God, what a laugh we all have on Twitter! Don’t we? Isn’t it a total laugh? All those people we’ve met! OK, not met, most of them. But we follow them, and we feel we know them all intimately, because we now know when they tried Marmite cereal bars for the first time, what song they’ve got in their head, and the exact moment that they finally plunge into the churning black sea of despair that lurks threateningly beneath all of us, all the time.
No, don’t look down. Don’t look down. Just close your eyes and feel the chill rising from it. It’s there all right.
But what’s the best laugh of all on Twitter? No, it’s not looking at the @hecklerspray feed and trying to weed out the hilarious and pertinent comments from the vast majority of our sexy and well-informed readership from the deluge of mania from the Jacko/Muse axis of insanity. The best thing about Twitter – the most important thing, the very reason for its existence, more than that whole “bringing down oppressive regimes” stuff which is just a bit of a bummer on a Thursday morning, frankly – is the celebrities!
Sometimes we can’t even raise ourselves from the pile of stained blankets in the corner of the luxuriously-appointed hecklerspray cardboard box without first reading that Duncan Bannatyne hates smoking, Alan Sugar owns a book, or Fearne Cotton has just seen this weird glowing yellow circle in the sky and it’s all hot and light and it’s a bit scary but all in all it’s like totally wicked.
Sometimes, though, we want to talk to Fearne. We want to tell her that it’s well weird cos we saw it and we think it’s wicked too. Because if she knew that, she’d realise that we’re destined to be the best of bestest friends who might be able to get all sticky together one day. If only there was a way that she could hear us, or see all those amazing drawings we’ve Twitpic’d of her with the body of a mighty phoenix and eyes that can shoot laser beams through time and JLS as little mice tucked among her feathers whispering beautiful ballads into her ear.
If only she followed us!
Well, Jiminy Cricket on crystal meth, if Comic Relief haven’t gone and made all our bloody dreams come true. If you’ve got so much money that you light your fags with tenners and the fags themselves are made of rolled-up twenties and contain shredded fifties instead of tobacco, then firstly, you are an idiot, and secondly, you too could bid for a celebrity to follow you on Twitter.
Oh, you heard. You can throw lots and lots of money at Comic Relief and if you throw the most, a celebrity, an actual celebrity, one of those rarified creatures spun out of pure magic and unicorn tears, will follow you on Twitter.
It is not possible that something more exciting than that would ever happen to you in your tiny and insignificant life. You will write something like “That’s interesting, I just ate some Shredded Wheat and now my wee smells like Shredded Wheat, am I going to die haha lol?” and someone like Chris Addison will be contractually obliged to look at it with his eyes. Just think! Someone who’s been in an advert! That’s the closest thing we have to an actual deity walking the Earth!
Celebrities currently featured in this auction include pretty much all of them. So, for the lucky winners, here’s a few hecklerspray top tips to cope with the eventual crashing realisation that you’ve basically spent an obscene amount of money to buy the fake approval of someone who willingly tramples their own credibility into a fine powder as soon as a big insurance company writes enough zeros on a cheque, some feckless arse who cares not one iota what you think about Dancing On Ice and who will never read a single one of your pithy Phil Collins puns, the bastard:
- Once your chosen godhead follows you, start immediately with the spam. Reply to every single thing they say. Ask them what they had for breakfast. Ask them if they want a cup of tea. When they don’t update for more than ten minutes, send thousands of tweets imitating a whining dog. When it gets to half-an-hour, start with the direct messaging. Remember! They may get an email notification with every DM so try to time them for the middle of the night for maximum BlackBerry-buzz-based sleep deprivation. Why not? They can’t unfollow you.
- Change your name by deed poll to their username. Sue them for copyright infringement. Get a tattoo of the blue verification tick in the middle of your forehead and stand outside their front door screaming “Fail whale! Fail whale!!” for hours on end. Why not? They can’t unfollow you.
- When they can and clearly do unfollow you, travel to Ethiopia and beat up a starving family until they give you your money back. Or, on the other hand, thoroughly beat yourself up for being such a pathetic, needy wretch in the first place. We know which one we’d recommend.