It was a loving family tradition. Mother, father, daughter and son all gathered around the fire to roast their enemies on twitter.
The light flickered as the fingers tapped. Their enemies were a special kind of stupid, and they joyed in letting them know exactly that.
“Were you born under a rock?” They asked, “And raised by the same rock? Because that’s how stupid you seem.”
With wit, they suggested that their ideological opponents were themselves the argument for abortion. Other assertions were simply answered with facepalms and laughing/crying emojis. Retweets were generous as they graciously offered kudos for backboard-shattering dunks. Love was in the air.
Ah, these were the good nights, the fond nights, the nights whose memories would live eternal. These were the nights they would surely livestream about on their deathbeds, the sick burns they would have carved on their headstones, the echoes of their greatest joy.
These were the precious moments.