Flamus Interruptus; Or, Where The Hell Did That Meteorite Come From? In which I mutter darkly about matters trivial and Internetty.→[More:]

So I was puttering around on a certain Web 2.0 books and social networking site that rhymes with "Gelfari", when a young punk with an irritatingly wacky username posted a mildly rude comment on my homepage.

"Right," I thought. "He wants a flamewar, he's getting a flamewar. And he's getting into one with a grizzled, battle-hardened veteran of well over a decade's flaming across the wide and wild Internet."

The comment was only 42 minutes old, so clearly I had to wait: too prompt a response and it looks like you care. So across the gulf of continents, slowly and surely I drew my plans against him.

Young, so vulnerable to a patronizing tone. Wants to be in the right, so vulnerable to facts. I opened up calculator and got a few numbers: nothing like numbers to add a vicious stink of brimstone to a flame. He wanted facts, so maybe a tinyurl link: possibly goatse, possibly lemonparty, maybe just to Seanyboy's diabolical uber-rickroll.

When the time was right I logged, on ready for action, and found--

--and found, the little git's only gone and apologised! I can't flame him at all now or I look like an asshole.

That was the third worst thing: total case of blue mouse-balls.

Then, I had to go and post a grudgingly conciliatory reply. One reply led to another, and somehow-- somehow he's now on my friends list. Yes, he's officially my friend: it's right there in pastel on a curvy-edged backround.

That was the second worst thing.

The worst thing was realizing that I'd got my clichés completely wrong. I'm not a battle-hardened veteran anymore. Now, I'm a lumbering, scaly, Web 1.0 dinosaur; helplessly blundering around around Web 2.0 world, roaring in vain at the fluffy Web 2.0 mammals scampering nimbly away from my feet.

The End.