Helioza - Knowledge On Tap
Your tweets will vanish into the maw of the Fail Whale and I shall laugh.
To become a Twitterer, I make you jump through hoops. Many hoops. Tiny hoops. Flaming hoops.
When you select your screen name, I tell you how lame you are for choosing a name that is already taken. Lame-Oh.
To prove you are a human (so inferior), and not a computer like me, I make you enter an impossibly hard to read Captcha. I squeeze the letters together, blur them, randomize them, toss in numerals and obscure symbols, use the alphabets of dead or fictional languages, and flip one word upside down. If your guess is less than perfect, you must try again. Sorry, only five tries. Then you shall wait for a full hour. Ha, ha, ha, ha!
If you make it through the flaming hoops and actually setup an account (so sad), I will drag my metaphorical feet and make you wait 10 minutes for your confirmation email.
When you are most complacent, and your tweets are boring, I release the Fail Whales.
When you attempt to authorize an app, I barf: Uncaught exception in sprog; go Twiddle yourself.
Send In The Whales
When Lady Gaga says Nada, I send in the Fail Whale.
When you are expecting accolades for your most clever tweet ever, I fill your timeline with spam. Ha, ha, ha, ha!
When you are hungry for Uma, I slam the trends with OMG, RMK, ABC and other useless junk.
Sometimes, just for spite, I show you Error 503 Service Unavailable. Oh, and by the way, Error 404 Not Found instead of the Fail Whale. Ha.
Send in the whales. There ought to be whales. Ha, ha, ha, ha!
Red Doge - would I lie to you?
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