Three crows sit on an electric wire outside the big city.
“Hey, what’s up, mate?”
“Nuthin’ much, mate. What’s up with you?”
“Same old, same old. What’s up with you, Jake?”
“Things cool, man. All cool. What’s up with you guys?”
“Cool, man, cool”
“Yup, that’s right!”
“Yo, right there!”
Conversation ceases. They look up at the sky, look east, look down at the ground, look west, look north and look southeast. Then southwest, north, look down at the ground, look up at the sky. This goes on for a bit.
Hours pass. One of them spots a speck in the distance. Some more conversation.
“Hey, is that ol’ Bob out yonder?”
“Yeah, sure looks like him!”
The speck becomes bigger.
“Oh yeah, it’s him alright!”
Old Bob does an impressive flyby past our cackling and enthusiastic murder (look it up), and does a few breathtaking stunts and lands smoothly on the wire.
“Oooh Bob, so cool man”
“Yeah man, you the rock star!”
“Sure you are, man, rock star ol’ Bob!”
Old Bob smirks. He stares at the distance. Out at the great distance, the looming horizon. Old Bob scratches his chin thoughtfully. Looks at the crowd. Then stares again at the distance.
“Hey ol’ Bob, cool guy!”
“Rock star! Yoohoo, we here, hey!”
“Ol’ Bob is doing the cool thing again, good Ol’ Bob!”
Old Bob looks at the murder. Then stares into the distance. Scratches his chin again. Looks up at the sky. Should he deign to address this motley group?
Old Bob clears his throat.
“Shh, ol’ Bob gonna speak!”
“Yeah man, keep quiet, wanna hear what ol’ Bob says!”
“Yeah yeah, I am all ears! Ol’ Bob, hey Ol’ Bob, do your thing!”
Old Bob looks at them. Then at the distance. Some more throat clearing.
The threesome murder of crows now gather around. Maybe Old Bob might only whisper.
Big throat clearing.
A shot of phlegm races to the earth down below like a tracer bullet.
Arches his neck upwards, puffs his chest.
“Selfie. The big word is Selfie.”
The murder cackles in ecstasy.
“Selfie! Selfie! Selfie!”
“Oh let’s do Selfies, man!”
“Selfie is the biggie, man, hey!”
The exaltation grows.
“Selfie. Ol’ Bob has spoken. Selfie me, selfie you, selfie Jake, selfie everyone!”
“Three hoorays and a dozen selfies, man!”
“Oooh I am gonna take a selfie while gliding on a swoop and you too do that, man”
Meanwhile, Old Bob, his job done, takes off in search of more murders to influence.
The three crows are sitting on the same electric line.
“Up for a selfie, dudes?”
“Selfie time again, man?”
“Yeah, man, it’s big, remember? Ol’ Bob said so!”
“Yeah, man, let’s get everyone to do Selfies, man!”
“Selfie deep diving into the ground, man?”
“Yeah, man, that sounds like fun, man! Selfie-on-impact gonna sure break the innernet, man!”
“Gee whiz, let’s do it!”
Wings flap in infectious excitement. Feathers fly. Other crows flying past join in the fun. The murder is bigger. But first:
They look up at the sky, look east, look down at the ground, look west, look north, look southeast. Then they look southwest, look north, look down at the ground, look up at the sky and look north. This goes on for a bit.
Until they spot a speck in the distance.
“Hey, isn’t that Ol’ Bob”
“Yeah, sure it is, cool Ol’ Bob who saw the Selfie!”
“Yeaah, Ol’Bob is here again! Hey Ol’ Bob!”
Old Bob does his thing and looks at the murder with the same disdain. Same rituals.
He deigns to speak. Clears his throat.
“Hey, we just love selfie man…”
“QUIET!” says Old Bob.
“Er… ok”. Nervous silence.
Old Bob cranes his neck upward, puffs his chest out. He speaks.
“Emoji. The big word is Emoji.”
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any crows, living or dead, is purely coincidental and unintentional. Neither were any crows harmed in the production of this post. Resemblance to idea-bereft digital marketers is quite intentional (becoming a habit, eh?).
And no, the hyperlinks are not paid for. The article originally appeared here.
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