June 17, 2011
A Time-Traveling Oscar Wilde Tries His Hand at Twitter
Here we are. Here we go. Twitter. Curious, curious indeed. Start with a profile name. My own name should suffice. No need to be facetious. Clean, clear, unencumbered by accoutrements. Oscar. Wilde.
Rats. Taken. Chap looks quite a bit like me as well. No worries. No worries. You are a writer, my friend. Should be able to find a suitable alternative. WildeAtHeart? Too obvious. WildeChild?…come on now Oscar, aim higher. Pithy, to the point. You have got this!
Hmm….
Truth be told, Oscar, you have not, in fact, “got this.” No matter. OscarWilde1874 will have to suffice for now. Will aid the Trinity rascals in locating me. Can always adjust it later should the need arise.
And. We. Are. On. Curtains are up. An audience, however, is required, is it not? Perhaps I should “follow” some fellow luminaries and they will return the favor. Follow? More like lead! Jesting, of course! Let me see, let me see. Dickens. Nasty little bugger, but why not? Twain. Most certainly. I enjoy a homespun julep-inspired screed just as much as much as any filthy Yank. Followed!
Well, well, well. Lookie here. QueenVicki. Her majesty tweets? Goodness. Who knew? I must see this.
“1st rule of club sandwichez iz you dont talk bout club sandwichez. LOL! #gettinmybaconon”
What ever does that mean? One assumes it is a reference to the eponymous Earl and his mutton and bread proclivities. Yet it does not excuse it from making barely a farthing’s worth of sense. The bird is batty. We all know this. Her profile photograph is evidence. You cannot even discern her royal countenance. It is entirely lace and bosom and…
Good lord, I must click away. Prince Albert, I pity you not your death, but your life with this ample lump of monarch. Moving on.
What’s happening?
I suppose that is an invitation to share my adventures. Let me see, let me see. I did have a splendid sausage for breakfast. Perhaps I should…No, no. The world is not interested in my digestions. An advertisement, perhaps? An Ideal Husband is premiering at the Pawtucket Playhouse this weekend, after all. If there were a manner in which I could mention it without appearing boastful. Self deprecation may work. For example, “It may not be an ideal way to spend a Saturday, however–”
Hold the wireless, what do we have here? My first follower! FeliCiaXRj3480. Utter gibberish, but should she retweet my musings then I shall forgive her all her typesetting offenses. Hmm…appears she is interested in handbags and bloated genitals. Aren’t we all! I shall file her in a list titled DelightfullyDevilish and examine her enticements later.
For now, it might be helpful to study these Trends. #terribletheatre. That’s easy. Anything by George Bernard Shaw! I tease, Bernie, because I adore you. All naughtiness aside, clicking #terribletheatre and seeing what the masses proclaim would seem to be in order.
The Importance of Being Slam Dunk Ernest? The Real Housewives of Windsor? Oh I see! Puns. I can have a play at this. How about a raspberry directed at one of the classics? Sophocles could stand for some ribbing. Oedipus the Queen, anyone? No, that won’t do. Tyrannosaurs Rex? Will readers even get that?
You know what? If the public is having a go at me, I will best them by having a go at myself! How about Salamí by Oscar Wilde? A ribald reference to the cured Italian meat, while maintaining the accent mark over the vowel. Subtle and delicious! Before submitting, it might behoove me to check if anyone else has written an identically crafted tweet. Not at all likely, but the Westminter dandies are sure to howl plagiarism should this be the case.
Fifteen people! That is sobering indeed. It appears I am late for the gala on this one. Best to move on. Here is an idea. What about recycling one of my finer quips? A reminder to the plebes of what raised me to my current stature. Precisely. That will inspire both retweets and followings. Let me see, let me see. A joke fits the occasion, flavored of course with a wee bit of contrarianism.
“People who count their chickens before they are hatched, act very wisely, because chickens run about so absurdly that it is impossible to co…”
Blasted character limit! Brevity is the soul of wit, but you could at least grant a fellow 160 characters! Heavens. This tweeting is exhausting. Maybe it is best to just share the contents of my breakfast. Or complain about the clammy weather and rancid absinthe in this sad excuse for a cabaret. No, no, wait. I have it. Yes! I have the most wonderfully perfect gem.
“Anyone have a cure for a serious case of the Mondays? #canwejustskiprighttofridayalready?”
Genius! Now all I have to do is press Tweet and the world will bask in–
A whale? Carried by sparrows? Ridiculous. The time approaches to be through with this nonsense. Methinks my examinations are better spent on the bottom of a whisky glass. LOL.
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