Twitter was not at all what I thought it would be.

I envisioned a virtual water cooler where all sorts of people–many who didn’t work in an office– might get together during the day to exchange witty banter about what was going on in the world. I imagined a kind of democratic paradise, too, maybe like the ancient Greeks, a place where there was equal opportunity for everybody to be heard, and the quality of an idea was not contingent upon the status of the person bearing it.

Of course, it turns out that Twitter is a tire fire, and I simply could not have been more wrong.

Twitter and it’s 140 character cage, ( now upped to 280 characters ) did not spark conversations, it destroyed them. Instead of attempting to actually investigate ideas that you didn’t already own, people went on search and destroy missions, each Tweet a drive-by shooting aimed at a rival gang. Twitter was a weapon, a device used to amplify and distribute propaganda, and whenever a person was handed this weapon they immediately, without even knowing it, became a soldier in somebody else’s army.

Twitter was not a place you went to freely express yourself, it was a battlefield.

Just under a quarter of Americans are on this battlefield, and from what I can tell the preponderance of people using the platform would be loosely defined as a kind intelligentsia, those with sufficient space and security in their life to spend X-amount of time each day looking to make corrections in the lives of others. These people are driving the culture wars that are currently dominating our cyclonic news cycle, and that, in turn, is driving the political discourse. This means that the vast majority of Americans, more than 75%, are being led down a road paved by this influential, minority group.

Yet oddly, we seem more concerned about conspiratorial fictions then this beast in which we live.

No matter, the people behind Twitter know how dangerous and influential the platform has become, and in an effort to make it less pernicious, they’re now considering taking away the Like function.

Twitter is an obviously hierarchal structure, a place where status is measured by Likes, followers and retweets. The more of these you have, the more influence you wield. It’s practically a board game. The goal is not to learn about other people and their ideas, it’s about acquiring and exercising power. ( Exhibit A: Donald Trump) But it’s not the real world, not even close. The vast majority of humans live outside the gates of Twitter, yet they are directed and depicted, by those within. A technology that was meant to be radically democratic has somehow ended up being kind of totalitarian.

For instance, China is creating a Social Credit System which is intended to measure citizens social and business reputation. It’s a Black Mirror episode, a world in which everything you do is judged and catalogued by others, and it is upon that which your ability to function in society is dependent. In fact, Twitter had something very much like that which they called Klout, a complex numerical measurement of your influence. This is the unfortunate principal on which much of our social media exists, and if Twitter liberates us from it, they will be striking a great blow in a war most of us don’t even know we’re fighting.

Today I have given the Blog over to Heidi, our Miniature Dachshund:

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Heidi like to party.

It true.

No big deal, just how Heidi unwind and have good time! Sometimes booze or drug act as social lubricant so Heidi can have sex with anonymous dogs.

Very exciting! Very, very hot!! Heidi love that, fun times!

Heidi always in control, though. Heidi could stop partying anytime she want. Heidi not on drug and alcohol leash, Heidi have dextroamphetamine on leash! Heidi always in charge! But then one night Heidi partying and Heidi begin to dig hole. Dig, dig, dig!! Heidi could not stop digging! Heidi crazy with digging! Would not notice if cheeseburger fell on Heidi’s head! In some sort of dig trance! And then suddenly Heidi come to and realize she have no idea why digging! Heidi not even know where she was!

Later, video of Heidi digging hit YouTube. Heidi not look right. Collar hanging all loose and stained, tail wagging strange and jerky. Heidi feel shame, Heidi bad dog that night.

Made Heidi stop and think.

Did Heidi have problem?

Heidi consider.

It true memory getting bad.

Always forgetting where bone is.

Sometimes have blackout and no remember how end up covered in mud. So embarrassing. Feel irritable all the time, especially if have to do stupid trick for treat! HEIDI HATEHATEHATEHATE THAT! AND WHEN TWO-LEGGERS MAKE HEIDI WEAR CUTE OUTFIT?!! HEIDI WANT TO DESTROY AND RIP TO SHREDS!! HEIDI WANT RIVERS OF BLOOD TO FLOW!!

