Cry "Havoc!" and let slip the pizza rats of war! The Internet’s reckoning has finally come to usher us back into the Dark Ages. Farewell to ease of long-distance communication! Goodbye to convenience in sales! Adieu to visual proof of a turtle’s sexual fondness for footwear! O, what terrible misfortune.
But ho! Before the Cloud slowly sank from sky to sea, its tubes emptying terabytes upon terabytes of racism and literotica into the Atlantic, a noise rang out. The hurried hoofbeats of gods, riding atop the backs of beasts. A rapturous sound—a flurry of drum and bass to signal the ultimate “sick drop.” It was then that the harbingers arrived: from the sky, Four Horsemen appeared in the world, each the personification of an evil that ruined the Internet. In turn, they addressed the denizens of the Web.
Irony
“Laugh!” he brayed. “But preserve sincerity!”
He wore Groucho glasses but spoke with austerity.
Dressed up like Borat, a Speedo in lime,
And covered in tattoos of bold 69s.
“Irony leads to unbearable loss,
So use it with caution—conserve at all costs!”
Beneath him the crowds stood, faithfully listening,
Only to counter with eye-rolls and mimicking.
“Conserve, conserve,” they cried in high pitches—
His devilish portent had left them in stitches!
Memes of him trended across every forum,
But ten minutes later they stopped out of boredom.
Their penchant for irony ruined all candor
And Irony’s tone turned from helpful to anger:
“Foolish mortals—heed me no longer,
For three coming threats will be certainly stronger!”
Nostalgia
“Relive!” he roared. “But let loose your past!”
Seeing Nostalgia, the crowds were aghast—
His flannel at hip height hid jeans washed in acid,
As piercing red eyes stared through rose-colored glasses.
“Don’t dwell on old matters of yesteryear,
For danger will come in the now and the here!”
His diction was strong but created a hurdle,
Since “matters” reminded them all of Steve Urkel.
“Did I do thaaaat?” jokers responded in jest,
Then fought over which classic cartoon was best.
Bursts of “Remember?” shot out of the horde
As they listed things that they missed from before.
People loved history more than today.
Their future was ruined by memory’s gaze!
Nostalgia cried, “Cretins—your future was dear,
But now it will suffer two threats more severe!”
Op-Ed
“Think!” he howled. “But rarely aloud!”
The mob sharply squinted their eyes at the Cloud—
Op-Ed’s appearance was so unrefined,
It looked like a large crowd had all been combined.
“Focus your thoughts and keep them inside,
It’s only developed ones you mustn’t hide!”
The watchers were silent and teeming with dread,
Till one screamed, “Here’s Why We Should Shun Op-Ed!”
One bellowed, “We Shouldn’t,” and both were dogmatic.
Another cried, “Here’s Why Op-Ed’s Problematic.”
All removed nuance from Op-Ed’s arrival,
Which heavily hindered their chance of survival.
Thousands of thinkers had all formed a bubble,
Ignoring the fact that the world was in trouble.
Op-Ed shook sadly, and wailed in woe,
“I warned you—but now comes the Web’s fatal blow.”
The horsemen withdrew with heads hung in shame,
But as they retreated a grim reaper came.
The masses had only themselves to thank
As the reaper stepped forward—and he went by Hank.
Your High-School Friend Craig Franklin’s Stepdad, Hank
“Hey there,” he mumbled, in Midwestern prose,
His Transitions lenses perched low on his nose.
His message resounded to thousands below
And tens more by error from his Samsung phone.
The denizens sneered and laughed at the menace—
He smelled of a grill, and wore shoes of tennis.
They took pictures of him and made memes in fun
And he took his phone out and shared every one.
“Nice One!” “Lol!” “Fleek!” he responded.
His simple replies were not what they wanted.
It soon became lame, and far less amusing
To use something this sincere weirdo was using.
One by one, all Internet users fled.
“If this guy’s online now, then online is dead!”
Hank was the image of all that they hated.
(Craig Franklin stressed that they weren't blood-related.)
The Internet fell, and soon, from its ashes,
Hank’s throne rose, made of old Brookstone gadgets.
Men screamed, “I’m angry!” as all the Web sank.
And smirking, he bellowed, “Hi, angry—I’m Hank.”
