Twitterishly Trump
A wise person once said, “Y U no blog any more?”
I’m back, baby!
Ahem. So yeah. Truth be told, most of my creative energies, pith, and wit are squandered on the Twitter. But don’t worry. My blog is still here to catch the frothy flotsam that spilleth over.
And now, for your enjoyment, my microblog coverage (a trendy euphemism for “tweets”) of the 2016 Presidential Election.
These local-sourced tweets were hand-curated by yours truly. Please be responsible and upcycle when finished.
In Brevity: Shitter #RIPTwitter
Chuckling to myself, I went on Twitter and wrote a tweet. I cleverly included a hashtag and clicked the “Tweet” button. Damn, but I’m funny.
I was now a content producer. Please, no autographs.
Excited, I clicked the hashtag which had magically transformed into a link to bask in the glory of my newfound celebrity status.
My eyes scanned the page. Uh oh, trouble! My tweet was nowhere in sight! “Alas, what’s happened?!” I cried out to the universe.
You Must Present
I like this image. No disrespect to Pankaj Ghemawat or the Eight Percent is intended.
These days, if you decide to come after Twitter, you had best bring your A-game. You gotta have cred. Because, when the shit hits the fan, you have a grand total of .42 seconds to capture the attention of that potential follower or lose ’em forever.
You get one chance. One!!
Strike while the iron is hot. Seize the day. Squeeze lemonade out of their lemons. Losers always whine about their best. Winners go home and fuck the prom queen.
That’s where I come in. My latest business idea will give you insta-playa status. Make the jump for our special presentation or choose the path that leads to dying alone.
Likeotomy
Doctors performing likeotomy on a volunteer subject.
A reading from the book of Demotivational Dictionary:
likeotomy |līˈkätəmē|
noun (pl. likeotomies) [ usu. in sing. ]
usage of the “favorite” button on tweets about my lobotomy: too bad you are now unable to grok the likeotomy I gave you.
A reading from the book of Demotivational Dictionary.
I’m pretty much a collector of likes. Feel free to share one of your own. I always appreciate them. I think.
[I] want to say thank you to you. I haven’t had an orthodox career and I’ve wanted more than anything to have your respect. The first time I didn’t feel it, but this time I feel it. And I can’t deny the fact that you like me. Right now, you like me! Thank you.
–Sally Fields, March 25, 1985
Sally Field about to bludgeon a cretin who failed to favorite her tweet.
Thank you, Ms. Fields. That’s exactly how I feel each and every time one of my tweets gets a star on the Twitter Walk of Shame. I’ve personally counted more visits by Halley’s Comet, though.
It works like this: You see a tweet you like (or some other masturbatory form of social media expression) and you like it. So you click the little icon that means favorite, like, upvote, star and/or what not. What’s so hard to understand about that?!
It turns out that “like” is sometimes the wrong tone.
“My father molested me every single day until I was eight years old.”
Do you think, somehow, that “like” seems misplaced here?
Shouts from the Abyss 
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