We forget, or choose to ignore, that for all the hashtag games and selfies and humorous parody accounts, Twitter has a dark hunger for grief that must be regularly satisfied. And so we gather together and ritualistically celebrate the death of a beloved media or entertainment identity. Because Twitter feeds on grief, and not blood, The Chosen One doesn't necessarily have to be deceased, or even aware of what’s going on. It's enough that "we" believe they have expired to the afterlife. Yesterday's chosen was celebrated journalist and commentator Mungo MacCallum. Anne Summers, wielding the Twitter Dagger, slit his digital identity from taint to crown, and as DigiMungo bled out into the Twitterverse, she chanted: