MicroTrolling. A bold new concept in trolling for the Web 3.9 crowd. Who the shit honestly has time in this rampantly obese, work-a-day world to devote months or years or even more than one hour to trolling someone? Not this fat retard, that's for damn sure.
The idea is simple: extract as many lulz as possible in as little time as possible. You have one hour. The clock starts when the victim takes the bait. In. Lulz. Out. Done. If you can't make someone mad on the internet in less than an hour, you're doing it wrong.
MicroTrolling: Get the lulz and then get on with your life.
Today's Subject: MrDrumsPhilAmbros
Subject Profile: Subject is a 66 year old man from New Jersey or some shit that fancies himself the best drummer in the world because once, 30 years ago, Buddy Rich took a picture with him. Rather than headlining clubs all over America, subject is content to sit on his fat, white ass and troll amateur Youtube drum videos - often videos by beginner drummers who totally need some crazy, bitter senior citizen yelling at them to give up drumming because they aren't as good as Gene Krupa and Buddy Rich after 6 months of playing.
Sample Quote: "THIS WAS A WASTE OF TIME YOU SHOULD HAVE GOT TO THE POINT? AND DUMPTHE MUSIC JUST SHOW WHAT YOU ARE SELLING WHO EVER DID THIS IS A ASS HOLE BRAIN DEAD PERSON, YOU SHOULD HAVE GOT ME?? A REAL PRO WHO KNOWS"
Angle of Attack: MrDrumsPhilAmbros considers himself to be the best drummer in the world, but what happens when he meets the REAL best drummer in the world? By which I mean "me, posing as him, and sending him a clip of his own playing as proof that I'm better than him".
I begin by throwing the gauntlet down and also drawing a line in the sand. Surely, Phil will be humbled by my JAZZ CHOPS and not even reply, right? UP THE BRAINDEAD PUNX!!!
...well, geez. That didn't take long. It's almost as if Phil sits around on his old-ass ass all day, yelling at the internet kids to get off his internet lawn. CLOCK STARTS NOW.
Clearly, Phil isn't acquainted with my resume. I am, of course, taken aback by this. I am, after all, a SERIOUS JAZZMAN. I proceed to drop some knowledge on a fool.
Phil immediately jumps to both the jealousy and, weirdly, the racism card. Damn those Irish! Nothing but laze-about ne'er-do-wells with nary a jazz chop in sight!
CONTINUED ON NEXT PAGE BECAUSE THESE IMAGES ARE HUGE (MUCH LIKE MY DICK)
Do you remember the crazy clothes and hair of the 1990s? Do you remember Crystal Pepsi and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles? Do you remember where you hid the box your mother gave you?
The singer dove off the stage and crowd surfed in a sort of reverse funeral procession where the person being carried is the only one truly alive. Touching him I felt religious ecstasy and started speaking in tongues and requesting songs that didn't exist.
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