Last night and into the wee hours of this morning, a friend and I were chatting away on Facebook.
He’s a partygoer. I’m a homebody. But each for reasons of our own, we found ourselves at inside and alone, online, on a Saturday. Social suicide, if you will.
His “first sober weekend in an eternity” (unsure as to whether that is grammatically correct, but I digress) came about as he found himself in a Victorian country town called Shepparton on a work trip. He’s Ranger Roo. Oh yes, he’s that guy.
Tiredness, boredom and feeling sorry for each other for committing social suicide (even though I was doing so quite willingly), we entered a mutual state of delirium. Despite never having been to Shepparton myself, it seemed to be a relevant topic of conversation due to my friend’s placement, with hilarity ensuing to the point that we both were giggling and dorkishly smiling at our computers. I’m very conscious that this may not be amusing to many (or any) others but he’s a fan of countingletters so read on with a grain of salt, taking it as a tribute, friend to friend.
A key point to this conversation was our completely random use of hashtags (#) in a context where they have no meaning. Unlike other social media platforms like Twitter and Instagram, Facebook currently has no place for hashtags, and thus, our hash-tagging is as irrelevant as it is relevant; we are a product of a digital generation. If we want to put a hashtag somewhere, we’re going to do it. Generation Y – we do what we want.
Have you been aware of the trend particularly occurring on social media where a word replaces another word in a sentence, creating a whole lot of stuff and nonsense? It is a fad that is hard to explain. So I think it’s best I just copy and paste the general conversation into this post to explain my point. Again, remember the time of day, our mental and bodily states of exhaustion, and the fact that he was in a country town while he’d much rather have been getting his booze on in Melbourne’s CBD.
I’ve provided some translation in italics in the hope that our silly conversation may resonate some laughs in the outside world.
“Me: You are drunk of life. On Sheppy (Shepparton) life.
Him: Oh my God, you are so hilarious right now. Such a comedian :). Sheppy! I like it. The townsfolk can be called “the shepsters”.
Me: Haha, you are seriously f***ked. Go to bed.
Me: YES!!!! (<—– an indication of how poor my sense of humour can get)
Him: Hahaha. #shepsterlyf
Me: Hahaha. (Insert his name here) #becomesashepster. Living the #shepsterlyf.
Him: #sheppingabout. #windowshepper. window shopper
Me: #shepperholic. shopaholic
Me: The creation of #theultimeshepster. the ultimate hipster
Him: #likeashep. like a boss
Me: #Mastershep. Masterchef
Him: You sunk my #battleshep. battleship
Me: #queereyefortheshepguy. queer eye for the straight guy
Him: #shepatmebro. come at me, bro
Him: Hahaha we have to stop, I’m dying.
Me: dis is actuli so funi. (<—- how older generations think we speak all the time)
Him: i noooooo! hahahahahah. F**k. I’m leaving. I need to sleep. We need to #shepthef**kup. #Shepthis. Alright stop. #sheppertime.
Me: Hahahaha. #STOPDISSHEP.
Him: #SHEPPPPPP. Alright. I’m crying. Sweet dreams. Don’t let the #shepbugsbite. #Shep!
Me: Alright. I’ll #shtop. I should write a blog post about dis #shep.
Him: Hahaha. Please!
Me: Maybe tomorrow.
Him: Alright. #Shepnight.
(transfer conversation to text messaging)
Me: Go to bed #shepster
Me: Duck off.
Him: Hahaha #can’tshep
Him: Ducking off. #Shep you soon. We need to stop this shepxting.
Me: (insert emoji of a sheep) Hahaha.
Him: xxxxx kisses”
So that was my Saturday night. If you hover your mouse over the type I’ve provided some links to cultural and musical references we speak of… if you are interested to understand our immature humour. This is possibly the most irrelevant and un-stilumating post I’ve written thus far. But remember, it pays to be a good friend and friendship is worth embarrassing yourself for. Even in a public domain.