Sockpuppet Uncle’s One-Man Show

 Curtain up: fifteen tabs, fifteen masks.

He clears his throat in borrowed voices.
Timestamps stagger like footprints in wet code;
he argues with himself—and wins.

Echoes applaud from mirrored chairs.
Facts are trimmed to fit the avatar’s jaw.
He feeds the algorithm sugar cubes
and calls the ventriloquy “debate.”

When silence threatens, a fresh alias blooms,
a paper lantern lit with secondhand thunder.
A child asks a question; a committee answers—
each signature scribbled by the same hand.

Night deepens, pixel by pixel.
Cookies tug the ropes; caches set the lights.
At dawn he holds one mug with ten handles,
sipping the confidence of his chorus.

The masks come off: only breath on glass.
The last applause is the spacebar.