Post by orinocoflow on Nov 18, 2010 21:14:41 GMT -5
“Pop!”
Paul groaned as another popping sound came from his laptop. Glancing at it, he considered going over and answering the standing list of friend requests he had yet to answer, but the music for the first song came on, saving him.
As soon as he ran backstage, tugging off the clothes and changing, he looked at the screen and his eyebrows shot up as he saw that he had over 500 friend requests and about…300? 400? Notifications. Sighing, he quickly changed and sat down in front of the dreaded technology. Looking around to make sure no one was there to see him at the computer when he had kicked Damien off of his before, saying that they should not be on the computer during a show, he opened the file and stared.
All…of…those…CONFIRM…buttons!!! Why can’t Facebook have a “Confirm ALL” button? It would save him hours upon hours of annoying “Confirm? Yes” clicking. Shaking his head and sighing again, he began the tedious process.
After about ten minutes, he was just about to get out from behind the computer when a deep baritone laugh sounded behind him. Whirling in his chair, he turned a bright red when he saw Damien standing in the doorway, laughing so hard that he had to lean on the wall.
“Oh, boy, and here you were saying that ‘We should not be on the computer, especially something like Facebook, during a concert.’” He grinned at the tenor, imitating the Dublin accent perfectly.
“Aw, com’on,” muttered Paul, grabbing the teenager by his tie and dragging him along behind him out of the room. He knew that Damien was never going to let him forget this!
“Take me Home” had just finished, and Paul practically tripped over his own feet getting to his computer. He had only a few of those things left, and this was the perfect time to finish. Grinning, he swiveled the touch pad, bringing his computer to life…and his grin rapidly disappeared.
There was a red square with the number 200 on it over the friend request button, and another 500 over the notifications. With another groan, he buried his head in his arms and shook it from side to side.
“What’s up, mate?” asked George, coming up behind and placing his large hand on Paul’s shoulder. “Oh…wow…now you see why I don’t have one,” he laughed, shaking his friend by both shoulders.
“Oh, be quiet,” Paul mumbled. Raising his head at another tirade of popping sounds, he sighed and got to work clicking that blasted box with the word “confirm” again and again…until he got to something else.
“Bloody—” he snorted, staring at the 150 or so friend suggestions he saw from one of his biggest fans. Shaking his head, he got busy clicking the same buttons, but at least now they were not that ghastly word—“Confirm”; no, they were “Add as a Friend.” After two minutes, he now had another four words that he did not want to see for a very long time. Sure, the fans were great, he definitely wanted them, but these buttons…
“BYROM!!! Where are you?! Onstage, NOW!”
Wincing, he flicked the mic away from his ear to save it from more piercing screams from Sharon and sat George down behind the computer.
“Hey, can you click these buttons for me, mate? Thanks,” he said quickly before running out to sing “Sway,” one of his favorites for that tour.
George sat there, staring after Paul, but was brought back by a sudden bombardment of popping sounds. Jumping in his chair, he swiveled around to glare at the enemy, squinting in an annoyed manner at the red notices that built up on Paul’s account.
And then, grinning, he followed a number of links and got into an account…not his own, but neither was it Paul’s.
When Damien opened his computer the next day, there was a note for him:
“We, Paul and Keith, were on your Facebook last night . Your new password is: ‘BYROMwhereAREthoseOREOS?!’”
Oh, they will never know, thought George, smiling as the furious teen stormed after the two lads across the room.
THE END
Paul groaned as another popping sound came from his laptop. Glancing at it, he considered going over and answering the standing list of friend requests he had yet to answer, but the music for the first song came on, saving him.
As soon as he ran backstage, tugging off the clothes and changing, he looked at the screen and his eyebrows shot up as he saw that he had over 500 friend requests and about…300? 400? Notifications. Sighing, he quickly changed and sat down in front of the dreaded technology. Looking around to make sure no one was there to see him at the computer when he had kicked Damien off of his before, saying that they should not be on the computer during a show, he opened the file and stared.
All…of…those…CONFIRM…buttons!!! Why can’t Facebook have a “Confirm ALL” button? It would save him hours upon hours of annoying “Confirm? Yes” clicking. Shaking his head and sighing again, he began the tedious process.
After about ten minutes, he was just about to get out from behind the computer when a deep baritone laugh sounded behind him. Whirling in his chair, he turned a bright red when he saw Damien standing in the doorway, laughing so hard that he had to lean on the wall.
“Oh, boy, and here you were saying that ‘We should not be on the computer, especially something like Facebook, during a concert.’” He grinned at the tenor, imitating the Dublin accent perfectly.
“Aw, com’on,” muttered Paul, grabbing the teenager by his tie and dragging him along behind him out of the room. He knew that Damien was never going to let him forget this!
“Take me Home” had just finished, and Paul practically tripped over his own feet getting to his computer. He had only a few of those things left, and this was the perfect time to finish. Grinning, he swiveled the touch pad, bringing his computer to life…and his grin rapidly disappeared.
There was a red square with the number 200 on it over the friend request button, and another 500 over the notifications. With another groan, he buried his head in his arms and shook it from side to side.
“What’s up, mate?” asked George, coming up behind and placing his large hand on Paul’s shoulder. “Oh…wow…now you see why I don’t have one,” he laughed, shaking his friend by both shoulders.
“Oh, be quiet,” Paul mumbled. Raising his head at another tirade of popping sounds, he sighed and got to work clicking that blasted box with the word “confirm” again and again…until he got to something else.
“Bloody—” he snorted, staring at the 150 or so friend suggestions he saw from one of his biggest fans. Shaking his head, he got busy clicking the same buttons, but at least now they were not that ghastly word—“Confirm”; no, they were “Add as a Friend.” After two minutes, he now had another four words that he did not want to see for a very long time. Sure, the fans were great, he definitely wanted them, but these buttons…
“BYROM!!! Where are you?! Onstage, NOW!”
Wincing, he flicked the mic away from his ear to save it from more piercing screams from Sharon and sat George down behind the computer.
“Hey, can you click these buttons for me, mate? Thanks,” he said quickly before running out to sing “Sway,” one of his favorites for that tour.
George sat there, staring after Paul, but was brought back by a sudden bombardment of popping sounds. Jumping in his chair, he swiveled around to glare at the enemy, squinting in an annoyed manner at the red notices that built up on Paul’s account.
And then, grinning, he followed a number of links and got into an account…not his own, but neither was it Paul’s.
* * *
When Damien opened his computer the next day, there was a note for him:
“We, Paul and Keith, were on your Facebook last night . Your new password is: ‘BYROMwhereAREthoseOREOS?!’”
Oh, they will never know, thought George, smiling as the furious teen stormed after the two lads across the room.
THE END