What I learned from social media the day after Presidents’ Day

Social Media

Social media, like alcohol and raw sewage, will destroy your life if you let it.

It’s Presidents’ Day and not President’s Day. Teens still don’t want to get killed by guns! Especially of the automatic weapons kind. It’s not like there was a time when they did! There’s a Kentucky Fried Chicken® shortage in England™. A lot of parents do not like the eccentric Public Television Cartoon Caillou. I get it, there seems to be an absent back-story to Caillou’s mental illness or disability, which makes the show seem dangerously dishonest or overly coy. If he was a real boy, I am certain we’d be calling the authorities for his suspicious behavior. Speaking of, current president of the United States, Donald Trump, is smart enough to not force himself on a woman in front of security cameras. That’s like a bank robber saying, he does not rob banks in front of security cameras. In essence, there’s an admission to being a criminal. What a maroon. Bite-sized quiche is not difficult to make. In fact, I could make it. Patton Oswalt is on a book tour for a book he did not write. David Bowie was one skinny motherfucker in the day. Proof that our society is finally getting it: people who fart on planes are finally being treated like terrorists.


Retweeting is a responsibility. Make sure your source is not a Russian/Chinese truth diffuser bot. You do not want to be that boy who tweeted wolf. Actually, does it really matter? The reason why the fable works is because the boy learns a huge lesson by being killed by a wolf after lying over and over again. Compared to that, there really aren’t any consequences for sharing misinformation. Can you imagine being one of the townsfolk dealing with hearing the dying screams of a boy? That’s post-traumatic something.

It’s now a thing. Post-traumatic-Twitter® stress™. It’s impossible to process a constant stream of facts, judgments, observations, adorable cat memes, and not come out the other end both enlightened and befuddled. Your thought process is so tainted by the horror it has absorbed and something has to give. Imagine if you will, you are the spawning salmon swimming upstream. The river is social media forcing you back to your origin point, or worse, death. And to your left and right, bears are waiting for you, swiping at you with their deadly paws, trying to gut you and put you in their mouths. To be clear, the bears represent the news, fake news and politicians. You survive, and you realize that you don’t remember what color the eyes of the last bear was. It’s the new survival, Virgil, it’s the new survival.

It is odd how the perception of the name Virgil has changed. Once, it was associated with the much-respected Roman poet. Today, Virgil is more akin to a two-toothed hillbilly who constantly tucks his thumbs in his atrocious armpits, and says, “Yup, you done said that.”

After processing all this social information, one truth resounds like never before. Everything was more durable and less intrusive before the “golden age” of information. Also, people, as a whole, do not realize that they are capable of shutting the fuck up.

Constant

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