'Blank Blankerton' has skewered you. Return fire?

Ah, social networking. That dangerous wasteland of procrastination, of studying other people in a manner which would be considered not just an invasion of privacy in real life but also downright sexually delinquent, of an oxymoronic name given the readiness with which the rules of social engagement go out the window.

(Poor pun number 1- on one level, people disregard the social rules; on another, you're viewing the website in a window. Har har.)

I, recently, changed my esteemed and oh-so-nurtured Facebook settings so that the langauge everything is written in is "English- Pirate". Almost a year ago I did much the same thing, which lasted all of about a month before I changed back to regular English, sick of the amount of things I could no longer understand. In the time between both of my forays into social network Privateering it appears I've got my sea legs and sea lingo a little more sorted, and therefore the first instance of anything I didn't understand or deduce the meaning of occured only two and a bit months in. I was informed, among the masses of notifications about messages in bottles, scrawlings on planks and other such peg-legged punnery, that I had been skewered.

The confusion with which I met this notification was, initially, purely language based. However, once I had established that it meant somebody had "poked" me, an act that in either linguistic setting I don't think I have ever partaken in because I don't see the point, I then turned my attention to the person whom had done the skewering unto me.

It's a girl who I have one friend in common with. This in itself was probably more confusing than if I was notified in ancient runes, let alone slightly outdate/ retro-fitted stereotypical English. A little dumbfounded and being stared at impatiently, accusingly, by the question "Return fire?", I did what any bold as brass pirate would do in such a situation surfing upon the high seas (poor pun number 2, right there)- I left it to sit and bob about on the waters.

I would, incidentally, like to point out at this point that at no point in my extensive fan-boy years of the swashbucklers of old have I ever come across tales of swords, which I believe are the best/ most likely implement or weapon on a frigate or somesuch with which to skewer somebody, being launched from cannon, which I believe Facebook is insituating with its insistence that they are fired. Honestly, Zuckerberg, sort it out- some sort of phrase along the lines of parry/ strike at the heart of yon scurvy dog would surely be more apt?



At any rate, having left it awhile, I was then confronted unexpectedly by said notification again just scrolling down the page in the typical daily review of Facebook's events that so many of us engage in. In a slightly intoxicated state, never having met the girl and only being vaguely acquainted with our "crew in common", I decided to throw chance to the winds (poor seafaring pun, 3rd in all- apologies) and decided to make use of the wrongly phrased button.

Thus began my first, and probably only, "poking war". I say war, I'm not entirely sure what to call it. Have I engaged this girl in some odd form of new-age communication? Am I performing an electronically delivered equivalent of ruffling colourful plumage and prancing on a branch? In short, is this flirting? (Mind you, I have enough difficulty sussing out what is and isn't flirting in the real world, thank you very much.)

As a consistently unobservant worrier on all topics, I found myself troubled a little by this apparent olive branch- why not just send a message to say hello? Why poke, skewer, stab or impale at all? While I'm not in the habit of taking stereotypes seriously (although I take mentioning them in abundance and making light of them when I do very seriously), I have run once again into the obstacles of subtext and the secret language of women, which I have never known a man to crack.

The best thing I can use here to illustrate what I mean is this video, courtesy of Seth McFarlane.



At any rate, that would have been that, except for the fact that my fear of what sort of Pandora's link I may have opened was confirmed as she returned fire (still shooting swords) unto me. Now we're locked in to this stalemate, and before I perform any more irresponsible artillery operations with foils and sabres as ammunition I decided to make use of the other great and terrible ability Facebook bestows unto us- the pure and oddly venerated act of the Facebook stalk.

This girl, however, is wise, or intensely private so as to be sly in the poking game she has begun, and as such photographs and information are not readily available. A very sage decision, allowling me very little intel while I ruminate on how exactly to proceed on what is now inevitably a field of some sort of misunderstood battle. All was not lost, however, as I was able to employ the strategy coined, I believe, by A. Nonymous- that the measure of a man (or, I would reiterate, woman) is the company he (or she) keeps.

So a cursory glance over her friend list was in order. It seemed a usual, standard motley crew, ranging from possible relatives with the same surname to the friend who had to be that bit special with a ridiculous photograph they feel they can walk off embarrasment over in company but can't, or with the oh-so-witty nickname in inverted commas such as 'Randy' or 'Sparklehorse'. The measure of this girl may be worth a second return volley of large silverware, thought I- until I saw some of the other "friends" she has.

One such was 'Teethwhitening Tanninginjections' from Manchester, either a baby who grew from a brick to a building under the care of incredibly cruel parents to name it so or a business which seems confused over what it provides as treatment and precisely what is used to perform each procedure. Any girl who even flirts with the possibility of asking for a spray tan which is then injected into her using a syringe only that morning oozing teeth is surely a little worth steering clear of?

With this development in mind, I have yet to launch any more sharp implements over the side of my internet bound sailing vessel to skewer her. From her profile picture it certainly seems that skewering her in the real world would be far from the most unpleasant experience I would ever have, but at this point in the course plotted across such turbulent waters we are engaged in a still sea, far from any breeze to push us in any direction towards a choice.



So, with all this to consider, should anyone read this post, I am leaving it up to you. Dictate my next act as the rear-admirals you are and it shall be done. Also, comment on whether or not you think I'm right about anything I've said here social network relating, all of it, none of it, or somewhere in between. Ta.