I never ‘signed up’ to ‘social media’. I simply couldn’t see the point in organising everything that I did on a totally insecure website belonging to a sheep-looking individual who (‘allegedly’, as they always say here) started it up because it was the only way he could ever get a girlfriend.

At Harvard.

Most of the time it’s like one of those old Twilight Zone-ish films in which the whole population of Earth, except me, has had their brains sucked by space aliens and are shambling about mindlessly, guided only by the crude mechanical devices implanted by the space aliens in the voids left by the sucked brains.

It was therefore satisfactory to find this.

I have successfully driven off those who attempt to psychologically manipulate me into sharing their mind-slavery with some psyops of my own. Varying in intensity with the degree of offence given by theirs.

“Not on Twitter? What are you trying to hide?”

“Well, I’m not telling you.”


“Why haven’t you got Facebook?”

“Because I have real friends.”

Nobody ever gives me any trouble, because somehow they know – just as a mugger can sense the presence of a concealed carry permit – that I could simply pluck their thinking-brain phone from their pudgy, nerveless fingers and, expertly curling the index finger of my master hand along the longer edge, skim it like a flat stone into the thickest part of the traffic. Leaving them to find their own way home, friendless, demented, and probably not even armed.



About Catherine White

I am not really a small white cat nearly 40 years old. That would be silly.
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