Maybe Heidi have anger problem and not party problem. Maybe anger root and party only tree. Heidi take quiz to find out.

Q. How often do you become angry in a normal day?

Not all bark angry bark, but probably 3, 500 time a day.

Q. Do other people comment on your anger?

Heidi told BAD DOG all the time! MAKE HEIDI SO ANGRY COULD BITE BABY FACE OFF!!

Q. Do you believe you are critical of yourself and others?

No, Heidi good dog, very good dog. Two-leggers moron. Birds morons.

Cats morons. Bugs morons. Squirrels morons. So many, many morons!

Q. Do you tend to blame others for your bad luck or unhappiness?

Heidi have to say yes, it very true observation!!

Q. Do you frequently find yourself starting or participating in arguments?

Stupid question! Heidi stand up for what right! Twitter bring out troll-stupids and Heidi have to set them on fire!! You no want to get in flame war with Heidi!

Q. Have you damaged property during an angry outburst?

Yes.

Q. Have you ever physically harmed another person during an angry outburst?

Of course, Heidi great warrior! Heidi Dachshund! Whole point is to kill, it why Heidi go for neck!!

Q. Have you ever been charged with a violent crime?

Heidi no answer this question. Pass.

Q. Do you keep any weapons at home?

Heidi is weapon, motherfucker.

Heidi deadly weapon.

She bring you close with her velvet ears and coco bean eyes, then game over!

To: John Podesta

From: HRC

Subject: Locker Room Talk

John:

I think it is very humorous that your first name is slang for a person who consorts with prostitutes.

Emoticon!

HRC

______________________________

To: John Podesta

From: HRC

Subject: Re: Friends

John:

That’s a really hard question!

I hope they don’t ask that at one of the debates! But of course if they were going to do that we’d know in advance because we’re colluding with the media in order to fix this election!

Anyway, I think out of all of the characters on Friends I’m most like Monica. She’s very organized and competent, and I think I possess those qualities, too.

Bill is a complete Joey.

You’re Chandler.

HRC

_________________________________

To: John Podesta

From: HRC

Subject: Manufacturing Jobs

John:

As I was reading about human mannerisms last night I began to drift off on account of my alcoholism and debilitating Parkinson’s Disease. It’s getting harder and harder to hide all my afflictions from the voting public! All I can say is thank God they’re so gullible, stupid and deplorable—they’ll believe anything!! LOL! Imagine if my country actually needed me to help them? I’d probably have just dozed off after taking my meds, and even if I were somehow awake, I bet my hand would be too shaky to even push the button!

The truth is I wish I were as vital and powerful as Vladimir Putin! Just saying his name sends a surge of blood to my old genital regions! Isn’t that ironic? I’m about to become President of the United States of Deploria and all I want to do is pleasure Vladimir Putin!

And kill him.

I want to kill him and pleasure him.

John, did you know that Bill and I had a “safe” phrase?

We did.

“Manufacturing Jobs.”

Bill shouted it out more than once.

I can’t wait to rule the world.

HRC

___________________________________________

To: John Podesta

From: HRC

Subject: Re: Favorite foods

John:

Thanks for the gnocchi recipe!

By the way, I tried the Trump brand steak, and I have to say—amazing! I had no idea a steak could be so delicious, so luxurious!

Really, everything that man touches turns to platinum!

HRC

PS: Hey, I was just thinking, imagine if the public knew that I killed a hooker with Bill back in 92! Boy, that would be a PR disaster! We really dodged a bullet there! And let me tell you, the crossbow, more than just being a truly excellent weapon, is also a real turn-on!

You might be astonished, as I was, to discover that there is actually quite a bit about baseball, specifically the Toronto Blue Jays and their playoff run, in it. Here are some of the standout passages:

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Song of Solomon 2:9

Marcus Stroman, my beloved, is like a gazelle or a young stag. Look! Here he comes, leaping across the mountains, bounding over the hills!

