This diary is intended soley as humor. We've had way to much discussion about trolls and trusted users over the last week, so I thought a little overstated drama could do us all good, that and I was bored.
The thunder clap rattled the windows on the cool May night. It was almost 3 in the morning and Buffy was still staring into here computer screen, intermittently clicking the mouse with the resolve of a woman scorned.
This was no ordinary mission Buffy was on, this time it was serious! Clicking reload on her internet browser she finally found what she was looking for; CRZYLIBH8TR has made another post. With the ferocity of the lighting strikes outside her bedroom window, Buffy unsheathed her virtual hammer and struck down the troll. Her allies, spread out like a protective blanket, showed up late as usual, and helped her finish the act of necessary violence. This troll was auto-banned, and Daily Kos was safer, at least for now! Buffy blew the arising smoke off her wireless optical mouse, and returned to work, hunting out evil as it lurks around the community web-log.
Suddenly a bright flash lit up her bedroom like a million paparazzi, and with a soft groan Buffy's house first went dim, then pitch black.
"Shit!" said Buffy. Her gut was telling her that at any moment "Dkos" could, no, would be infested with trolls, running rampant through the halls of sometimes intelligent liberal political thought. Dkos was like a fledgling think tank, a conglomerate of both heavy thought, witty community, and bleeding heart activism; it was a virtual home for liberals.
Buffy waited patiently at first, then picked up her cell phone. Opening the flip phone illuminated the room just enough for her to see her neglected husband sleeping soundly in bed, none the wiser to her midnight heroism, Buffy smiled lovingly, and sneaked out into the hallway.
"Common, work damnit!" she whispered. The phone read SPEEDDIAL #12, and after a few tense seconds she finally heard a ring.
"Ugh, hello" the voice on the other end responded.
"Hey, Pete, this is Buffy. I lost power, how are we doing."
"Shit Buffy, we're really getting overrun here. Five new conspiracy diaries have popped up, and I don't know how, but Bev is back! She must have hacked the system! We need you, STAT, we just can't pick them out quickly enough, they are really taking over."
"How many we are talking about here Pete? Are these trolls redstaters? Who's our enemy?"
"No Buffy, its worse, it's the loones! You know, an attack from within! You just got the last redstater 10 minutes ago, this is more serious! They are spreading lies and conspiracies. And you know, they called TrueBlue a...a...a liar!!!! He asked for proof, but it's gone into a circular argument, we may not be able to get him out before it's too late!"
"Ok, just try to hang on; I'm going to activate my petroleum powered generator. This is to important for environmental issues, I've got to get online!"
Buffy dashed down the stairs towards the main level of her two story country house, jumping over the banister with the ease of a gymnast and the silence of a ninja. She unbolted the front door, and paused, glancing quickly for a pair of slippers nearby. Buffy didn't have time. She opened the door and pushed through the screen, the wind meeting her mightily. Her hair blowing wildly in the wind and her feet sinking into the mud as she traced the contours of her home, moving quickly to the old fashioned storm cellar. She tugged at the splintered wooden door, which whined in pain, the wet handle staining her hand brown from loose rust. Crawling down backwards she descended into cobwebs, and the thick scent of molded air. Flipping her cell phone open again, she used the soft glow to guider her way to the generator.
She pulled the rip cord, almost falling over in the process. The generator choked, bubbled, and shook, then popped. The motors loud hum filled the cellar and slowly the lights rose back from darkness. Buffy this time leaped up the ladder to the outside, throwing the cellar door closed. She sprinted through the mud around to the front door, spraying the wet clay dirt up her pajama pants. With three steps she was back up the stairs, and swung around the banister into her bedroom.
"Come on, Come on, boot up damn you!" she said to the computer.
Finally she was able to pull up Mozilla. Her typing was hard and fast, the "quiet keyboard" making no effort to mute the clacking of the keys.
"Oh Christ, I'm just in time" she murmured. Her mouse clicks increasing in speed and seriousness.
The back and forth between key stokes and mouse clicks were often paused with a giggle, usually an appreciation of a silly pootie picture, which was well worth a "recommend." After a half hour of clacking and clicking finally Buffy closed out the window. She looked at her mud caked feet and sighed, she was too tired to shower again. Buffy turned off the desk lamp and crawled into bed. Another night winning the battle against trolls. Worn out from her war, she fell asleep quickly knowing the tomorrow she'd arise and have to do it all over again. Buffy was smiling in her sleep.