Let’s just dive right in. Social media is the worst thing to happen since Hitler. From Facebook to Instagram to Twitter to Snapchat, it’s a fast-growing parasite. Everyone is on it–like fucking crack cocaine, or meth (whichever is more popular I don’t know I’m not Lisa Ling get off my back)–because it’s the easiest way to paint a picture of your life that looks a hell of a lot better than what’s actually going on with you. It’s the photoshopped version of your existence. But we all know that underneath it, you’re 80% cellulite, wrinkles and fat rolls. Join the fucking club.
And we all play along with it too because we want to believe and prove that our life is really so awesome. But I think we all secretly hate social media at the same time. It’s like networking: everyone does it because they feel like they have to, when really they would rather go home, collapse onto the floor, pop some sleeping pills and doze off to the sound of The Real Housewives facing off on Reunion Parts 1-10, hugging a bag of Cheetos, any day.
Why are we all partaking in this pathetic charade? Like, if you want to propose to your girlfriend, great (although tbh not great because we all know marriage is a disaster waiting to happen, whether in the form of divorce or pleasure-less, missionary position-only sex, if any at all, for the rest of your lives), but why are you broadcasting it to the world with 400 photos of the ring and endless public declarations of your love for her? How about you just tell her…? Like, frankly, we don’t give a fuck. And it seems kind of disingenuous that you need to brag about your engagement all over social media. It seems like you’re trying to validate it. Which makes us think it’s not really all that great of a situation after all. And that in reality, you’re one more squeezing-from-the-middle-of-the-toothpaste-tube situation from breaking up and her going back to her much sexier, more adventurous, bigger-dicked ex.
Or like soooo what, you’ve moved on from us and are dating someone new, congratu-fucking-lations, we get it, you’re super happy in your new relationship and she’s much skinnier and prettier and dumber and shallower than us and you’re putting it on blast to make yourself feel better about the fact that you’re a deeply unhappy, sociopathic piece of shit. B.F.D. Like… and? Here’s a thought: keep it to yourself. You’re not fooling anyone, least of all us. We’re FINE. We’re doing great without you–we’re taking lots of knitting classes and eating lots of mac ‘n cheese and getting to bed really early on a regular basis, so we aren’t affected by your sad display of fake self-satisfaction. Plus, you don’t see us bragging all the fuck over the Internet about how awesome the scarf we knitted is, or how impressive it is that we ate 5 bowls of microwave mac ‘n cheese in a row, or that we sometimes go to bed at 7:30 PM because we can’t face reality. So stop shoving all your B.S. vapid attempts at proving that you’re better off without us in our faces/social media feeds. NEXT.
How about we all just own up to our true selves and stop competing in this toxic contest to be the best, the most attractive, the happiest, the most content, the sexiest, the richest, the most cookie cutter? That shit’s boring. We’re all flawed beings, fumbling around just trying to make it. Where are the representations of that reality on social media? How about instead of picture perfect selfies, we start posting photos of what we REALLY look like when we wake up? How about instead of bragging about how expensive and meaningful and earth-shattering our wedding was, we talk about all the problems that need solving in the world, which are far more important than any show of material wealth could ever be?
In fact, I hope that one day we see you social media posers on the street because your jig will be up–you’ll be bickering with your latest fling about how she’s too “needy” and she’ll be at least 10 lbs heavier than the pictures depict, and before you can snap a concocted selfie, we’ll swoop in and catch a candid photo of what you REALLY are: a bitter, lonely, unsuccessful lamb with a receding hairline, dead-end job, and mommy issues. We’ll upload that all over the place. On REPEAT. We’ll post that shit to every social media platform possible, and pretty soon it’ll be in the Cloud, and nobody understands that motherfucker so good luck taking it down you’re gonna need some fuckin Steve Jobs resurrected from the dead black magic sorcery shit for that to happen.
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