using all the Tweets they couldn’t spew to their followers. Seeming to take special delight from the phenomenon, Tobey told me about one night when Rob Delaney and Michael Ian Black did a combined two hours with every joke weighing in at fewer than 140 characters.
“Really?” I asked. “How was that?”
“Retarded. How do you think it was?”
“Well…”
“Actually,” Tobey said, “I did hear one good one: ‘FYI to ladies trying to distinguish yourselves by playing hard to get: sucking cock better also works.’”
I laughed. “Who wrote that one?”
“I did,” Tobey said. “Right now. Fuck, I miss Twitter.”
I was about to respond, but I suddenly felt consumed by an overwhelmingly antsy and negative energy. I turned to the woman behind me, who was about thirty years old and filled with venom.
“Are you going to go?” she asked. “Some of us have important questions about our boyfriends.”
“Save your money,” Oz said. “With an attitude like that I’m sure you turned him gay long ago.”
The line ahead of us had cleared, and Jeeves was tapping his fleshy fingers, waiting for me.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said. “My question got answered already.”
Jeeves stood up and pointed, but his words did not come.
“Look, no offense. I was just searching for this jackass here, and I found him, so…”
“It’s you!” Jeeves stammered.
“I’m not sure—”
“You’re here.”
The crowd that already hung on Jeeves’s every word was now listening more closely than ever. They began to circle the table.
“It’s him!” he screamed. “It’s the Internet Messiah!”
8.
DAY 50. THE INTERNET MESSIAH
Sometimes you just do things without knowing why. When Jeeves dubbed me the Internet Messiah, I started running. Maybe it was because he had seemed so collected and self-possessed moments before and now was gasping for words and pointing at me in spasmodic fits. Maybe it was the hunger clawing out from the sunken eyes of the YouTube zombies. Or maybe it was the crippling attention of Central Park. But I ran as fast and as far as I could, and Tobey and Oz, either possessed by the same spirit or just trying to look after me, followed.
It wasn’t hard to outrun Jeeves. He started coughing and spitting after only a few steps, but from the bouncing blur of my peripheral vision, I could see inquisitive pedestrians take his place. They turned and pointed and joined the herd one by one. Oz kept pace with me, dressed more functionally today in a pair of jeans and Doc Martens. Tobey was hauling ass a few steps behind with a huge grin on his face.
“You think this is A Hard Day’s Night or something?” I called over my shoulder.
“I don’t know what that is.”
“I hate you, Tobey.”
We ran past the joggers and baby strollers. The Hacky Sackers and caricaturists. The lovers taking walks and married couples washing off dropped pacifiers with bottled water. But by the time we got to the dude selling Tweety Bird ice-cream pops out of his pushcart, the YouTube zombies had started closing in. Tobey reached down for a fallen branch without breaking stride and swung it around across a zombie’s face. Everything froze before the crack had even stopped reverberating through the park. Oz and I watched to see what would happen next, as did the chasers slowly circling.
The zombie, on all fours and bleeding from the mouth, made a horrible groan as he reached up and out. Tobey brought the remnants of the branch over his head and was about to swing again when I screamed out, “What are you doing?”
“What?” Tobey replied. “I gotta destroy the brain!”
“You realize that’s not a real zombie, right? It’s just an expression.”
“C’mon! Is this the Internet Apocalypse or what?” Tobey asked.
“He’s not the undead,” Oz explained. “It’s just an Internet-addicted human who—”
Unfortunately, she had to cut her explanation short because in the time it took to down one
“Really?” I asked. “How was that?”
“Retarded. How do you think it was?”
“Well…”
“Actually,” Tobey said, “I did hear one good one: ‘FYI to ladies trying to distinguish yourselves by playing hard to get: sucking cock better also works.’”
I laughed. “Who wrote that one?”
“I did,” Tobey said. “Right now. Fuck, I miss Twitter.”
I was about to respond, but I suddenly felt consumed by an overwhelmingly antsy and negative energy. I turned to the woman behind me, who was about thirty years old and filled with venom.
“Are you going to go?” she asked. “Some of us have important questions about our boyfriends.”
“Save your money,” Oz said. “With an attitude like that I’m sure you turned him gay long ago.”
The line ahead of us had cleared, and Jeeves was tapping his fleshy fingers, waiting for me.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said. “My question got answered already.”
Jeeves stood up and pointed, but his words did not come.
“Look, no offense. I was just searching for this jackass here, and I found him, so…”
“It’s you!” Jeeves stammered.
“I’m not sure—”
“You’re here.”
The crowd that already hung on Jeeves’s every word was now listening more closely than ever. They began to circle the table.
“It’s him!” he screamed. “It’s the Internet Messiah!”
8.
DAY 50. THE INTERNET MESSIAH
Sometimes you just do things without knowing why. When Jeeves dubbed me the Internet Messiah, I started running. Maybe it was because he had seemed so collected and self-possessed moments before and now was gasping for words and pointing at me in spasmodic fits. Maybe it was the hunger clawing out from the sunken eyes of the YouTube zombies. Or maybe it was the crippling attention of Central Park. But I ran as fast and as far as I could, and Tobey and Oz, either possessed by the same spirit or just trying to look after me, followed.
It wasn’t hard to outrun Jeeves. He started coughing and spitting after only a few steps, but from the bouncing blur of my peripheral vision, I could see inquisitive pedestrians take his place. They turned and pointed and joined the herd one by one. Oz kept pace with me, dressed more functionally today in a pair of jeans and Doc Martens. Tobey was hauling ass a few steps behind with a huge grin on his face.
“You think this is A Hard Day’s Night or something?” I called over my shoulder.
“I don’t know what that is.”
“I hate you, Tobey.”
We ran past the joggers and baby strollers. The Hacky Sackers and caricaturists. The lovers taking walks and married couples washing off dropped pacifiers with bottled water. But by the time we got to the dude selling Tweety Bird ice-cream pops out of his pushcart, the YouTube zombies had started closing in. Tobey reached down for a fallen branch without breaking stride and swung it around across a zombie’s face. Everything froze before the crack had even stopped reverberating through the park. Oz and I watched to see what would happen next, as did the chasers slowly circling.
The zombie, on all fours and bleeding from the mouth, made a horrible groan as he reached up and out. Tobey brought the remnants of the branch over his head and was about to swing again when I screamed out, “What are you doing?”
“What?” Tobey replied. “I gotta destroy the brain!”
“You realize that’s not a real zombie, right? It’s just an expression.”
“C’mon! Is this the Internet Apocalypse or what?” Tobey asked.
“He’s not the undead,” Oz explained. “It’s just an Internet-addicted human who—”
Unfortunately, she had to cut her explanation short because in the time it took to down one
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