Background (In which events are set into motion)
Some weeks ago friends visited from Estonia. Myself, Barry and Mike took them around a large portion of the Irish coast.** We stayed at my grandparents house in Waterford on the first night of our trip. Since the girls are quite the talented singers, I mentioned Jimmy would love to hear them sing. The girls were undecided. They claimed since they only really sing in their choir***, a duet wouldn't be up to scratch.
When mother-dearest heard these demurings, she immediately called to Jimmy that the girls were going to sing a song for him.
- That decided that.
So the song was sung and the song was recorded. Shortly thereafter my mother uploaded it to Facebook.
Maili, one of the Estonian girls, commented on the video how lovely Molly was in the video, wondering if she spelt the name correctly, which she had.
My brother noted how Molly had the most normal name among us [Máirtín, Eimhin, Cillian, Diorraing, Carthach being the others].
The Trialogue (through which said events move; our erstwhile hero suffers a defining slight)
Máirtín quiped: her uniqueness shines through her "normal" name, our name[s] try to drag us out mediocrity, at this rate I'll have to change my name to Joey-Joe Joe Shabadoo Cringing the ith (where i is a suitably large irrational number greater than pi)
Eimhin's rejoined: You're an unsuitably large irrational number greater than pi
QED
[...]
Deirdre 批评ed: when ye have your own children ye can call them what ye want we loved each of your names , which are special cos ye are so get over it.... molly called after a special molly too
[...]
Eimhin declared: My children will all be named Eimhin 1 2 and 3, or alternatively Fem-Eimhin 1 2 and 3
Mairtin returned: if the kids torment me, they'll get [some] of this mwa ha ha ha[!] http://www.fmylife.com/kid
Deirdre mystified: fmyl? cad é?
Dúirt Máirtín: féach air. Tá an dad ar amhas.
D'inis sí dom: chonaic me é ....táim ag gáire an slí go léir go dtí mo leaba....not
Deirdre theorised: you have memories of him going into your cot when you wouldn't get out of our bed still don't you? more therapy required.......
Mairtin despaired or denied: more? I never got any...
Deirdre surmised: you've supressed it
[...]
Quoth the Mairtin: Eimhin "Wait did we just troll our own mother? We iz 1337! "
Deirdre expleted: f**king riddles again
Eimhin mocked: What a n00b!
Mother commanded: go to bed both of you turn out the lights and go to sleep...and don't forget to wash your teeth
Mother emphasised: i'm f**king serious boys
She scried: and don't twitter about me either eimhin i will get you boy. now go to bed or i'll bate ya with a hurley a swear
Mairtin asided: I may have to moderate this for the profanity... this is [a] children friendly area
[...]
Deirdre decried: the urban dictionary definition of trolling is 'being a prick on the internet just because you can' i would sooner be trolled than be a troller any day of the week...:-P
Mairtin yielded: pwned by my own mother
Epilogue
There it is. Not only does she have the gall to be active on Facebookv in the first place;**** but she knows Twitter***** and is able to use essential online services such as Urbandictionary. [And she gave us a woeful trouncing in hitherto youth dominant Internet******]
No where is safe.
I am reminded of the matrix, except it is not the operatives we should 'ware.
I am not long for this world, for when she sees this my dignity will be forfeit. Nonetheless, I have a duty to spread word of this threat:
The Eye was rimmed with fire, but was itself glazed, yellow as a cat's, watchful and intent, and the black slit of its pupil opened on a pit, a window into nothing.*******
*Pronounced mater ex savvius ex nova-media in the faux Latin
**Well Barry drove them 700-800km, around. I mainly sat, failed at taking photos, read when I could and accepted blame where appropriate.
***A choir that tours all over Europe :/
**** She is stealing my friends!
*****My supervisor does not know what Twitter is.
******My grandmother has a gmail account now... this forward thinking has not skipped a generation anywhere.
******* Tolkien, J. R. R. (1955), The Return of the King, The Lord of the Rings
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