Mark 14:51

A young man ran out onto the field after the 5^th inning wearing nothing but a linen sheet over his naked body; and they seized him. But he pulled free of the linen sheet and escaped naked.

Leviticus 27:20

And after the pitch, which was surely out of the strike zone, was called a strike by the umpire, Josh Donaldson, the great rain maker of the Toronto Blue Jays,

turned to him, “Satan’s servant, if you do not listen to me but continue to be hostile toward me, then in my anger I will be hostile to you, and I myself will punish you for your sins seven times over. You will eat the flesh of your sons and the flesh of your daughters.”

Samuel 23:12

But Edwin took his stand in the midst of the diamond, and Lo, the ball soared deep into the night, and the LORD worked a great victory.

Leviticus 18: 19

Thou shalt not approach unto a woman to uncover her nakedness on game day, nor eat too much honey.

Samuel 15:3

This is what the Lord Almighty says… ‘Now go and strike the Texas Rangers and devote to destruction all that they have. Do not spare them, but kill both man and woman, child and infant, ox and sheep, camel and donkey and batboy.”

Kings 2:23

Then he went down to Texas from the suburbs of Toronto to see the mighty Jays bring sorrow to the Rangers; and as he was going into the stadium, some youths came from the street and mocked him, and said to him, “BLUE JAYS SUCK! BLUE JAYS SUCK!” So he turned around and looked at them, and pronounced a curse on them in the name of the Lord. And two female bears came out of the woods and mauled forty-two of the youths.

Revelation 12:7

And there was war in the Roger’s Centre. Joey Bats and his angels fought against Rougned Odor, and the Dragon and his angels fought back.

Isaiah 40:31

But they who are patient at the plate and let pass the false strikes of Ranger serpent Yu Darvish,

the LORD shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles; they shall run and not be weary.

Song of Solomon 2:3

Like an apple tree among the trees of the forest is Troy Tulowitzki among the young men. I delight to sit in his shade, and his fruit is sweet to my taste.

This year, in an effort to be a little more sensitive to those who might be upset by the images, Sports Illustrated hired me to write Trigger Warnings to precede each photograph:

Trigger Warning:

Viewing of the following image of totally inaccessible supermodel Tanya Mituyshin may trigger traumatic memories of the time you saw high school goddess Marie-Therese Vitzhum in a bikini at a pool party when you were in grade 10. You might recall how out of your league she was and how she seemed like she might have been from Europe, or some angel galaxy that was as far from Ottawa as anything could possible be. You might recall feeling bony, insufficient and pale, watching as she sat piggyback on the shoulders of the muscular Randy Rafter, her breasts pressing against the back of his head as she leaned forward laughing. This image of Tanya Mituyshin could trigger such memories, creating a constant, deeply haunting reminder that you never mustered the courage to speak to MT– as she was known to her friends– and how regardless of the status and success you might achieve, you will always feel like that overlooked and scared 14 year-old boy.

Trigger Warning:

Viewing of the following image of supermodel Hannah Davies may trigger traumatic memories for people who have had difficult relationships with fishing nets in their past. This photograph could spark a deeply repressed memory of the time your friend, as a “prank,” threw a fishing net over you down by the boathouse while attending a cottage party, and instead of fighting to escape from the net, you lay in a fetal position and quietly wept for your mother, certain that you were about to be murdered, as you had always had premonitions of death by fish net.

Trigger Warning:

Viewing the following image of supermodel Gigi Hadid may trigger feelings of profound resentment and homicidal rage in people with a history of despising life in a society where Gigi Hadid, a glittering, young celebrity, is considered an achievable model of feminine beauty. Recollections of unreasonable and cruel demands may flood over you as you navigate the aisles of Shopper’s Drug Mart, your mind flashing red to every cultural message that has ever helped make you feel that you were somehow just not enough. You’re just trying to get some shit done after a long, grinding day behind your desk at the Ministry of Transportation, and then there’s Gigi, smoulder-glowing out at you from the pages of a stupid magazine, and suddenly, before you know it, you’ve kicked the hell out of an entire display stand of kale-and-beet-infused shampoo and punched-out a pharmacist, Club Optima points be damned.

