoekie vir Eensames” in Die Huisgenoot. That was before the magazine became a Blog Spot for the likes of Joost and Steve.
Something that you might find interesting is the fact that T&T’s smoke potent sheet called “hashtag.” This comes from combining “hashish,” i.e. dagga, and “tagliatelle,” which is pasta cut in narrow ribbons. Smoking hashtag instantly turns you into a “Follower,” much like the zombies in the movie: “Zombieland.”
How do I know this? I’ll tell you:
In November 2013, the following three individuals had the most zombies following them (numbers in parentheses):
Katy Perry (46, 779, 248)
Justin Bieber (46, 658, 536)
Lady Gaga (40, 434, 804)
Now what does that tell you about the mentality of the Followers?
I rest my case.
*inkling – a young ink; one who is not yet dry behind the ears
**tick – one of the two sounds made by a clock – the other being “tock”
***poepkop – person whose head is filled with flatulent gas and nothing else