The best way I deal with Internet trolls is to ignore them and it

Host: The neon lights of the diner buzzed faintly against the night sky, their glow reflecting off the rain-slick pavement. It was just past midnight — the hour when the city thins out, when laughter turns to sighs, and the only voices that remain are the ones echoing through screens.

Inside, the place was half-empty. A jukebox hummed lazily in the corner, playing a song no one was really listening to. The smell of burnt coffee and fried onions lingered in the air — familiar, forgiving.

In a booth near the window, Jack scrolled through his phone, his thumb moving fast, jaw tight. The glow of the screen lit his face — sharp, weary, haunted by the words only he could see. Across from him, Jeeny stirred her tea slowly, her gaze quiet, observant, her reflection doubled in the window beside the storm.

The rain outside had just begun again — soft, insistent, like someone tapping to be let in.

Jeeny: reading softly from her phone, breaking the hum of silence
“Trisha Paytas once said, ‘The best way I deal with Internet trolls is to ignore them — and it works.’”

Jack: snorting without looking up
“Yeah? Works for her, maybe. But what if you’re not the kind of person who can just... not care?”

Jeeny: smiling faintly
“Maybe it’s not about not caring. Maybe it’s about choosing where to spend your care.”

Jack: setting his phone down, rubbing his temples
“Easy to say. Harder when your name’s trending for the wrong reason.”

Host: The lights flickered once, catching in the chrome of the diner’s counter. Outside, the rain gathered rhythm — a percussive hush against glass, like applause from the sky.

Jeeny: quietly, watching him
“Let me guess. Someone said something nasty again?”

Jack: sighing
“More like a few hundred someones. You spend years building something, and one stupid moment — one misunderstood word — and they want you erased.”

Jeeny: softly, her voice steady but kind
“They don’t want you erased. They want to see if you’ll disappear.”

Jack: looking up at her now, tired but curious
“And what if you do?”

Jeeny: meeting his gaze
“Then they win. But if you ignore them — really ignore them — not just silence them, but starve the energy they feed on — they wither.”

Jack: leaning back, exhaling slowly
“I’ve tried ignoring them before. It feels like pretending you’re not bleeding.”

Jeeny: nodding
“It does. But that’s because you’re trying to win a war that doesn’t exist. Trolls aren’t opponents — they’re echoes. They don’t want truth. They want reaction.”

Host: The rain softened, the diner filling with the muted hum of silence again. A waitress refilled their cups — coffee for Jack, tea for Jeeny — and left without a word, like she’d seen this scene play out a hundred times.

Jack: staring into his coffee
“You ever wonder what kind of person spends their night tearing someone else down?”

Jeeny: softly, with a sad smile
“The kind who’s afraid no one will ever build them up.”

Jack: quietly, almost to himself
“So they destroy what they can’t reach.”

Jeeny: nodding
“And you — you make the mistake of reaching back.”

Host: The rain picked up again, tapping harder now, like it was trying to wash something away. Jack stared out at it, his reflection ghosting back at him — tired eyes, clenched jaw, a man learning how to stop fighting shadows.

Jeeny: leaning forward slightly
“Trisha’s right, you know. Ignoring them works — not because it silences them, but because it silences your need to explain yourself to people who don’t care to understand.”

Jack: after a pause
“But what if the hate starts feeling personal?”

Jeeny: softly
“Then remember — it never really is. Trolls don’t see you. They see a projection of what they hate in themselves. You’re just the mirror that happens to be standing there.”

Jack: chuckling dryly
“You make it sound so philosophical. But when you’re in it… it’s noise. Endless, angry noise.”

Jeeny: smiling gently
“Then you have two choices — fight the noise, or play your own song louder.”

Host: The neon sign outside flickered again, painting them both in soft pink light. It caught on Jack’s face — the tension still there, but something else emerging beneath it: resolve.

Jack: after a long silence
“You think ignoring them makes me stronger?”

Jeeny: shaking her head
“No. Ignoring them doesn’t make you stronger — it reminds you that you already are.”

Jack: smiling faintly, his voice calmer now
“Funny. Feels like I forgot that somewhere between comment sections.”

Jeeny: grinning
“Then stop scrolling. The world doesn’t live there.”

Host: The diner door opened briefly, a gust of cold air sweeping through before closing again. The jukebox switched tracks — something softer now, nostalgic, as if the night itself was trying to make peace with its noise.

Jack: looking out the window, softly
“You know, it’s strange. We used to make art to reach people. Now, it feels like we spend half our time defending it.”

Jeeny: nodding
“That’s because the world’s louder now. Everyone’s shouting. But real connection doesn’t come from shouting louder — it comes from staying authentic when the noise tries to break you.”

Jack: smiling faintly, eyes still on the rain
“Authenticity as rebellion.”

Jeeny: quietly
“The quiet kind. The kind that doesn’t need to clap back — it just keeps creating.”

Host: The camera would linger on the window now, where the rain had softened again to a slow drizzle. The city lights reflected across the glass, broken and beautiful, like every wounded soul still learning to shine despite the static.

Jeeny: softly
“You don’t defeat darkness by fighting it, Jack. You defeat it by refusing to dim.”

Jack: smiling finally, closing his phone and sliding it across the table
“Then I guess I’m done arguing with ghosts tonight.”

Jeeny: raising her cup
“To silence — the most underrated superpower.”

Jack: raising his own, smiling
“To silence. And peace bought with indifference.”

Host: The rain stopped completely, the streetlights gleaming on wet pavement like veins of gold. Inside, the diner was quiet now, filled only with the soft clinking of cups and the low hum of the jukebox.

And in that small, fragile peace, Trisha Paytas’s words found their quiet truth —
not as a social media strategy, but as a way of being:

That not every battle deserves your voice.
That sometimes, the strongest response is no response.
And that the loudest power of all is peace of mind protected by silence.

Jeeny: softly, watching the reflections fade in the glass
“You see, Jack — the noise always burns itself out. You just have to outlast it.”

Jack: leaning back, smiling
“Then maybe silence isn’t surrender… maybe it’s survival.”

Host: The camera pulled away slowly, the neon light fading into the night, the two of them framed in stillness.

And as the rain-washed city glimmered outside, the silence finally spoke —

not in words,
but in calm.