Folks, I don’t mean to toot my own horn, but-
In case you haven’t been steeped in Internet culture for most of your life, let me explain. Cast your mind back to the year 2004 B.F. (Before Facebook). A leap year.
If you use the Internet like I do, you might have noticed the neologism “racist” being thrown around a lot, particularly on “social media”. Many are confused about the meaning of this word; often it appears to be arbitrary, and have no meaning. It seems to be applicable to anyone, living or dead. How can you tell if you, or anybody around you is a “racist”? Here’s my foolproof method, and it’s guaranteed to work, 100% of the time.
Believe it or not, I still watch and enjoy The Simpsons. Just not on Sundays when it’s new.
I wait however long is necessary until it’s on YouTube, and I watch it then. Alone. Often years after it aired. Why?
Because there’s no other way to judge it fairly. It’s ruined in its proper time slot.
Possibly the greatest blessing of my childhood is that I was bullied almost non-stop for its duration.
How could that be a blessing? It prepared me for a lifelong career on the Internet, that’s how.
If you expect other people to make fun of you, regardless of what you say, you’ll do fine on the web. Because they will. No matter who you are.
How about a riddle?
Yesterday, I had my birthday. Everyone wished me good luck.
Isn’t that a great song? I love that album. Crispin Glover is one of my favorite people. Remember when he was “Uncle Dell” in David Lynch’s Wild At Heart? How he stayed up all night making sandwiches?
On the first of May, 2018, sometime about a half-hour before noon, a bar appeared underneath every post on the social networking site Facebook.
I had awakened earlier, in a panic attack, and been scrolling my “newsfeed” in a wrongheaded attempt to relieve my state of depressive shock. Believe it or not, sometimes it works. I find pictures of kitties, or baby hedgehogs, or pretty girls with their whatnots hanging out. Maybe an inspiring story or a naughty bit of humor. I feel better, and get on with the tasks of the day.
But this new snitch bar made things way, way worse.
When something restores your overall morale, and very nearly your faith in humanity, that something must be publicly acknowledged. And yes, that’s humanity, not “hupeopleity”, or any other spurious, Canadian word salad.
Two things you already know if you’ve read articles on this site in the past month: 1., I’m flat broke, and 2., my dwarf hamster Vern has had a growth under his chin since mid-January.
This past week, the growth grew significantly, and I began to worry that it was hurting Vern. Hopefully you don’t know this, but when you’re so broke that you can’t even provide for the pet that depends on you, the spiral of shame and depression is mind-boggling in its brutality.