Excuse me, sir. Sir! If you would put down your newspaper forthwith, and grant me your fullest attention for a situation most dire.
For I have learned news most terrible concerning the electronic web, and its various scoundrels and malcontents. Yes, my good man, though you may be a stranger to me, surely a development of this magnitude is worth divesting your gaze from that archaic medium of communication. If one could call print “communicating.”
Yes, sir, on Twitter, there are now those with the chutzpah to call themselves the Original Tweeter—despite the paucity of any certifiable evidence to contest my claim to that honorable title. I am the Original Tweeter! Look for yourself on my Samsung Galaxy S II, and try not to avert your gaze:
Is this illogic? Madness? A simple UI change to designate which user started a thread? Or have the various gas-bags and money-men which run this damnable site simply thrust a blackheart’s dirk in my back?
My god, man, shall they have me introduce myself at this year’s Shorty Awards as the Original Original Tweeter? Ridiculous!
I see you, too, have grown irritated at this outrage, and animatedly so! I shall leave you with your newspaper, sir, but rest assured that this affair will be addressed at the highest levels—mayhaps I will even write off a tweet directed at @jack himself. Yet I have a parting question. I am intrigued by this periodical you hold. What, per se, is Naughty Neighbors?