It’s rare that I receive any sort of constructive, non-spam comment here, but if I do, it has to do with one thing: What’s my Twitter account. Twitter account? Did you just ask me about a Twitter account? I don’t have one. I won’t have one. I don’t Twit, you twats.
You want to know what I think about Twitter? Here, I’ll let my man Lewis lay it down for you. (I’ve been told that I am the female version of Lewis Black. I always say, “Thank you.”)
Really, you’re life isn’t that damn important. Look, unless you’re saving the world or doing some immense act of public good, I really couldn’t give a shit about what you do all day. Buy your shoes, eat your lunch, go to the movie, take a dump; just shut the fuck up about it. I don’t care, and I’m sure that if you asked around, neither does anyone else.
Oh, I see. I’m the bad guy on this one. Your friends are so damn loyal they really do care if you’re in line at Starbucks getting a decaf, skinny, low-foam, sugar-free, slightly shaken, never stirred, blessed by a Taoist priest, perfectly centered pumpkin pie spice latte. (It took me just as much time to pull that out of my ass as it did for you to drink it, trust me.) Your friends are so devoid of responsibility and entertainment that they are hanging on every update, every drop, every detail of your overly elaborate coffee experience. They are riveted. Every last person in your friends list can’t wait for “Idiotic Latte: The Sequel.” Yes, I know, I’ve heard that before.
So, you’re going to twat whether we want to hear it or not. Fair enough. Here’s a list of bullshit things your friends and innocent bystanders really don’t want to hear about (no, really).
1. The game. You fancy yourself a sports caster. You really love the game. You think everyone wants to hear your report and subsequent commentary: “Well, the Bumblehoot Dicktards are down 3 to the Stinkypants. All McDingleberry has to do is get the run/goal/ball to the end zone and the game is ours. Go Dicktards!” Nobody gives a fuck. If we want to know what’s going on in the game, we’ll turn on the TV.
2. What you’re eating. “Et 2 corndogs w xtra pckle @ Weenie World. ROTFLMAO.” Really? Is it that funny? We don’t care, and please don’t bother to post pictures unless that corndog is in a majorette outfit twirling a flaming baton.
3. You’re standing in line. “Stnding in line @ theatre. U no Im not gay but luv me sum Twishite.” Who cares? There are probably 50 others in line with you. Fortunately the vast majority of those people aren’t so self-absorbed that they actually think it’s worth telling the world about. If they’re lucky, they anticipated standing next to a tard like you and brought a hip flask full of the magical coping solution.
4. A jumble of random letters that appear to be some sort of acronym. “U said ROHTNR and I r ggyirns. WTF? Ur not ZNBUR? ROTFLMAO!!! NO. That pseudo sentence didn’t make sense in any world. You haven’t made up your own language that only you and those cool enough to know you understand. You’re talking gibberish like a crackhead 2 minutes after the last hit. Stop it.
5. ANY BODILY FUNCTION. Do not talk about this. EVER. Just don’t. No matter how fascinating it is to you, the rest of the world doesn’t really need to behold a statement like: “Look! There’s Legos in my poop!”
Wait. You did what? Okay, I take a portion of that back. If you eat Legos and shit out a perfectly sculpted building or a helicopter or something, I definitely need to see it. That’s something worth twatting about.