Friends;

I am sorry for any broken limbs and shattered teeth that my enthusiasms may have caused. It was not my intention to hurt any of you, and you should know that Father Russia loves all of his children.

I must thank you very much for this training session. I needed it. Sometimes, the stresses of a global Alpha can be intense. Sometimes, you must break something or you yourself will be broken!

(Waits for applause to subside)

A man does not have it easy in this world, let me tell you.

But I am not here to speak of the unknowable hardships and cruelties a man such as myself must endure. No, I am here to congratulate Ezio Gamba for the powerful and autocratic judo lessons he has dispensed to the national team! He has made you all super hardcore, and that is the Russian way!

We are too hardcore for the Americans!
(Cheering)

We are too hardcore for the Japanese!
(Cheering)

We are too hardcore all the feminine states of Europe!
(Cheering)

We are hardcore!!
(Waits for applause to subside)

And Ezio, much of that is due to you, and I thank you.

I will tell you something you would not guess, but it is not conducting surveillance operations or gassing protestors where I feel most at home.

No, it is on the judo Tatami. It is there where I am my powerful true self.

I am a master of all flesh in the Tatami. There, in a tight embrace, I can unleash the unmeasured furies of my passion!

When I was a young and confused KGB agent, it was judo that provided me with a safe spot. It was there I could be my masculine self and share my physical feelings with other men, but elders grew concerned at the disorienting and often unsettling intimacies of the matches, and so they set me up to fight with Lyudmila.

She was very mannish looking and a formidable opponent. I did not know she was of the females until much later, after much rough combat. We were eventually paired in matrimony and an off-spring was made in the dark of the Russian night.

The American song Islands In The Stream played, I remember.

Yekaterina.

A beautiful name for a beautiful girl.

Our daughter, it is the one good thing Lyudmila and I did together. She is better than any judo moves we ever made, and I am not ashamed to say I would kill with my hands any man who would think to violate her with his primitive heterosexual urges.

No longer paired with Lyudmila, I was free to practice judo with whomever I liked, and those were glorious times for Vlad. Such beautiful judo! Truly, it is the sport of love.

Anyway, my old female partner has gone on to marry another man, a man 20 years younger than her! How about that?

I could have him killed, but I will not. He will suffer with Lyudmila as I suffered with Lyudmila, and I will continue to be the most powerful Alpha in the world, enjoying judo with as many partners as I choose!

You must eat the pain, comrades!!!

Long live Russia, and long live judo!!

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The Citizens for Constitutional Freedom Press Conference, January 12th, 2016

Ammon Bundy: Our intelligence officers have informed us that David Bowie has passed away. After careful study we have confirmed this as true, and not some prepared government disinformation constructed to demoralize my patriots. The news came as an absolute shock to The Citizens for Constitutional Freedom, and we feel that we’ve lost a brother in our fight against tyranny.

Ryan Bundy: He was our Diamond Dog, may the Lord hold him in his sweet embrace! Swing low, sweet chariot!

Ammon Bundy: David Bowie was a formative presence in my life. It was difficult for many of us, confused young militia men marginalized by government tyranny, to come to grips with the strange and new feelings we were experiencing while growing up in remote Nevada.

Our constitutional urges were so strong and they felt so true, yet still, the mainstream shunned us for them.

David Bowie…. okay okay, just give me a sec. His passing there, guess it dug deep… Giving me feelings… You know how you put stuff in a closet and you don’t look in there, and then something happens one day and it all just comes spilling out in tears, gunfire and arson? That’s what this is like. I’m just a little emotional here, but let me tell you, if there’s one thing David Bowie taught me, it’s that it’s okay to be different, and I will be different for the Constitution, knowing that it is okay to enforce my interpretation of the Constitution on the nation by any means necessary.

Ryan Bundy: Hallelujah, they named a knife after the shape shifter! Bowie was the man!!

