When Twitter goes down the shitter
"So, uh, Bob? What's the big emergency ya was talkin' 'bout?" Apple Bloom asked the elderly stallion as they both entered the filly's bedroom.
Bob didn't reply. Instead, he just walked over to the small table in the corner of the room, where an active computer monitor sat upon it, and started mashing the keyboard with his hooves. Apple Bloom looked on in puzzlement, having not gotten an answer from the old stallion at all since he suddenly forced his way into the Apple family's house some half an hour ago with a serious look on his face. She worried for how serious the 'big emergency' was, and how and/or why she was factored into it.
A minute of clicking and bashing of keys later, Bob let out a cry. "A-ha! There we are!" he exclaimed. He stepped back from the computer and looked over at Apple Bloom. "Here, little one. This is the 'big emergency' right here," he said gesturing at the monitor.
Apple Bloom walked over to the computer and glanced at what was displayed on the screen.
It showed a web page listing a myriad of blogs and posts and images from various people. Comments about kitty cats, people pouring buckets of cold water over themselves and something about 'Fred' - which brought to Apple Bloom's mind an image of a strange and annoying high-pitched spawn of Satan - littered the screen. In the corner, the logo of a blue-colored bird stood out, the words 'Twitter' labeled beneath it.
Apple Bloom cocked her head in confusion. "'Twitter'? Why're e lookin' at this, Bob?" she asked.
Bob turned his head to look down at her, a seriously grim expression plastered upon his features. "Yer haven't figured it out yet? Don'tcha remember those pesky Twittermite buggers we dealt with?" he responded in an emotionless tone.
Apple Bloom directed her look of confusion towards Bob. "Whut? Ah thought that was jus' a dream, how'd ya know bout' that?" she asked.
Bob turned his attention back to the computer screen, either ignoring her question or not wanting to bother giving her a straight answer. "This site's where all them buggered twittermites are breeding," he said, not taking his eyes away from the screen. He narrowed his glaring eyes as a few new posts popped up on the monitor. "Mother of Celestia. They're multiplying faster than parasprites. At this rate, the internet'll be filled with nothing but pictures of kitty cats hanging from ceiling fans and people smacking each other in the groin."
Bob closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. "Damn you, twittermites," he whispered. "Damn you all and your stupid posts..."
Apple Bloom, who was beginning to feel a little weirded out with all of this, slowly began backing off towards the door. "Well, uh, ah suppose this is kinda of a major emergnecy for ya, Bob, but, uh, ah think ah heard mah sis callin' me so ah better - hey!" She flailed her legs about as Bob picked her up by the scruff of the neck and sat her down in front of the computer.
"Yer not going anywhere until we deal with this menace, young lady!" Bob yelled, slamming his hoof on the table. "These darn twittermites need to be stopped before the web gets filled with more pointless yet oddly hilarious photos and blog posts! You and me are the only thing standing between them and the total annihilation of good online social tastes!"
Apple Bloom frowned. "But what do ya expect me ta do, Bob?" she exclaimed. "Don't ya deal wit' these twittermites all the time?"
Bob once again either ignored her or refused to give her an answer (seriously, you're kinda being a huge jerk to her don't you think?) and instead mashed the keyboard. "We need to take these bastards out from within their nest. We kill the root, we kill the weed as well!"
"But what do ya need ME for?" Apple Bloom yelled.
Bob began clicking on various posts and comments. His eyes scanned the screen fervently, as if searching for something. "C'mon, c'mon, it's got to be here somewhere...Ah! Bingo!" He smirked as he moved the cursor to a profile picture of a man with black hair and glasses. "This is how we'll stop those pesky twittermites!" he grinned.
Apple Bloom looked at the image. "Bob, who or what is a 'Markiplier'?"
Bob shook his head. "I don't know, but the internet loves this person, and he's our ticket to defeating these twittermites!"
Apple Bloom deadpanned. "Oh so now ya hear me?" she said sourly.
Bob clicked on Markiplier's name, and scrolled down the page to his most recent blog post. "Twittermites live in colonies, as you should know, AB -"
"Which ah didn't," Apple Bloom quickly said matter-of-factly.
"- and each colony has a king or a queen to lead it. In this particular colony," - Bob gestured to the screen, which now showed an image of the Mrkiplier, except with a goofy look on his face and some text about being the 'king of the squirrels' underneath the image - "this Markiplier breed of twittermite is the dominant twittermite of this here colony. All of the twittermites in his colony are fiercely loyal to him, and will give their lives to protect his name."
"But aren't these people, and not insects?" Apple Bloom pointed out, terribly confused what the hell Bob was trying to accomplish here.
Bob bashed the keyboard again, clicking here and there on several web pages until a different profile appeared. This one was of a weirder-looking person with a way-too-overly excited expression. Bob smirked again and tapped on the screen. "And this here is the next key to defeating these bloody twittermites."
Apple Bloom looked at the picture with even more confusion than before (and she was very confused at this point already) "Pewdiepie? Uncle Bob, why are ya lookin' at Pewdiepie? What're ya doing?"
Bob spun around from the screen and moved close to Apple Bloom's face so fast that she fell backwards out of surprise. "Don't ya see, young 'un? To deal with a twittermite infestation of this here magnitude, we gotta pit two high-ranking twittermite colonies against each other. We gotta drop a verbal bomb on these buggers while we can!"
"Un-uncle Bob? Whaddya doin?" Apple Bloom asked worryingly.
Bob returned to the computer and began grinning maniacally as he resumed mashing keys and making things happen on the screen. "I'm going to put the Markiplier twittermite colony at war with that there Pewdiepie twittermite colony. A nice big ol' flame war between them two should kill off most if not all of the buggers. But just to play it safe, I reckon I better get a couple more twittermite colonies in on it too." He leaned closer to the screen and rubbed his chin in thought. "How many of the buggers are there in the Smosh colony?"
Apple Bloom decided at this point it was time to warn her sister and brother of the situation. Speedily, she leaped onto her hooves and ran as quickly as she could out of the bedroom, down the stairs, and out into the orchid field to where Applejack and Big Mac were busy bucking the apple trees.
"Applejack! Big Mac!" Apple Bloom cried out. Her older siblings saw her and stopped what they were doing as the little filly approached them.
"What's wrong, sis?" Applejack asked. "Is there somethin' wrong?"
Apple Bloom pointed back at the house. "It's Uncle Bob! He's in mah room tryin' ta start a flame war on Twitter! He thinks it's a breedin' ground fer twittermites!"
Applejack and Big Mac looked at each other and sighed. "Oh, darn it all. Not again. He ain't been the same since he retired from twittermite pest control." She nodded to her brother. "C'mon, Big Mac. We better go make sure he don't cause trouble like he did last time."
Big Mac nodded. "Eeyep."
Apple Bloom watched as Applejack and Big Mac began hurrying to the house.
"Oh, an' ya better get the taser again, Mac. Just in case."
"Eeyep."
