A Boy and his friend K-LOL, who both live in London, occasionally post on a music messageboard where people chat about pop music, yes, mainly idiotic people about idiotic pop music to be fair, but it’s something to do I guess. And A Boy forwards me an email conversation where he and K-LOL discuss some of the people on the messageboard, because they’re sad and petty and having miserable lives and boring office jobs that don’t require much concentration. I remember the days when I had an office job.
K-LOL: “Let’s analyse some of the people on ___, simply based on their pictures”
[attaches picture of Poster 1]
[attaches picture of Poster 2]
A Boy: “Wow, that second one really is atrociously bad. I just know I hate him”
K-LOL: “Poster 1 is just a Belgian guy who thinks he’s cool and lives in Dalston whilst being above it and makes wise informed comments and gets it and likes Madonna in the old fashioned cool way and lots of new hip underground stuff because he keeps his ears open and has a short attention span caused by the consumption of too much mediazzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. Shame he has to express all this on the ___ messageboard because he doesn’t have anyone in real life to discuss these interests with.
Poster 2 is the worst example of provincial Northern queen imaginable, and I can only hope that his life is so fucking miserable that his “do” (LOL) gets lighter and lighter in every picture due to a freak chemical reaction between the peroxide and the tears he cries in bed every night”
Then A Boy tells me of a story where K-LOL has gotten in an argument with another person on there (Poster 3) and this is an argument that went like that:
Poster 3: “[something tedious and banal in frilly prose]”
K-LOL (who posts on the forum as ‘LeftMyHeartInTokyo”: “You should be a writer. I see James Joyce parallels. Might be the ketamine though”
Poster 3: “Oh no, heart, I think you should be a writer”
K-LOL: “LOL! Thanks babes!!! I'm more of an actor/singer/dancer myself though. We're all creative in different ways. Sometimes I get a fire in my belly and I just want to put some Florence on and roll around on a stage draped in a sash or something. Intercepting my performance with little yelps, the odd monologue, some vocal scales. That's how I express myself. Other times I'm feeling more reflective and throw some Tori on the stereo, turn the lights off and lay in awe on my bedroom floor whispering, oh oh smother me Mother. I'll give the writing thing a go too though, God, I love a new challenge LOL!!!!!”
K-LOL again: “I like it when you call me heart, Poster 3. When I was little, my Mum used to call me “her little heart”. It reminds me of that. She dead now, of course. Dead dead dead. Sometimes, when I miss her too much, I come on this website and read your words and I feel a little warm inside. Other times I just climb to the top of a mountain and throw little things off. Like car parts, bottles or cuttlery, or whatever I find lying around. I’ve never met you Poster 3, but you write about music (mostly the sound of NOW!) in a way that penetrates me right through to the heart like that guy did in the Indiana Jones film. Never stop hon”
In other news, earlier today, I email A Girl and this is a conversation that goes like this:
Me: “And on that note, I can announce that I’ve finally finished my work for today…”
A Girl: “Fuck you”
So, there we have it: A Boy, K-LOL, A Girl. Awful, awful, mean-spirited rude people. I should never be friends with them.