Donald Trump's Russian Trolls

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic


I deal with these trolls everyday. I've often wondered what their lives are like.

Submitted: March 23, 2018

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Submitted: March 23, 2018

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Donald Trump's Russian Trolls

There are two species of Troll. Goobs, who really believe that Hillary Clinton ran a child sex ring out of the basement of a pizza parlor (in a building with no basement), and the Russians, the people who told the goobs that Hillary Clinton ran a child sex ring out of the basement of a pizza parlor.

Boris Crapspik was a Russian troll. He lived in tiny, poorly heated apartment in a gray, faceless, concrete apartment building, on a block of gray, faceless concrete apartment buildings, in a town that consisted of block after block of gray faceless concrete apartment buildings,

The town was located somewhere a little North of central Kazakhstan and it's major claim to fame being that, until the 1950's, some of the hottest and the coldest temperatures ever seen on earth had been recorded just North of the city limits. Bangladesh and Antarctica now hold these records, but the weather is still impressive. And the limitless plains gave rise to winds that would have amazed a person from almost any other part in the world.

Boris was located on the 8th floor of his building and the difficulty in climbing the stairs was somewhat offset by the view of the countryside. Beet fields for hundreds of miles around. Until the flat, dusty earth merged with the sky.

Most of the town's residents worked in the beet fields and Boris, as a professional troll, was somewhat of a celebrity. And this recognition carried perks. At the central market Boris did not pull his beets from the common bins like the other residents of the town. Instead, he was escorted to the back room where the finest beets were kept. He selected from these, the biggest, fattest and most flavorful of the lot. Likewise, Boris never waited in line to buy salt. When it was available, a package for Boris was always reserved in the back room. He was sometimes even able to obtain coffee.

Boris would normally enjoy a breakfast of fried beets and then walk the four blocks to the troll farm where he worked. The troll farm was a large, open room in the basement of a gray, faceless, concrete apartment building. There were over a hundred folding tables in the room, each one holding a monitor and state of the art desktop, a Vostok BeetHarvester 1.1. Each machine with over a gig of RAM. Boris noted with satisfaction that the Vostoks were much larger and much more solid than their wimpy American counter parts. The top of the line models weighing in at over 200 lbs.

The troll farm had made efforts to copy the amenities of a Silicon Valley start up. Free, cold beet juice was available to all trolls during the winter and warm beet juice in the summer. There were bowls of chips, made from thinly sliced, deep fried beets in almost unlimited quantities.

Boris took his place at his workstation and powered on his machine. He first visited the Washington Post, having just obtained a new screen name after being banned yesterday afternoon. Today he would be “Semper Fi, Patriotic Wounded Marine Combat Veteran”.

He scanned the articles on the front page of the Post. There was one where Trump had tried to crash Prince Harry's wedding and start and fight with Barack Obama. The article said that Trump had tried to force entry into the affair, and when he was blocked, he had moved to one of the large windows in the ballroom and exposed himself to the Prince and his bride. A type of exposure that is sometimes referred to as the two cheek salute. The people commenting on the article were being disrespectful of Trump, a hero of the Revolution, and Boris jumped in to rectify this.

“This is not proper behavior for any head of state, much less the President of the United States”, said one comment. To which Boris replied, “You libs wet your pants so much you have diaper rash. Eight more years of Trump! MAGA!”.

A second comment said, “The article says that Trump pressed his entire bare arse against the window glass, but I don't think that's possible given the size of the window. Probably just one butt cheek.” To which Boris responded, “Hillary lost, get over it”.

The game was to collect replies. Boris was paid by the post, but, as in the two examples above, a post involved careful thought and took time. Often, Boris had to run it through Google translate to get it right. Replies came for free, sometimes ten or twelve for a single post, and Boris was also paid for these.

The goal wasn't to convert anyone. Boris and his superiors knew they couldn't do this. Especially on the Washington Post. The goal was to break up the conversation and keep the marks from exchanging useful information, or to help each other gain a deeper understanding of the article, as they were wont to do without the likes of Boris.

Boris worked the Washington Post comment section until lunch time.

Still following the Silicon Valley model, lunches in the cafeteria were complimentary, and this afternoon's consisted of a boiled beet, (a boiled beet with salt!), a tin of sardines and a large coffee cup of vodka. The cup was heavy, discolored and chipped - but it was solid, as if it could be dropped on the floor many times by the staff and survive. Good Russian stuff. Boris was impressed with the meal and wondered if there was something special about today, something that had slipped his mind. Boris could think of nothing and chalked it up to the fact that he simply lived in an advanced society that did a good job of providing for it's workers.

Leaving the cafeteria after lunch, Boris saw a sign advertising a special night out. A special train would make the three hundred mile run to the next town where a cinema was located. There, a film of Russia's progress in building it's highway system would be shown. The town was located in a potato growing region and a special meal of boiled potatoes would be offered after the film. Boris made a mental note to attend. It looked like fun. A troll's life was certainly a good one.

