Never mind WhatsAppitis, Nintendonitis and

Never mind WhatsAppitis, Nintendonitis and Blackberry Thumb, what about Folditis? Our company is losing 100s of work days to this scourge. We need to do something about it!

Okay! I'll hack into FoldingStory's server and make the max character count only 60. That should make storytelling impossible! What else should we do?

Ooh, let's make vowels cost 250 points. That should kill the storytelling, but what about the "collaborative" part? FoldingStory's hippy-dippy agenda needs a little misanthropy, so

what if we censored socially ambiguous material? It'll be like McCarthyism only for the digital era on a microcosmic scale. We could also liven up FS by mining the backdrop so your

agents can infiltrate the likes of SlimWhitman and MoralEnd. The head of the NSA steepled his fingers. Who are these people really? He needed a sniveling mole to report back. Chaz?

BlastedHeath leaned into the mike, "It wasn't me, Senator." Ira Levin and Terry Eagleton snickered in their secret viewing room. The Maple Street Investigations next interrogated

a known troublemaker & subversive, Valetta Prof. "Mrs. Prof" the Inquisitor began "where were you on the night in question?" "Hello Senator. I was watching my favorite niece. She

's kicked cancer's ass, you know. We spent the evening drinking tea & talking about the ravages of radiation. I went home around 11." Valetta answered. The Inquisitor wasn't buying

it. Valetta seemed shifty. She wouldn't meet the Insquisitor's eyes as she gave her account of her whereabouts. That & she had her hands on her hips, a defensive pose. "I think you

better put your pants back on", she said with more confidence. "That is, if you can find them." The Inquisitor fell back with a shock, disappearing forever in a puff of Febreeze.