Prologue
Crikey! In the wild expanse of human habitats, warnings aren't always roars or hisses. Sometimes it's just a vibration followed by a Ding.
Now, this might not sound like much — just a tiny alert from that luminescent artifact they carry everywhere. But watch what happens when it goes off. Blokes leap from their chairs. Sheilas freeze mid-conversation. The whole mob drops whatever they're doing and responds like they've just been signaled for the mating season.
But here’s what makes it fascinating, mate: one little sound, and to these blokes, it’s as if the universe itself just tapped ’em on the shoulder.
Right then — let's get in close and observe these magnificent creatures in their natural habitat. But steady now... one Ding, and we'll see 'em spring into action.
Tribe Influencer: The Parrots
Right, now watch this specimen carefully. At the Ding, the parrot jumps upright — absolutely electric response, mate! The phone rises instantly, cradled like it's the last egg in the nest.
And here’s the trick with parrots: this one genuinely believes it's special. Original. One of a kind. But look closer and you'll see — every single move, picked up from another down the branch. The ritual begins: tilt the chin, pout the lips, widen the eyes. A thousand bathroom mirror rehearsals, all to mimic what someone else did yesterday.
Their markings? Sephora pigments painted across their faces like warpaint learned from a tutorial. Shein feathers draped over their shoulders — mass-produced plumage, mate, same as ten thousand other parrots wearing the exact same thing. And listen to those calls! They don't communicate in sentences — they screech in hashtags: #blessed, #grind, #nofilter. Just like parrots in the wild, they repeat sounds they've heard, utterly convinced they're saying something new.
Crikey, look at that! The selfie-dance — watch the angle, watch the pout. Every move borrowed from the branch above.
To this remarkable creature, the Ding isn't just noise. It's the voice of Zuck himself, echoing through the digital canopy, promising reach, relevance, and maybe — just maybe — a sponsorship deal.
Tribe Crypto: The Vultures
Crikey, this one’s a cheeky devil! At the Ding, the vulture's eyes snap open — pure predator instinct, mate. They've been circling for hours, perched over glowing charts like they're scanning the savanna for a fresh carcass.
Now here's what makes vultures fascinating: they think they're eagles. Hunters. Kings of the sky. But watch what they actually do — they wait for something else to die, then swoop in hoping for scraps. This one's staring at candlestick charts like ancient runes, convinced they can see the future. They can't. They're just watching other vultures to see where the flock is headed.
Their calls are guttural, primal: "HODL! HODL!" — echoing across Discord caves thick with desperation and digital smoke. They they flock together, rarely flying solo. Their sacred relics? Pixelated monkey JPEGs — peculiar treasures they genuinely believe will bring bounty. Fair dinkum… you’ve just got to love ’em, mate.
Look at the markings on this one — crypto hoodie, laser eyes on their profile pic, "not financial advice" across every post. And that far-off stare — the look of a vulture who’s seen the winds change one too many times this season.
To this sly creature, the Ding isn't just noise. It's Elon himself, prophet of the blockchain, delivering divine wisdom through a tweet. And the vulture? Circles faster, hoping this carcass still has meat on it.
Tribe Fabulous: The Peacocks
Oh, would you look at THIS beauty! At the Ding, the peacock doesn't just react — they BURST into display. Feathers fanned, colors blazing, absolutely spectacular to behold, mate!
Now here's the thing about peacocks: all that dazzling plumage? It's not for them — it's for everyone else. This creature lives and dies by the audience's reaction. Every snap, every twirl, every “yas” — just showing off for the crowd. They strut like they own the place. Take away the audience… and the feathers fold.
Their ceremonial paints are precise, mate — eyeliner sharp enough to cut, lipstick applied with the focus of a hunter preparing for battle. Sequins shimmer like beetle shells, boas flow like rainforest vines. And listen to their sacred chants: "If you can't love yourself, how in the hell you gonna love somebody else?" Beautiful sentiment... funny thing is, they need to hear it seventeen times a day just to believe it.
Crikey, look at the display! The death drop, the hair flip, the dramatic gasp. Poetry in motion... performed for a phone camera and twelve followers.
To this stunning creature, the Ding isn't just noise. It's RuPaul himself, descending from the cloud with a blessing, a reminder that their tribe alone truly understands the rhythm of the universe.
Epilogue
Crikey… what a sight. How’s that for incredible? The parrot struts, thinking it’s one of a kind. The vulture circles, thinking it’s a king. The peacock flares, thinking it’s untouchable. Each convinced they’re unique — and yet, they all leap to the same tiny sound.
A Ding. That’s all it takes. Just one little chirp from the glowing brick in their hands, and whole tribes move like they’ve been summoned by the gods themselves. They paint their faces, chant their mantras, rattle their feathers — all to answer a noise no different from a frog croak or a cicada buzz.
And here’s the kicker, mate: they don’t even see it. They’ll swear that their dance is special, their god is real, their tribe alone is chosen. But peel back the plumage, and it’s the same story across every jungle, every desert, every city street. Billions of primates, bowing, trembling, circling, strutting — entranced by a ritual they’ve long forgotten to question.
Listen close… hear that? Another Ding. There it goes again. And again. Steady now, mate — once you’ve heard it, you’ll never stop.
Crikey. If that ain’t humanity in a nutshell… it’s humanity caught in its own ritual.
PS: This article was co-written with Claude and ChatGPT
