Day 87: Send a message in Morse code.

The Book instructs me to do this after dark, at a window, with a flashlight. My neighbors already think I’m a drug dealer, I don’t need to make it worse. So I used Twitter instead, just like last time.

Using the secret account that I will eventually have to delete when somebody I know finds it, I sent the following message to random folks randomly selected from the public timeline: …—…

Which means, of course, SOS.

Unlike last time, I actually got responses from these poor souls! Most of them were of the “what?” variety, which disappointed me – how hard is it to use Google to find out about something you don’t know? Not hard at all, especially because Google will autocomplete the search for you once you get the first dash typed.

A few folks replied – in English – that they didn’t speak English, and would I please explain what the fuck I was talking about. I tried. It’s hard to explain what the fuck one is talking about when one doesn’t know oneself what the fuck one is talking about.

…I hope that last sentence was as confusing to read as it was to write.

One person completely ignored the message, and just asked who I was. Asked politely, too, or as politely as one can ask a bothersome stranger “who are you?” – and I replied, enigmatically and nonsensically.

I’m sure this isn’t as much fun for all of you as it was for me, because I’m not providing links to any of these tweets or replies – because, well, I use that twitter account primarily to post profanity of a sort that would be unacceptable if it weren’t for the anonymity – so this post is like a long retelling of a joke that might have been funny at the time, but certainly isn’t funny at all in the retelling. I get that, I really do.

The best I can do, I think, is to point you to some other examples of this – although the best of them, the Obi-Wan who said “That’s no moon; it’s a space station” if you tweeted something about the moon, has been suspended – this sending of out-of-the-blue, what-the-fuck messages to twitter users in a way that is or appears to be random – and you can laugh at them, and at me vicariously, if you think that sort of thing is funny. I do, obviously. If you don’t, well, check back tomorrow, and I’ll try to amuse you after a different fashion.

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