After lunch Boris switched from the Washington Post to haunting Twitter. Here his current handle was “Millionaire Day Trading Navy Seal” and his header photo showed a shirtless Rambo firing an assault weapon in front of a backdrop of hundred dollar bills. His main purpose was to monitor the threads that sprung up after one of Trump's posts and then mercilessly harass anyone who showed anything but simpering agreement with Trump.

Trump had made a post earlier that day where he had claimed to have developed the Salk-Sabin polio vaccine when he was younger. A woman named, “Debbie in Vermont” had replied, “No you didn't. In fact, you don't even know there's no such thing as a Salk-Sabin vaccine. There's a Salk vaccine and a Sabin vaccine, but there's no Salk-Sabin vaccine.”

Boris began by Tweeting her as follows, “You don't know much about vaccines do you. Probably because you're such a slut”. Here the game was to intimidate people to the point that they no longer appeared on Trump's threads. Following this initial post, there was a back and forth for two more posts and then the woman blocked him. Boris returned to the Trump thread for another victim.

Boris then received a Notification from a Twitter user named “crusader”.

“howdy, glad to see you here all the time harassen them libs. glad for the help. their gettin perty uppity.”

Crusader was obviously a goob from the rural American South. Boris typed back:

“Yes, we have to work together for the common goal. Only communist don't believe in that.”

Crusader replied:

“yeah, an I ain't no comnist. did you see the ad for the big troll farm trump is startin? heres the link internationaltrolls.com. if you talk to them say crusader sent you”

After a few more pleasantries, the two returned to the job of insulting Twitter users. But Boris saved down the website crusader had given him. There was something interesting about it.

Towards the end of the day, when he was just to tired to be really nasty, Boris opened and website that crusader had given him and began reading. The website was in English, but Boris had been reading posts for months and could get through it without his translation program. What he saw fascinated him.

Apparently, the Republicans were setting up a collection of troll farms in preparation for the upcoming 2018 elections and beyond. Literate, international trolls were needed to staff them. The jobs were located in the United States and it was explained that no visa or work permit was required if you were either making money for Republicans or providing a useful service to them. (And if you weren't from Africa.) The starting pay was twelve bucks an hour, a fortune to Boris. He almost got lost on the way home so preoccupied was he with the glamorous life of growing wealthy as a troll in the United States.

Boris filled out the application the next morning. Besides name, and contact information, the form asked who had sent them (crusader), for screen names he had used over the past five years and the sites he had trolled. Two weeks later he got the response. He was accepted! He was allowed to bring two bags and he could pick up his ticket at the local train station. He flight to the US would leave from Nizhny Novgorod, twelve days hence. “Just enough time to get there on the train”, thought Boris.

Boris boarded the train with four bags. Two with his personal belongings and two bags of beets to eat on the trip. He also carried several tins of sardines and a loaf of hard, dry, rye bread. He watched the Russian plains roll by for days and would panic every time the train stopped with no town nearby. But each time, the engine crew would disembark and tinker with something on the train for an hour or two and the train would then start up again. Much to the relief of Boris. He was traveling first class, so there were no chickens or goats in the car with him. A nice touch by the Americans.

There were ducks on the flight from Nizhny Novgorod to Moscow, but these were kept in the back of the plane. Again, the Americans had provided Boris with a first class ticket. Boris, however, had the unfortunate luck to be seated over the old bomb bay doors. These had been bolted shut for safety, but still let in a freezing draft. But Boris was so excited he barely noticed.

Boris Landed at Dulles, and coming in he had caught a glimpse of the American National Mall and some of the monuments. Thrilling beyond belief. The airport itself offered an amazing array of shops and restaurants, all offering an incredible variety of goods. The prices, however, stunned Boris. He concluded that this vast array of goods was not really for sale, at least not to normal people, and they were simply there in the Capital Airport for propaganda purposes. He had seen the same ploy in Russia and was wise to it.

The troll farm was being set up outside Martinsburg West Virginia and a van picked up Boris and four other trolls and drove them in. Most of the trip took place after dark, much to the regret of the passengers who dearly wanted to see the countryside.

At the camp they were issued sleeping bags, pillows and shown to their tents. The tents were beyond impressive. Domes without internal poles, floors of some heavy rubberized material and zip up screens on the windows and door to keep out insects. The were provided with an electric light and an outlet next to each cot. Each row of tents had it's own toilets and showers. Showers with hot water. Both Boris and his Serbian tent mate lay awake for hours at the wonder of it all.

Next morning they were treated to a fabulous breakfast. Scrambled eggs, some sort of potatoes, strips of pork and coffee. Coffee that wasn't rationed. One was free to take a second cup. They then proceeded to pick up their uniforms. Khaki pants and a white polo shirt. On the left breast of the shirt were the words, “Republican Troll Patrol”. Below this was an elephant colored like an American flag. Below this was the country of origin, in Boris's case, “Russia”.

