the unread messages might attract a hacker! The egg’s hour
had come! With 140 characters typed,
I sent my tweet straight to him. He shrieked in reply, using
all CAPS – once only. In an instant I out-typed him.
I then smiled gaily, for the deed was so far done. But, for
many minutes, the egg icon remained as his profile photo.
This, however, did not vex me; it was only a matter of
refreshing the page. Surely it would cease. I struck F5 again.
The egg was gone. I examined my twitter feed. Yes, it was
certainly gone. I stared at my home feed for minutes.
There was no sign of an egg. It was gone. That egg icon
would trouble me no more.
If you still think me a mad tweeter, you will think so no
longer when describe what I did next.
The night waned, and I clicked hastily, but without tweeting.
First I deleted the direct messages from my box.
I collected my screenshots of tweets that once featured the
egg, and dropped them in the desktop recycle bin.
I trolled the home page, watching the posts appear. I then,
so cunningly, that no newb egg user could detect,
blocked everyone I saw with a default icon. There was no
more to see. No eggs whatsoever. I caught them all!
When this labor ended, it was four o’clock- still dark in
Eastern Standard Time. I checked my notifications tab.
I clicked it open with a light heart, – for what had I now
to fear? There were three new followers.
They introduced themselves, with perfect suavity, as
upstanding tweeters, referred to me by a mutual follower.
The suspicion that I knew of a bot in our midst had been
aroused. They came to search the feeds for proof.
I tweeted a smile emote, -for what had I to fear? I bade
them welcome. The bot, I said, was imagined.
The egg, the default icon of a tweeter I once knew, was
absent from my feed. I told them to scroll all through it.
I led them, at length, to the url which directly opened the
page where the egg once nested.
There is more to come! Join me live by following @JLenniDorner on Twitter.