Many moons ago, in a dark and distant wood, a young princeling came across a weary traveler.
“Hark, sire!” called the traveler from beneath tattered robes. “Might I sip from your goatskin flask? I am parched and require aid.”
“Never,” replied the vain princeling.
Suddenly, the mysterious traveler shed their cloak to reveal themself as a powerful and ancient witch.
“You, sir, denied me grace when I requested it,” said the witch. “For that, I will curse you.”
“Your curse,” muttered the witch, “is that as events transpire in your life, they will frequently look ironic due to things you yourself will have previously written on a digital microblogging service that allows for text of up to 140 characters but which will later be expanded to 280. As you go through life, mostly getting everything you desire, people will compare things you have said and done with things you have previously written that will now seem ridiculous in hindsight. They will say, ad infinitum, ‘There’s always a tweet!’ or ‘How is there always a tweet?!’ or some such variation. This will not affect you in any meaningful way, as you are mostly oblivious to shame and self-awareness, but it will give a small subset of people some brief amusement in dark times. Really, I suppose, the curse is more on them than it is on you, but you get the general idea. You’ll eventually be banned from the platform, but it will really feel like a theme for four years or so.”
Confused, the young princeling continued on his way, not aware the witch’s curse was just beginning...