Gather ’round, children. It’s high time I told you of the great, historic Ginger-Midget Twitter War of Twenty-Ten, in which I was in the front lines, battling bravely against a stupid ginger named Bob Blah Blawg.
>:(
Oh, how I loathe him, children. Yes, you might have heard that he’s been my best friend here for almost two years. This does not matter. Nor does it keep me from really, really hating that boy.
It all started, as most things do, on an instant messaging client. And really, it all started (that night; we had been fighting about gingers for some time, ever since he said something mean to me and I outed him on Twitter for being a ginge) with this tweet:
From there, the brewing tensions advanced to the realm of Gchat, where the warning shots were fired and the two sides clashed for the first time. Well. Not really the first time. They’d been arguing about one party being a ginger for quite some time. That party refused to sign the Yes I Am A Ginger Because I Am Scottish And Have A Red Beard And/Or Am At Least 70% Daywalker Treaty, so, really, a full-fledged war was inevitable with this much tension and such high stakes.
We were discussing Paul having spotted us as he walked to his law school (which is right across the street from ours, quite literally) and Andy wondered how Paul recognized us. I said we had pictures up on Twitter, where, unbeknownst to us at the time, the majority of the battle would be fought.
The parties refused to surrender their deeply held convictions revolving around the clearly, visibly apparent gingerhood of one Bob Blah Blawg.
The parties allowed each other one last opportunity to settle. It fell on two pairs of deaf ears, as these things often do.
And then the threats got ugly, dear children, and it was declared that the two parties would go to war to defend their honor. And decide, once and for all, the time-honored question that has led generations upon generations into fierce, unrelenting battle: Is so-and-so a soul-less Ginger?
And then, as we said in my time, children, it was on. Oh, IT WAS SO ON.
>:(
The battle formations and war tactics are difficult to follow, but I’ve done my best to diagram them so that you can follow along as we trace our way through this epic battle that lasted long into the night. Thankfully, it was a mini-weeknight, since neither party had law school the next day because the ginger-party had been brilliant in scheduling and discovered that, if we both transferred into the 9AM Corporations class, we could have TWO days off per week instead of only one.
Sometimes, that Blah fellow did good, children.
Here are some of the exciting scenes from the battle.
Here, the fool brings in reinforcements. In the first stages of the battle. WHO DOES THAT? Well, he does, duh. That’s what I just wrote two sentences ago. Can’t you read? WHAT ARE YOU DOING ON A BLOG IF YOU CAN’T READ?
Click to see what I linked to.
Then, children, the local villagers joined in.
At this point, dear children, some of the local villagers became angry that this war was taking place so near their humble little homes.
And, as in most wars, there were communication difficulties. You’re gonna have that when you’re really down in the trenches, children. This isn’t like Call of Duty: Modern Warfare, after all.
(CALL OF DUTY!! YEAHHH!!)
(Although, really, I’m more of a Counterstrike girl.)
See, what happened was that the other side sent out a dispatch, but I ran away from the carrier pigeon because I hate pigeons because they are germy, and I didn’t immediately see that he’d sent me a message, so I sent one of my own. That explains this exchange:
Then, I finally caught up to the germy carrier pigeon and saw his earlier message, prompting my reply. And then his simultaneous reply. Our signals were crossed for a bit, but we eventually ironed it all out.
I felt a critical impasse had been reached, and that I had been the one to cross it and, in doing so, emerge victorious. I decided to let Twitter be privy to my thoughts on the matter.
But the Great Scot (ha, see what I did there? Of course you did), proving that he knew nothing of the Geneva Conventions and related treatises (treatii, really), decided to declare victory after I had already done so.
And, since he was being a turd and refusing to honor my declaration of victory, I decided to address him post-battle in a manner befitting two civilized and dignified statesmen.
:-|
You guys.
I mean, children.
:-|
From there, the discussion turned to popular support for the war effort, and which party won out in that regard. I maintained that it was I who won, for, well, obvious reasons.
*hair flip*
I mean, come on.
He did not take kindly to being called a red-headed stepchild.
That was kind of a surprise, I admit, because I had rather assumed he would. Take kindly to it, that is.
Despite the post-war pot-shot I took, tensions didn’t bubble up again. In fact, sweater puppies dissolved the tension, as they often do.
But not for very long.
Such is the blessing and the curse of sweater puppies, for this happened later that night. Or, I guess, earlier that morning.
That’s right. He actually had the NERVE to say we were beefing. After his rampant, galloping suckitude and dirty tricks in a time of war.
>:(
As always, I attempted to be the rational party. And to use Latin. I spent a crapload of time studying it in college; I might as well use it, right?
And that was how the Great Ginger-Midget Twitter War of 2010 concluded, with my being awarded a reluctant victory. Or so I thought.
The next day, it became apparent that the losing party was still harboring residual bloodlust. Residual bloodlust would be a great name for a hair metal band. File it away, folks. File it away for a later day.
Things were quiet – and suspiciously so – on the Western front, so I sent up this flare over No Man’s Land to see how things were.
Okay, so I technically wasn’t sending up a flare.
I was technically sitting on a ladder in the middle of No Man’s Land, smoking endless cigarettes while wearing a luminous balaclava.
Same difference, you guys. Jeez. Semantics.
He Who Has Been Established to be a Ginger replied with this:
:-|
How could I let that stand?
Spoiler alert: I couldn’t.
He REALLY needs to learn not to give me openings like that.
Then things got dirty.
Here’s what he linked to:
Turd.
So, not to be outdone…
Here’s what I linked to:
This followed:
With this linked to:
And then this followed:
With this linked to:
There was no response from the other party, so, naturally, I assumed I had won again, even though I had already won the night before, and even though I hadn’t received formal confirmation of this, on account of the other party being a turd.
…Or so I thought. Again.
You see, children, sometimes, when you know you won, but other people won’t admit it because they are turds, and you think you’ll never taste the sweet satisfaction of a proper OMG YOU ARE RIGHT win, life has a way of surprising you.
This happened the following night. Or maybe the following-following night.
I love being handed things on a platter.
And that really is the best note for the Great Ginger-Midget Twitter War of 2010 to end on, you guys: Meh.
As long as we are all aware that Bob Blah Blawg is a ginger.
:-D












































































































