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Once Upon a Time, Blogs Were the Devil

You know, when you get right down to it, paper is a colossal waste of time. Everywhere you go, some jerkoff is just sitting there with a stack of paper in front of him, writing notes, doing work, recording some event or emotion for himself or others. You know what, man? I don’t give a shit about what you’re writing! Nobody does! Look at you, all smug and literate, recording words with ink or pencil. Acting like anything you’ve ever done in your entire life is worth memorializing. Where the hell do you get off, man?

And it’s such an invasion of privacy, the way they write things and then shove it in your face, like, “Here, motherfucker! Read this!” I don’t have TIME for that, man! You’re just flushing away your life, writing on paper, when you could be working or playing or building ships in bottles or sitting quietly. Why do you do that to yourself? And even though I don’t actually want to have a conversation with you, you paper-writer, why do you cut yourself off from me, man? It’s sad that we’ve become a society of antisocial misfits… like me.

And that’s why it’s ultimately pointless to bitch about social media.