I tried to rant about social media but then I got tired.

Since no one actually reads this, I understand that no one even realizes that it has been over a year since I've published anything.  I contemplated crying over this fact, but then it occurred to me that my unread blog is only one of thousands of unread blogs that exist throughout the world.  At least I can cope with the fact that no one reads my bullshit as opposed to these assholes who talk about how lonely they are and reblog photos on their Tumblr accounts.

That's what brings me here today: social media.  It used to be that I, the website administrator, could write whatever the fuck I felt like writing about.  For example, say I chose to write about how Connecticut is a city in Florida.  You, the reader, would read it because you're a boring, gullible schmuck who clearly has time to waste.  Sure, readers could email me and tell me that my facts were wrong, but emails are easily ignored, especially ones from your boss.  You sent me an email asking me to work yesterday?  That's funny because I never got it.  Must've been lost in the mystical world of cyberspace.  Most likely, your boss is still old enough to believe that such a tragic fate is possible if you're reading this before 2020.

Next came the guestbook.  That turned into the comments like down below this blog.  Of course, no one reads this blog so there are no comments.  Can we pretend that someone does?  Just for a minute?  And that you left me a comment?  Unless I choose to go through and censor the comments, you could tell me all about how you fucked my mom with a pair of glow-in-the-dark nun-chucks whist riding a horse into the belly of a whale.  Not saying you would, but hey, it is a free country (debatable).  Comments are a good way to give feedback to the OP (original poster).  You can see how well that works by looking at YouTube comments.  The discourse observed on those hallowed pages could rival the works of Shakespeare and Dickens.  That is, if Shakespeare and Dickens are the names your neighbour's pet salamanders.    Grammar, punctuation, politeness, civility, and sense are all thrown out the window as people from all over the world decide to chime in on how the piano-playing cat does not, in fact resemble Bob Saget, and actually appears to be a hemmoroid growing on an elephant's ass.  I sometimes wonder what would happen if the average YouTube commentator stopped just for five seconds to think, "Do I really need to post my thoughts on the matter, or would I be better off keeping my mouth shut?  If so, will anyone be able to understand my thoughts on the matter?"  Alas, that would require people to stop and think.

Facebook.  Everyone knows Facebook.  Often I think about the benefits of deleting my Facebook account: 

1) I would no longer be enraged by reading ridiculous, meaningless posts such as, "Getting ready for work, then work, then sleep.  Going to the bar tomorrow to get hammered with my besties!"  Okay.  Thank you for the play by play account of your wonderful, amazing life.  However, I am am pretty sure no one cares.  Not even your "besties".  No one comments, no one "likes".  The only upside of these posts is that the shady kid who you kinda sorta know from school who you friended because you friend everyone now knows that you will not be home all day tomorrow and maybe he will burglarize your house.  

2) I wouldn't have to see posts such as "If u believe in GOD clik like in 4 seconds.  share and get 1200 friend requests!"  First of all, fuck you and the horse on which you arrived here.  Nothing you say could get me to like your picture.  I can understand if business pages get paid for every "like" of their ad.  However, these stupid pictures that insist baby Adam won't get his lifesaving double bipass brain colonoscopy unless this photo of a random child in a hospital gets 5,000 "likes" are really starting to get old.  Worse is that many people share these, knowing full well that it is bullshit.  I DON'T UNDERSTAND.  

3) All the photos.  Yes, I would miss Halloween, summer, prom, and any other time girls post pictures with boobs.  However, I really don't need to see ducky faced girls posting the same picture half a dozen times with half a dozen Instagram effects applied to the photo.  You aren't scrapbooking, an avid Photoshop user, or working on some sort of artistic project.  No one wants to see you and your "besties" in AC with a sepia tint.  Also, increasing the saturation and contrast isn't fooling anyone except you.  You know what I'm talking about.

On the other hand, Facebook is a really good way to keep in touch with friends who you aren't forced to interact with every day.  Actually, it is a really good way to keep in touch with acquaintances, neighbors, coworkers, your sister's boyfriend's friends, your mail carrier, and everyone else because it seems no one ever actually disconnects from the damn website.  You know how I know?  Everyone is on Facebook and not reading this blog.  I was going to start about Twitter and go a little more in-depth with Tumblr.  Maybe I would have even gone to MySpace at some point.  But you know who gives a shit?  Not you.  Good night.

That is all.

Because the novelty of anonymously bitching about things on the internet has not worn off yet, I'll give it another go tonight.


First group of people on the chopping block.... the handicapped.  Now that you've all left my page in disgust, allow me to clarify my previous statement.  There seems to be a condition in America that specifically targets this demographic.  Maybe he walks with a cane from the shrapnel that was left in his leg after his batallion parachuted into the local Walmart parking lot during the great Black Friday War of 2010, which qualified him for the permanent handicapped person license plate.  Maybe she woke up a few years ago to a pain in her back that went away after losing some weight and exercising a bit, but she keeps the blue hang-tag on the rearview mirror just in case the pain comes back during a super important trip to Krispy Kreme.  Either way, these people seem to think the rules of the road do not apply to them.


Today I was driving to school, just like I do every other day it feels like.  Sometimes the trips just blur together because the scenery is always the same.  Sometimes I wonder why my life has devolved into 10 round trips a week to and from this shitty state college that I didn't even really want to attend in the first place.  While I was or was not contemplating a thought such as this, a white crossover pulled in front of me as I turned in the intersection.  Crossover?  Strike one.  Get a real SUV or just buy a minivan.  The pussymobile then proceeded to do 38mph in a 50 zone!  It was then when I noticed the handicap license plate.  I noticed that the driver and her passenger were somewhat interested in my presence, as they kept looking in the mirrors and pointing at me.  Perhaps it was because I was 5 feet off their bumper.  In my defence, I was only that close because I was merely making sure they saw me point to the multiple white signs that read, "SPEED LIMIT 50."  So when the lane split into two, I naturally expected them to move to the right.  Naturally, they did no such thing.  Naturally, I passed them on the right and got stuck at the next traffic light right next to them glaring at me.  Do you have any idea how it feels to be flipped off by a "handicapped" person?  It hurts deep.  Probably somewhere down in the colon.


I propose that all handicapped people be forced to drive in the shoulder whilst using their hazard lights.  We accommodate them in other ways by building access ramps and outlining special parking spots for them in blue, so why not make them feel really special and give them their own lane on the road?  Other people who can drive in that road?  Me.  Why?  Because there's going to be that handicapped person who is too handicapped to realize he has a special lane just for him.  And so I'll need to pass him somehow.  In the handicapped lane.

First Post! Not like you'll read it.

"I'm a pretty popular guy."

That was me in 5th grade, the height of my popularity.  Back in 5th grade if you needed something done in your Pokemon Gameboy game, I was the go-to guy during recess.


College is almost over now and I've never been to one party like you'd see in a film like Superbad or the basement of a 14 year old high school student's house.  You know, the ones where everyone stands around with red cups filled with hastily mixed alcohol (never mix your beer and liquor unless you want to have a good time!), fucks everyone in sight, passes out from minor alcohol poisoning, and then obscenely embellishes the stories the next day to seem even more popular.  (Unless of course the stories are actually true, in which case I may be more of a loser than previously thought.)  But this is all socially accepted behaviour.  Unless you were the one who raped that cheerleader.  Then you just need a lawyer.  Unless you're the school's football star, in which case she was totally giving you the eye all night long.  You know she wanted it.  Who can resist you?  Clearly you can't even resist yourself.  Now stop touching your nipples.