No it didn’t,
you stupid sheeple. But the title got you here, so let’s talk about Tweetguilt™®©,
shall we.
If you liked it then you should have blown a load in it.
ME:
MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
FRIEND:*
That’s not funny! That’s gross!
(note: Not a
friend, actually. Nothing says I have no friends and live in a van down by the
river (actually I live on a farm across from a cow pasture) like using double
social media platforms to chat with strangers regarding your feelings about
Twitter.
ME: Yes,
that’s why it’s so funny. MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH
INNER
MONOLOGUE: Blown a load? Ugh, the
image conjures up buckets of sperm being reverse wet-vac’d into someone’s
vagina.
ME: MWAHAHAHAHAHAHA
Exactly! That’s why it’s good. Seeing something that obnoxious in print is
funny as hell. Someone WROTE THAT SHIT DOWN FOR OTHERS TO SEE!! You forget, we’re
a product of Catholic School upbringing.
INNER
MONOLOGUE: Don’t retweet that.
ME: Of
course I’m gonna retweet it!
INNER
MONOLOGUE: Jennifer Lynn!
ME: You get
the reference, right? Beyonce’s lyric, “If you liked it then you should’a put a
ring on it…”
INNER MONOLOGUE:
DO NOT RETWEET THAT.
ME:
(gleeful) I’m doing it…
But I didn’t.
I laughed until I fell out of my chair… then I went to dry my hair and debated
for thirty minutes as to why I hadn’t retweeted it. You laugh that hard, the tweeter
deserves a retweet, right? I mean, that’s how it’s supposed to be. There is a kind
of pleasing symbiosis to it all — in ingesting something, and then being able
to immediately pass judgment on it with the single click of a button. Thing is, I wonder how many people want to
retweet or even tweet stuff, but they don’t. For whatever reason.
I know what
my reason was.
My mom follows me…
Not that I
have any reason to worry about what she thinks. In a few years when she’s
drooling into a cup, I’ll be the one holding it over her natty housecoat while three
King Charles Spaniels with wheezing disorders and hip issues writhe around our
feet, so I figure she’s pretty much at my mercy now.
ME: But what
will people think?
INNER
MONOLOGUE: Who are these “people” you’re worried about?
ME: Huh?
INNER
MONOLOGUE: Planning on running for President of the United States… or the PTA anytime soon?
ME: OH, YOU’VE
SUDDENLY CHANGED YOUR TUNE, MISSIE.
INNER
MONOLOGUE: Just playing devil’s advocate…
On and on it
went… and it got me thinking about all the shit we say and don’t say, and what
we will say and won’t say, and all the
shit floating around out there that’s horrible… and we like it.
Oh, don’t
even act like you don’t.
I’ll be the
first to admit, I love Twitter. I love that it’s balls-out, that it gets
political, that it’s inane, explicit, ridiculous, fun, disturbing, stupid,
irritating… it’s a lot of things, not to mention a time consuming vortex that
could probably use an Over-Tweeters Anonymous program app to go along with it.
The whole
Favstar thing bothers me. It seems pandering. You scratch my back, I’ll scratch
yours; you DM me a nude pic, I’ll DM it to a few thousand of my Twitter
followers… And don’t get me started on Twitlonger (CHEATING!) Call me a twitter
elitist, but if you’re gonna play the game, stick to the 140 character or less
limit and take simple joy in knowing someone either thinks you’re brilliant or
a douche.
Let that be
enough.
Where else
can you talk politics, exorcise demons via short form projectile rant, get
stock tips, and learn varying and sundry things about everything from butt
plugs to bear gestation?
DISCLAIMER:
If you’re a parent and let any kid under, let’s say eighteen, sign up for Twitter,
I’d probably call DHS on you.
But , to
retweet the edgy/offensive/over-the-top or not
to retweet the edgy/offensive/over-the-top tweets, that is the question.
What say ye?
(BTW: as soon as I finish this post, I'm going to retweet that damn tweet. Carpe diem!)
