And so, they come out of the sewers, dripping with nocturnal negativity, shadowy anonymity their strength, safe in their numbers, silhouetted, shrouded, invisible from identification. They assume aliases, odd pseudonyms, pseudo-patriotic handles.

Hired guns to raise hell: has-beens, have-nots, with humongous dead hours to fill, the hunger to be noticed, hate to spread, harmony to disrupt. These hyenas hunting in packs, desperate for a hashtag to their name, #hatehatehate, no ideology except to scavenge, heckle, hammer away at the weak, the wise, the opposite view.