Ok, I need to write this in a style ‘popularized‘ by the smuggled prison letters inked in blood on toilet paper. There, I’ve already said too many key words.
I have a problem/ may have a problem with the gang referred to in the title. Who are they, in plain text? well, count the alphabet letter by letter up to each of the digits and you should then know. They ‘live’ in a small state made out of the left-hand part of a larger one named after some Virgin Queen.
Now you’ll need a tracker such as my beloved StatCounter in order to ‘see’ them at work. Otherwise you’ll just be happy for the 20 hits a day and never know that half of them are bots. FarceBook, Google, etc. update minute-by-minute on every word we write. (And also follow along like dog-poop stuck to the bottom of a shoe whenever one takes a random look at his own archived posts.
But it’s the 629 drones I’d love to know more about. Have I done something of particular of interest? Are they judging the sales-potential of my songs for a possible cut of the profits? Or am I prima fascia a bad guy for living in a country not of my birth, and a troubled one at that?
Ok, probably none of the above. But still then, why gumshoe me ten times a day; nothing better to do? And I guess it’s rather too late to tape over the laptop camera. They already know I wear glasses and could use a haircut.
I snuck a peek behind the stair/
Saw seven bots who ‘weren’t there‘./
They weren’t there again today
So, who do I gotta blow to make ’em, like go away?