Ammon Bundy: As you might imagine, many of the men are shaken, some so much so that all of their resolve has left them. We lost five men to grief last night. Crippled by sadness, they drove home to their wives and families, and soon will be watching the NFL playoffs and listening to their favourite David Bowie songs. We wish them godspeed. However, the rest of us have rededicated ourselves to the struggle David would want us to fight. David Bowie, apart from being a creative genius, generous spirit, and fashion icon, was first and foremost a patriot, and he would want us to continue in our battle against tyranny.

Ryan Bundy: Anybody who slept with Susan Sarandon and lists Frank O’Hara amongst his favourite poets is okay in my books! He’s my starman in the sky!

Ammon Bundy: And so, until the government– stooge to the bird lobby– cedes to our demands and gives us, The People, all the land they own, we will remain, defending freedom.

We will be heroes.

Ryan Bundy: Please, American patriots, do not forget to send in food and snack donations, keeping in mind some of the warrior’s dietary restrictions, such as nuts and gluten! Nuts and gluten are weapons of tyranny! Just press Donate on the Donate tab on our Facebook page. Long live our Space Oddity and death to tyranny!

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Heidi head of pack security.

She a natural.

Heidi very fierce, think fast and so quick on feet it make you think maybe ghost in your head. Heidi so mean she make medicine sick. Death jaws can crush full soup cans. You think you can hide from Heidi? Wrong! Heidi smell all. You dig hole to hide, Heidi find hole and dig up hole, Heidi relentless. Heidi kill 6 mice and too many fly to count.

So, so many dead fly.

Chomp.

Fly dead.

Not know what hit them.

Heidi hit them, bro.

Heidi believe in freedom.

Heidi always on guard.

Heidi live free or die.

You should know Heidi pack now larger. Heidi job very important. There was summer litter in den. There is now new two-legger in pack with messy face that always need licking. Small and chubby. Can’t move, just fall forward and make bird sounds. Useless.

Little-legger only cry and bring attention to pack location. Always putting food at risk. Messy face make pack very soft target. Up to Heidi to be extra vigilant and do surveillance at back door. Heidi study shapes and shadow, bark at noise and charge like lion dinosaur to fight all intruders.

Serious stuff.

Biggest threat to security?

Squirrels.

Heidi hate squirrels with fury and passion.

Squirrels think they big shot because can dart quickly and tree fly, but not big shot! Just rat with bushy tail. Squirrel so stupid can’t even wag bushy tail. Just stick tail up in air like surrender flag! Squirrels, filthy, depraved and immoral tribe of cowards who will sneak into pack den and steal kennel or Captain Crunch cereal when napping after long day of guarding, licking and barking.

Heidi would kill every dirty squirrel in world and then wag wag wag tail as she watched them burn in hellfire for eternity.

But just to be clear, Heidi not bigot.

Heidi think all animal equal.

But squirrels evil.

Heidi just know the truth.

Heidi hate, hate, hate squirrels.

You don’t like it, you de-friend Heidi.

Heidi don’t care.

This squirrel on Heidi Most Wanted List.

Very, very fat squirrel. He grey, the colour of giving up. Heidi never give up. Heidi black like eternal night and tan like good suede. Heidi stare at squirrel. Mean, death stare. In this picture, taken by surveillance camera just before Heidi was about to attack, disgusting squirrel have boner. So gross and creepy! Squirrel boner worst thing in world!! And then squirrel begin to interfere with self!! So gross-out Heidi turn away to vomit, and when she do, fat boner squirrel go into Heidi den and steal Macadamia nuts from pantry!! MACADAMIA NUTS VERY EXPENSIVE!! Heidi don’t want to know what else sex offender squirrel do, but Heidi vow to kill sex offender squirrel!! Rip to pieces and make necklace from squirrel claws.

If you see this squirrel, report to Heidi immediately!

Very, very bad squirrel!!

His silence during this time had fueled all sorts of speculation, with some people believing he’d been in Switzerland to attend his girlfriend giving birth, while others thought he was ill, had power seized from him or that he might even have been assassinated.

