Aren't Other Peoples Problems Brilliant, by A. Troll.

Aren’t other peoples problems brilliant.
Well, not brilliant I suppose, because they’re problems.  But – and even if you don’t know them, because by definition a problem is a negative thing, so it’s bad, and even I wouldn’t wish harm on most of you – but in a way they are though.  Brilliant.  Because they’re not yours, but they’re really close, so you can see all the little whirs and clicks of the thing taking over.  I mean, it sounds wrong, in your head, but other people’s problems are fascinating and slightly brilliant.  Go on, say it.  Brilliant.  It’s ok, no ones looking.  Unless they are, in which case do still, but say it quietly, like a suspenseful whisper or something.  Brilliant.
As previous entries have no doubt implied, I’m a bit of an over thinking sort.  So all of my problems are horrible to me, even tiny, itty bitty ones, because I must explore every diseased corner of each potential catastrophe.  Which requires determination, patience, perseverance and reserve, and yet you can’t put self loathing on a C.V.  So, when the problems aren’t mine I can usually solve them.  In my head.  I can’t control the real life actual humans, not because I don’t think it would be kinda fun, but because I just can’t.  So I can’t stop the problems from happening.  What I can do though, is run through tens of different, elaborate, cold, logical, statistical simulations in my computer mind.  Commodore 64, I think.  To me, as an outsider to the problem – suffering none of the fuzzy thinking caused by actual personal attachment to the issues – I am spot on with each solution.  Of course, the more drastic options are never spoken, and usually even the more seemingly innocuous and obvious ones are disallowed, but often my premonitions (or educated guesses, if you want to ruin it) hit the mark.  It’s not done in a mocking way, or without concern – I don’t go around concerning myself with the woes of complete strangers – it’s born of a strong interest, with the detached wisdom of negligible liability.
Or educated guesses.
I’m pretty sure everybody has it at some time or other, a microscopic trace of smug superiority when one of your example laced warnings comes to fruition.  You share the pain, naturally, because you bloody well have to at that point, and because you do care about the person.  Well, I wouldn’t be giving away mymeticulously thought out plans to all and sundry anyway.  Might need them myself one day, and they’re useless pre worn.  A more sensible, mature person might try to learn through the observed error rather than the experienced one, but I like to use the involvement in a friends drama as an opportunity for distraction from my own and to evoke a sense of usefulness.  These sentiments are surely shared by some, but I suspect they might use different words, in a different order, or there is the possibility of denial.  It’s perfectly healthy at a subliminal, microscopic level, probably.  In the form of a self created high, it offers a reward for assisting another human.  “Well done you, why not feel a teensy bit better than them now, because you knew the answer and have definitely just cured their life”.  And, you should feel good about offering advice if you’ve invested thought and care into it.  Even if it’s rarely followed or wrong.  I mean it’s not wrong, just if.
The real problem is when you go full troll;  Just slinging about inflammatory stuff, all like, ‘yeah just do it man’, or, ‘fuck it, doesn’t matter, don’t even think about it’.  Or, ‘You’re wrong because of whatever none specific thing I believe in and you don’t or vice versa’.  Because, well, because you probably should be thinking about it and the suggestion behind it needing to be discussed, points to it mattering.  That just seems obvious right there.  Sadly, it is quite easy to flip into troll mode in order to save face, or gain ground that isn’t really there, or ignore something personally offensive, or at it’s worst, to just really, really piss up a storm.  You know, for fun!  And the first rule of Troll Club, is: do not allow new knowledge to interfere with your point, even if said knowledge dissolves said point like a sugar teaspoon in a mug of boiling sulphuric acid.  On the sun.  Comments sections under news articles show this to be true.  Sometimes I find myself ‘Heading Under The Bridge’ (that’s what, just now, I’ve decided to call going a bit troll-like), and usually try to intervene to stop me from being a prick.  The times I fail I’ll never confess to either, so it’s difficult to know.
I suppose, if there must be a point, which once more I find myself doubting – it is that everyone trolls.  I do.  You do.  We all do a troll-like-thing-when-we’re-feeling-a-little-threatened-or-bored-or-whatever-but-probably-best-try-to-not.  To.  Or something like that but catchier.  It’s more acceptable if everyone knows you’re doing it, in that situation it’s almost their fault for getting involved, right.  But not with trickery and or deceit, there’s no need for that.  So, in conclusion, I have decided that the second rule of Troll Club be: ‘Whilst adhering to Rule One, you must also announce your intentions to remain totally, wilfully ignorant to any information offered during debating conflict – on, or off line – that your opinions and beliefs are made of shallow perceptions, a widely blind existence and lots of those butterfly clip things cos they were really good for holding it together, and that you state that you are, in fact, probably not worth talking to about most things.  Or that you’re being a mischievous, cantankerous sod.  Directing people to exits or explaining how to filter you from their stream is also never a bad thing’.
Two simple, if slightly wordy, rules to live by.  Rules that would surely sort a lot of junk, straight out of the box.  If they/we were ever to feel the need to form some sort of a club in which there was a code of conduct that required that the sport of intentionally irritating or upsetting someone for no good reason be practiced openly and quietly, and with no chance of meeting halfway,  I’m pretty sure I’ve got a solution for bickering.

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