ACT I

ROKOKOBANG'S APARTMENT - NIGHT

Rokokobang sits in her apartment, on the couch. Staring emotionless at her laptop screen. She hits a button several times. Refresh. Refresh. Finally, a notification appears. She clicks on the small 1 in the upper left hand corner.

ROKOKOBANG (V.O.)

Oh God. Yeah. Of course. Yup. That's exactly what they would say. You know what, I'm ending this. Dismiss. There. Gone. Nobody will ever read it.

Rokokobang clicks the X button on the upper right hand corner of the comment.

ROKOKOBANG (V.O.)

Except me. Whatever.

Rokokobang opens up another tab. Maybe there's something interesting somewhere else on the internet. In less than 30 seconds, she opens up the comment and reads it again.

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ROKOBANG (V.O.)

I mean, maybe I just want to make sure I'm right. Maybe I want to look and see how fucking right I was, even though I dismissed the comment. Yup, that's what I thought! I'm extremely fucking right.

Rokokobang closes the box and clicks away. There's another article on Gawker she wanted to read. She starts to read it.

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ACT II

She pretends to read it for approximately 45 seconds. Then she clicks back to a familiar box.

ROKOKOBANG (V.O.)

I mean, if I did reply, nobody else would see it. Because I dismissed the conversation. Nobody but the turd in question would ever know. But then they'd know that I know how stupid and wrong they are. It's not like they didn't make it extremely easy to poke holes in their non- arguments. I could write this take down in my sleep.

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Rokokobang sees a movement away from her screen - the wind is slapping tree branches against her window. The real life action seems to snap her out of the haze, temporarily.

ROKOKOBANG (V.O.)

God, what the hell is wrong with me? God. Okay. Forget this. Obviously. Jesus.

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For a moment it seems like Rokokobang has gotten it together. No longer staring at the screen, Rokokobang seems to be staring dreamily into space. She seems over it, until -

ROKOKOBANG (V.O.)

And then I'd say, "But whatever helps you sleep at night, sweetheart." Cause "sweetheart" really pisses people off. And "honey." Maybe I'd use "honey" instead. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, honey." That sounds good. That sounds like I really don't care.

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Rokokobang clicks again, to see the comment she dismissed 10 minutes ago at this point.

ROKOKOBANG (V.O.)

God. This is ridiculous. Obviously, I ended it. I'm the bigger person. I'm the better person.

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Struggling internally, for just a moment -

ROKOKOBANG (V.O.)

BUT THEY'LL NEVER KNOW HOW I'M THE BETTER PERSON UNLESS I TELL THEM.

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ACT III

Gritting her teeth in determination, Rokokobang is typing furiously. We see she has re-opened the comment and is crafting a reply.

ROKOKOBANG (V.O.)

"....but obviously you don't need me to tell you that. You've figured it out all on your own, haven't you? Or at least that's what you seem to think. Whatever helps you sleep at night, honey."

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Rokokobang sits back, triumphantly. Reading over a few times, to make sure the telling off is an appropriate mix of, "fuck you" and "I don't care!" Suddenly and without warning, the triumph seems to melt away into self loathing.

ROKOKOBANG (V.O.)

God. I'm no better. I'm no better than any of them. What is my life?

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Rokokobang deletes her words, Xing quickly out of the comment.

ROKOKOBANG (V.O.)

Yes Kinja, I'm sure. I want this box gone forever.

Defeat washes over Rokokobang. With a sigh, she taps her keyboard. Refresh. Refresh. Refresh.

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FIN*

*For the love of God, please don't mainpage this. IN CASE YOU CAN'T TELL I HAVE SOME ANXIETY AROUND THE SUBJECT OF INTERNET COMMENTING.