Well, he appeared hale and hearty on Monday morning, and it turns out that Putin, utilizing the survivalist training he learned as a KGB operative, had spent the last week camping on his own. These are his private journals from that trip:

Day 1:

As spring approaches, the burning comes hard and fast.

I shudder with the unnatural urges and I know that I must, once again, remove myself to the Bialowieza Forest and make peace with the natural world.

My mind, as if fevered, returns again and again to that Sikh cab driver as he stared out his car window on Shkolnaya.

For a moment, our eyes, like magnets, found one another, and we were two beautiful, masculine animals locked to one another, our breathing becoming so urgent and alive, and in such perfect and furious unison as to be inseparable. We would to be just one, all flesh, muscle and luxuriant and mysterious beard. Ah, but this moment lived only in our hearts and minds, for we never met or spoke, just two rugged ships passing in the fading light of a tired Moscow day.

In the Bialowieza Forest there are no seductive cab drivers with strong, Indian features. No, here there are berries. Here there are cold streams in which to cleanse impurities from one’s naked body! Here there are animals to kill! Here there are so many places to unleash the rage and to let the echoes of pain take flight!!!

Day 2.

I am heterosexual.

I am heterosexual.

I am heterosexual.

I am Dear Shirtless Leader.

I am a powerful, heterosexual leader.

I am ruthless and without pity.

I am heterosexual.

Day 4

I use rocks to pound my hands. The pain reminds me of how much I love women and not men. Rocks are my friends. I will incite my people to throw them at the homosexuals when I return from my purification!

Day 5.

I spent the day in penetrating, decontaminating meditation.

The cold of the March forest felt good on my naked body. It was like being caressed and then handled roughly by the indifferent hands of an anonymous man looking to satisfy his own primal needs. I was an empty and willing vessel, a village waiting for to be led by its mayor.

I then ate two birds that I knocked out of the air using my belt. They are part of Father Russia now.

Day 6.

Today a young stag approached my camp while I made weapons from the beaks and talons of the birds I ate. This buck looked at me with both certainty and curiosity, and as a confident as a bear, walked right up to me and licked my bare chest.

I could have torn him apart with my horrible weapons, but I did not. He continued to lick– he must have been starved for nutrients and minerals—and I took his beautiful head in my powerful hands– and then he began to lick me in an intimate spot. The forest was a beautiful canopy above us and the sunlight was falling like gold coins all around, and for a moment there were no other living creatures in all of the universe, and then I twisted his neck and killed him, and there was but one living creature left, and it was then that I knew I had won and was ready to return to society.

Middle-aged men, guys getting off work and who are still in their FedEx or Hydro uniforms go there. Each night, as part of a promotion, the bar host’s a card came which takes place at the back on one of those poker tables you can buy at Canadian Tire. The other night it was Texas Hold ‘Em they were playing, and although it’s a cashless game, since it’s poker, people felt heavily invested.

As I was sitting at the bar drifting through the sports section, a fight erupted at the back of the bar. It was extraordinary how quickly rage, explosive rage, swept in and over the table. Men, something now ignited within, had pushed back their chairs and were standing. Screaming and swearing, they waved their arms about and stiffened into fighting posture, fists clenched. A woman, who seemed to be at the centre of it all, had a voice that was a black, untranslatable hiss, more the unearthly vocalizations of possession than language. She threw a glass against the wall, her long hair waving in fury, as the men shouted. It seemed the very manifestation of mental illness, that from the collective interiors of these people, a dark, stormy cloud of violence had been summoned.

But the thing that struck me the most was how quickly it all passed, and how everybody seemed to enjoy it. It had been fun for them. What, I wonder, does that say about us? On a frigid, lonely night in February a group of strangers go out looking for something. They find one another at a card table in a bar, and what they needed was this, to wake up and experience that jolt of electricity spiking through their bodies, so that for a moment each one of them was alive in the streaming arteries,  heroes on a battlefield, the lion’s roar that answered back to the night.