As instructed, they changed into their uniforms and reported to the barber. Here they had their heads shaved. And Boris was proud to look the part of a Republican troll. Following this, they all had their teeth inspected and most were given an appointment with one of the camp dentists. Boris had never been to a dentist and he heard heard that it could be unpleasant, but he resolved to be brave.

But then the most wondrous moment of all arrived, they were issued their equipment. Boris was issued a laptop. A LAPTOP! He had never even held one in his hands before. Also a case for the laptop, a charger and a memory stick. Boris was beside himself. They were dismissed and allowed to return to their tents to familiarize themselves with the equipment. There was wifi right in the tent! Boris and his tent mate were up half the night with their new toys.

The next morning, after another fabulous breakfast, they were called to a large tent for a meeting. Here, one of the commanders explained that the American Congress and Senate were basically spineless and would do whatever was asked of them. They were no problem. The only thing really standing in the way of the Conservative Paradise was the American press. And not even all the American press, just the part not controlled by the Republican Party. The commander explained that no matter what the trolls were doing, and they would be doing other things that were very important, they should always devote some of their effort to turning the American public away from news sources not controlled by the Republican Party.

And example was given:

Commenter: “These school shootings are really tragic.”

Troll Response: “I can see your head is all screwed up from CNN.”

The commander said the trolls were to otherwise simply use their instincts, as they had done in their home countries. They would be monitored and coached as their techniques were studied by their commanding officers.

With that, the trolls were marched to a large tent with many folding tables. Each table had an office chair. A set up Boris instantly recognize as a troll farm. Each troll was assigned a table and told to get to work. And the first real day began.

The first week went well. Boris rose at five and completed his shit, shower and shave in the allotted fifteen minutes. He then fell in with the other trolls for the opening remarks from the CO. There was a pledge of allegiance o the Republican Party and then Boris hit the farm tent for another ten hour day. Earning another $120 dollars minus a $95 payment for his air and train tickets, his uniforms and his meals. $20 dollar was also withheld for income tax, but Boris was told that he would get some of this back.

At the end of the first week, Boris was called to the CO's office and congratulated for the work he was doing. It was noted that he was particularly nasty on Twitter and that several of his victims were no longer seen on the web. Boris was ecstatic.

Life on the American troll farm was challenging and disciplined, but rewarding beyond all belief. One afternoon all of the trolls were ordered to cease work and to log into a particular website. There Vladimir Putin himself spoke to the trolls. He explained how having a nut job like Trump as the President of the United States was a tremendous help to Russia and noted how bad it could be if the US had a competent leader. He stressed the importance of protecting Trump and keeping him in office.

In the summer before the election, Boris signed up to test for a position as a special commando troll. These trolls wore black polo shirts, black baseball caps and sunglasses. They were the elites of the troll force and they would arrive en masse when the Washington Post put up a particularly dangerous article. For example, one that spoke of the existence of Russian trolls.

The tests for admission to the elite corps involved typing speed, English proficiency and knowledge of American current events and history. In addition, the trolls were required to credibly masquerade as normal Trump supports in the deep South:

 

What do you drink? Skol Vodka and PBR.

Your education level? Sixth grade.

Where did you meet your wife? A family reunion.

How much do you weigh? 425 lbs.

Who provides you with information? Sean Hannity and Alex Jones.

Does your house have wheels on it? Yes.

What provides your income? Disability.

 

Boris was proud to be accepted to the elite corps and he now worked in a special black tent with the other commando trolls. But as if this wasn't enough of an honor, Boris was told that the commando trolls would be addressed by Donald Trump himself, who would make a special detour on his way to his weekend golf game to speak to them.

On the appointed day, the commando trolls fell in on the parade ground and stood at attention. Pants and shirts were spotless and the dark sunglasses had been buffed to a mirror shine. The black baseball caps had been brushed. The others would watch and listen to the address on their computers in their tents, but the commandos would see Mr. Trump in person.

At the appointed time Donald Trump mounted the podium that had been prepared and tapped the mic to ensure that it was on. He then belched very loudly.

“Whoops!”, he said. “Must of been that last fish sandwich.”

Trump cleared his throat and then began the address, “I'd like to thank you for being here and for your diligent efforts to defeat those things standing in the way of the Republican Party. Uncontrolled news sources, a First Amendment that is interpreted too broadly, American intelligence agencies, American law enforcement agencies and the rumors that I work with Russian Trolls. With your help, no American will have affordable healthcare forced upon them. Not attending college will no longer be seen as a bad choice, for no middle class person will attend college. The complications and tax problems Americans face with excessive wages will no longer exist. Wages will be capped at twelve dollars per hour. And Americans will no longer have their working years cut short by retirement. They will be spared Social Security and Medicare. I thank you for your work in achieving these goals.”

With that, Mr. Trump waved and left the podium. It was explained that he had an urgent golf game waiting. And given this, Boris was very grateful that the great man had made time to speak to him. He felt himself becoming dewy eyed. He resolved to do everything in his power to make America just like Russia. It was the least he could do for his friends here.


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