or: I Feel So Dirty
Well, that was strange. My webmaster, Justin, has the site set up with a twitterbot that picks something from the site on a daily basis and throws it up on twitter. Personally, if I didn’t have the site bookmarked, I couldn’t even steer you there. I didn’t know the user name or the password until this morning when, after seeing a nonsense post made allegedly by my twitterbot, I decided I needed to get in there and hit the delete button.
Apparently “I” busted into a conversation on Bill Sienkiewicz’ account, babbled some gibberish and posted a shot of someone's back yard covered with a tarp... I e-mail Justin with worries of being hacked. He says he thinks it’s his fault, that he somehow butt dialed the tweet. This makes no sense to me except, if I were hacked, it seems it would be for something heavier than that.
Getting in to Twitter was easy enough. Finding the delete button took some work. Getting out, that was another matter. It was Hotel California in reverse. I could leave any time I want but I could never log out. Seriously! There was no button, no icon, no list. I followed half a dozen tutorials and none of them resembled my screen in any way. I’m sure that’s on my end as I’m far from the bleeding edge, digitally speaking, and Twitter has long since left my browser behind.
I was within inches of just deleting the whole darn site when I decided to try wiping all my cookies and web data. This finally set me free of Twitter but, of course, wiped out all the settings on my browser and the sites I actually visit... @#$%!
Needless to say, I’ve had enough of Twitter to last me the next several years. Remember boys and girls, if you see it on Twitter, it ain’t me.