Well, you’ve got to feed the trolls some variety of ammunition. With my stunning good looks, unquestionably awesome personality and abundant cash lying around the house there really isn’t all that much for them to get me on. And you know what happens to sexist online bullies when they can’t think of anything nasty to say now don’t you? They wither up and die right away.
What with the migrant scandal, the Volkswagen fiasco and the whole Cameronian porcine debacle we absolutely can’t be having anything else go south in this age of woe. So the assembled gods of fair play decided that they had to do a little something or other about my particular situation.
Luckily, they weren’t in the mood to mess about with my home life or work situation. Instead they decided to impart a particular piece of information unto those who consider themselves my enemies. Apparently they have regular get togethers where a lot of wine is imbibed and my shortcomings are discussed in excruciating detail (I don’t actually have any obviously but they have truly excellent imaginations).
So now they know precisely when I’m going to snuff it. That’s all though. They can waggle the proverbial sword of Damocles above my head for as long as they like. It also means they can be as inventive as possible when it comes to taunting me with my mode of death. They’ll start suggesting anything they fancy from shark attack to a disgruntled former colleague plagued with jealousy at my stunning success.
And then the estimated time of death will take on something of a prophecy like status. We’ll get closer and closer to the scheduled moment and I’ll be surprisingly hale and hearty to the point where they’ll contemplate doing me in just so the fates are appeased. At least it’ll give them something to do beyond posting rape threats to strangers for no discernible reason.