John. (Fuck you)

Fuck. I hate losing.

I made a bet with John, an old friend of mine. John is a 22 year old fellow who likes to maintain a healthy list of to-dos, and abides by them with religious discipline. To him, being lazy is a form of harming oneself, and simply unacceptable. It’s an ideal that is backed by solid reasoning, and one that I respect. He is an orderly-man, a do-it-now kind of guy, who likes to take action sooner than later when an idea presents itself. I regard him highly for possessing those traits.

However, he is also a troll.

That’s right, a troll. John is able to pull off the “troll face” with respectable accuracy and maddening results. John is a formidable troll, armed with wits and a solid vocabulary, and perhaps ADHD,  and he uses the power of trolling to make his lazy friends (Me) feel like shit.

This is the Trollface. Punch it the next time you see one.

His effort (I say effort because there is no way a person could act the way he does without putting in deliberate effort to be a fucking asshole) is usually well-intended. His goal is to make a person do something by annoying the crappers out of a person: challenging their integrity, spewing a merciless series of put-downs, spittling on you, greeting you with an hideous face, ignoring them if they should attempt to defend themselves by deliberately cutting you off, sputtering incoherent things loudly before one could finish a sentence, and generally just ruining your day. That’s just a taste of the arsenal that a troll possesses.

It is unfortunate to be the victim of the troll, as it is physically and mentally draining. After a series of sleep-deprived nights and days spent with an aching back and nothing to show for it, one does not want to be the target of a troll.

Here’s a scene for you. The setting is CSU East Bay campus, a sunny day on a red-brick colored picnic bench shaded by a single Eucalyptus tree,  in front of the business building as students walk by with their backpack on their backs and books in arms, after a two-hour session of linear optimizing.

Me: Man… I. Am. soooo. tired.

John: You’re a fag!

Me: What? Why would you say that?

John: Because you’re hella weaksauce. WEAK SAUWCE!

Me: Dude, I just got like 3 hours of sleep and worked fiftee-

John: YUBO!

Me: What? What the fuck is yu-

John: “Y” “U” “B”itching “O”ut?! Yubo! YYUUUUUBOOOOOO!!!!!

Me: I’m not bitching out! I’m just—

John: YUUUBOOOOOOO!!!!!

Me: Dude…. st-

John: YUBO!

Me: Com-

John: YUBO!

Me: Please sto-

John: YUBOOO!!!!!!!

Me: ……….

John: …………

John: OYEEEEEE! *trollface + spittle*

I got mad, and at that very moment, I knew. I’ve been trolled. It sucked because I couldn’t even express my anger  because of that “U MAD BRO?” bullshit, but let’s not talk about that. The basis of trolling is, if you got mad, you got trolled. That’s the whole point of trolling. To piss someone off simply because it’s possible. It’s an art in a way, though I wish it wasn’t.

Anyway, I’ve made a bet with this trolling bastard near the beginning of the Quarter. A Lunch bet for each of the two classes we were taking simultaneously. I lost both of these damned bets and now I have to FEED THIS FUCKING TROLL SO HE CAN TROLL ME EVEN MORE.

Ugh.