It makes us super, super.
Some bozo at some newspaper–yeah, I know. Newspapers! What is it? 1995? :-P–wrote with his quill and ink that social media is a platform to promote a fake life and then make you feel shitty about said fake life when put in contrast with your real shit life and others’ fake lives.
My son accidentally peed on the floor today and then ate a piece of food off the floor. I posted this to Facebook:
In fact I felt😀.
Until I only got 12 likes and not even from the A crowd, you know, the popular gals I went to high school with who now post about how much wine they drink because kids, amirite? Oh my god, and they looovveeee their husbands so much! Happy anniversary to the most wonderful men on the planet. You make us the most sexually fulfilled women on earth!!! We love you, sweeties❤!!!
But what else are we suppose to do? It’s not like we can handle being with our own thoughts. In fact in one science experiment, people preferred to shock themselves with a 9-volt battery rather than spend any moment with their brains at full volume yelling at them about their cellulite.
So we sift through our newsfeed and feel crappy about your most fabulous vacation to
consumerism hellscape Disney World and your delectable microwaved-bag-o’-crap dinner at The Olive Garden.
And in retaliation we post this:
So at least there’s that.