When Charles and Di got hitched all those years ago and we gathered round the tellybox to scrutinise the gathered great and the good we only had our nearest and dearest to share it with. Unless we were having a knees up at a street party we could only share our witty and insightful comments with our mum, dad or maybe the cat. At worst we kept our thoughts to ourselves. The merest suggestion then that one day we’d be talking to people around the world through a computer for the next royal shindig would have seen you carted off to the home for the mentally infirm quicker than you could type a snarky tweet about it. But Friday 29th April saw us all tweeting about the Royal Wedding like somebody possessed. No observation too mundane or joke too poor -- it was all laid bare for the world to see. More importantly though we saved our best work for tweeting about the shapely form of Pippa Middleton’s arse. Not only that we broke Twitter in our collective rush to type out our inner most thoughts about her crack. Such is the apparent absurdity of Twitter. There was much talk of an estimated two billion people watching the wedding. Except the 200 million Twitter users weren’t watching a wedding at all. Half were gawping at Pippa’s cheeks while the other half were bringing Twitter to it’s knees by tweeting about it.
During those cheeky moments of the wedding Twitter gave the impression we morphed as one into a collective Father Jack shouting Drink! Feck! Arse! at our televisions. Of course that’s exactly what we were doing. Most of us tuned in for this, it’s what we yearn for now. A moment on television we can either ridicule or tweet about a previously obscure member of societies amazing backside. This is what years of technological advances have brought us -- our destiny in the digital era. Far be it from us to deny ourselves this birthright. It’s what we’ll be remembered for. It’s a questionable legacy but it beats a Bayeux Tapestry any day of the week.
We saved our best work for tweeting about the shapely form of Pippa Middleton’s arse. Not only that we broke Twitter in our collective rush to type out our inner most thoughts about her crack.
The wedding last week was like a rather elaborate X-Factor final. Music, celebrity guests in the audience, massive viewing figures and a battle to be crowned the winner by a viewing public. We all had Kate pegged as the champ from the off. The bookies had stopped taking bets and then in a last minute move of genius Pippa swept in and captured our hearts with her rear end and the fact she might have ‘gone commando‘ to the wedding. In the ensuing moments we championed the underdog Pippa, launching her and her buns into the spotlight and crowning her the winner. More importantly we’ve managed to achieve all this without Simon Cowell peddling us a heart wrenching sob story for sixteen weeks. We did this all on our own. A proud moment to be British if ever there was one.
This is what I love most about Twitter. With a realm of possibilities before us we use this amazing meeting place or ‘hive mind’ to do something as simple as watching television 'together'. Twitter-viewing improved the wedding immeasurably for everyone involved. It was like being at the world’s biggest stand-up gig where millions of comedians were sharing their best jokes about P-Middy’s posterior. The only trouble with that is you see the same joke repeated over and over again with only the slightest wording change. Funny as it was the first time, the “Pippa’s arse is like a J.K Rowling novel, you know Harry’s going to be in it” joke is starting to wear just a little thin after seeing everyone re-tweet it to death.
What we all really want now is a verified @pippasarse account. Having launched a national arse-idol we want regular buttock updates. We can’t be left to imagine what her and her behind might be up to now. We need to follow her arse on Twitter and more importantly we need more excuses to tweet about it. Give the people what they want Pippa -- more of your arse.
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