My Baby Brother turned up at my doorstep at 6am yesterday and, besides hearing me grumble about mornings and coffees and the natural order of things, had to put up with my back to him as I checked comments, emails, etc on my PC.
The BB: What are you giggling about?
Me: This comment from my mate in the Netherlands.
The BB: Well, share.
Me: *explains how I’m the Queen of Fucking Awesome, which naturally he knew already, and the fact that I therefore have my own army of minions* *reads out comment* *much snorffelling ensues*
The BB: Ha! Nice one. I think she should get Minion of the Month Award for that.
Me: Yep. I’ll tell her so.
The BB: *curious* So what was the post about?
Me: *explains about fangurls, minions and sockpuppets and how they can totally fuck up the ratings of books on readers’ sites like goodreads*
The BB: And what do you call the people who call them out on what they do?
The BB: *snort* Try Tall Poppy.
I hate it when he makes a good point.
This won’t, however, stop me from flogging the subject to death.