Chaos in Cyberspace
Driving through a quiet suburban neighborhood one warm May evening, you notice the road ahead is lined with cars of all sizes and shapes. Slowing down for a closer look, you notice that the licence plates are from all over America, Canada, even England and Australia. Oddly, squeezed in between the cars, stand British police boxes, grandfather clocks, pipe organs, and even free-standing doors.
“What the hell is going on, here?” you mutter.
Soon, you see a sign taped to a street light at the foot of a driveway. Balloons and flags surround the sign, which states, in bold purple and fuschia lettering: “PRO‑FUN TROLL HOEDOWN HERE! ALL WELCOME!”. Even from the inside the car, you can hear the sounds of laughter, fiddling and singing coming from inside the small grey house sitting far back on its small lot. There’s no way that many people could fit inside, you think – “ALL” doesn’t seem to be an exaggeration – there has to be at least a hundred people in there… But whatever’s going on, it sure sounds fun. You drive around the block, add your car to the long line already there, and cautiously approach the house.
You’re surprised to find the door unlocked, but even more surprised by what’s on the other side: A real, honest to goodness barn – at least 2000 square feet of floor space! The floor and stalls have been swept clean. Tables of food, groaning under the weight of every dish imaginable, now stand where the animals used to be. On one table you notice a small tasteful card that says: “Catering by Iron Chef Services”. Balloons, bunting and crépe paper twists festoon everything. The crowd’s mood reflects the decor: nearly everyone seems on the verge of giggling. Alarmed, you notice that several of the guests do not appear to be human: many are short, squat creatures with big ears, noses and feet, and their skin color is as varied as that of the decorations. Many are wearing birthday hats.
“Excuse me,” you say shyly, as one of the creatures comes near, “but whose birthday is it?”
The troll (for that is what she is) shrugs. “It’s always someone’s birthday, isn’t it?” is her only reply.
The lights dim, replaced by one spotlight aimed at a small, round platform in the middle of the floor. An expectant hush falls over the crowd. An avocado green troll in a fishing vest with bulging pockets hops onto the stage. Tucking a fiddle under her chin, she begins to play a melody that sounds suspiciously like Turkey in the Straw. She plays two verses through, and then begins to sing:
As I was watching “Fang Rock” one night,
Sure to hell it didn’t look right.
Tried “track control” and went too far –
I seys “Goodbye” to my VCR!Surfin’ on the web, postin’ to the ’group,
Surfin’ on the web, postin’ to the ’group.
Roll ’em up and twist ’em up a high tuckahaw
And twist ’em up a tune called “Post to Rad-wah”!Went to the newsgroup, tried to post a thread.
Called Pertwee “Tom”, and my face turned red.
A Womble and a Snark began to rant
And changed all my words to “penguins” and “pants”.Surfin’ on the web, postin’ to the ’group,
Surfin’ on the web, postin’ to the ’group.
Roll ’em up and twist ’em up a high tuckahaw
And twist ’em up a tune called “Post to Rad-wah”!Saw a Nasty Troll on my screen
Seys to Nasty Troll “What do you mean?”
Take a deep breath and count to ten,
I’ll never talk to that troll again!Surfin’ on the web, postin’ to the ’group,
Surfin’ on the web, postin’ to the ’group.
Roll ’em up and twist ’em up a high tuckahaw
And twist ’em up a tune called “Post to Rad-wah”!Sat on my couch and I gave a yell,
Tracking went crazy, VCR broke to hell.
Sugar in the gourd and honey in the horn,
I never been so happy since the day I was born.Surfin’ on the web, postin’ to the ’group,
Surfin’ on the web, postin’ to the ’group.
Roll ’em up and twist ’em up a high tuckahaw
And twist ’em up a tune called “Post to Rad-wah”!
A wild cheer goes through the crowd. When it dies down, you turn to the troll next to you and ask: “What is ‘Rad-wah’?”
The troll shakes her head. “No one’s been able to define it yet, me boy!” She proffers a crinkled brown paper bag that smells of varied fruit candies. “Would you like a jelly baby?”