Do you know how easy it is to start a fight online? Of course you do. Everyone does. The internet is filled with all types of people with all types of opinions, so there is bound to be a moment of discontent from time to time in the comments section of any online article or status update or picture.
Most of the time, you can just state your opinion and wait for the backlash. It doesn’t even have to be anything on a taboo subject. For example, here’s a controversial statement: Bacon is overrated. Now, if I were to say this on a comment board of some sort, Jesus Tap-Dancing Christ can you imagine the horror? I’d probably be called any number of derogatory terms.
Still, sometimes you just can’t help but to get sucked into an argument. It happens so easily- someone says something incredibly moronic and you feel the need to correct their dumb ass. Does it do any good? No. It only splashes gasoline onto the already powerful flames that are engulfing all areas of reason and logic left in the world.
Granted, some people are just looking for a fight. These trolls, or “neckbeards” if you will, are lurking in the underbelly of the internet, waiting for you to say something- anything- just so they can metaphorically spit in your face and call you a “lonely fat ass” or something to that effect. They really just want to ruin your day and are looking for any excuse to argue with you. Each comment they make is evidence of the fact they have no lives outside of their mother’s basement, and each statement they make is made with the utmost enthusiasm. It’s like they have been waiting for your comment their whole lives.
Sometimes, these dwellers have a platform of which they would like to speak. They can turn any innocent statement into a soapbox rant about politics or religion or de-clawing cats. For example, someone writes an article about the record-breaking snowfall of 2014. This is innocent enough on its own, right? It’s just an article stating a fact about the weather.
WRONG! IT’S JUST ANOTHER ATTEMPT AT GOTCHA JOURNALISM REVEALED BY THE LIBERAL MEDIA TRYING TO PUSH THEIR HOMOSEXUAL AGENDA ON THE AMERICAN PUBLIC BECAUSE THEY ARE AFRAID OF GUNS AND LIKE TO EUTHANIZE THE ELDERLY!
Or, that’s what the comments will say anyway, and reading them can cause irreversible damage to your brain. One minute, you are reading an article about how chicken nuggets are made, and the next thing you know you have been sucked down an internet rabbit hole after reading some comments mentioning PETA and the war on illegal aliens.
It’s because of this that I often avoid internet debates (I use the term ‘debate’ loosely). I do not have to participate in every argument I am invited to attend, so I just don’t. I especially do not acknowledge trolls because I read somewhere that if you ignore them, they shit themselves. It might not be true, but it’s worth a try.
Despite my lack of interest in internet debating, I occasionally find myself unable to resist the urge to wave my pimp hand strong and slap some sense into these mofos. One such occasion was last night when I was casually browsing Pinterest, per my nightly ritual. I came across this little nugget of humor:
Get it?! It’s funny, right?! You see, because they are talking about a person in a vegetative state, not an actual vegetable! And the person who ate the popsicle didn’t understand the dark nature of the joke at first! Ha! Comedic gold!
Anyway, this thing had about 6 comments from people who just couldn’t understand the punchline of the joke. They were saying they didn’t ‘get it’ and asking if someone could explain it. I’m guessing these people don’t work for NASA.
Just then, a miracle occurred! The cries of the people were answered by a girl of brazen intelligence, who descended from the heavens to deliver the explanation that would set them free from their emotional anguish! She said:
“Mentally retarded people are known as vegetables.” That. That is what she said. Shall we count the things wrong with this sentence? No, we shan’t. But, we can agree this is not the correct response, as being mentally disabled does not automatically warrant a wheelchair. You would need a physical impairment of some sort, would you not? Everyone (I thought) knows that one can be physically disabled without being mentally disabled, and vice versa.
After seeing responses from people who were taking her word as gospel, I became fearful that these misinformed kids were going to unleash their newly-found knowledge onto the world and start using ‘vegetable’ as a socially acceptable term for the mentally impaired after asking them where they parked their wheelchairs. I had to say something. Anything. I thought about explaining the term “vegetative” to her, and letting her know everything that was wrong with what she said, but I knew it was in my best interest to type it as simply as possible, so I replied:
I tried. I really did.
This morning, I awoke to a text message from a close friend of mine that read, “I went to the gym drunk.”
First of all, I did not shame her for this because how in the hell else are we supposed to make exercise fun? Going to the gym drunk is the only way to go in my opinion. Still, this was a statement that needed some elaboration, so I asked, “What?”
“I started to freak out last night about the prospect of growing older. We are getting so old! I mean- our 10-year reunion will be in the next couple of years!”
Ugh. She was right. We are getting old. I feel it too, I just try to suppress my worries of wasted youth with things like antidepressants and wine, which is apparently what she decided to do except she forgot the part about not working out while drunk as to not sweat out said wine.
“I almost fell off the machine. Twice. I guess I was drunker than I thought.”
I was just glad she didn’t fall off the treadmill, as it would have launched her into the wall behind her like a giant, well-oiled sling shot. That probably would have damped her mood further.
I could have tried to convince her she was being silly by saying, ‘Well, getting older is better than the alternative!’ or ’30 is the new 20!’ or some other clever little anecdote. But, I honestly couldn’t bring myself to say anything soothing to her. It was everything I could do not to send her a text back that said, “You are right! The grip of old-age has reached us! We will be dead soon!”
Luckily, I managed not to say that. I just sympathized with her, as I understand how she feels. I’m not even going to touch on the subject of quarter-life crisis again but let’s just say that son-of-a-bitch and I go way back.
“After I got home, I looked in the mirror and started crying because I know I am going to start getting wrinkles soon!” she said.
Obviously, her sense of wrinkle-terror was heightened by the alcohol she had consumed. She doesn’t normally stare at herself in the mirror and cry. I hope.
I could have told her, “Woman, you are a beautiful, smart, successful person. You have a loving husband, a gorgeous house, and a great job. Don’t let such little things bother you. It is a privilege to grow old, and we are doing it gracefully.”
I could have said any of those things to her because all of those things are true. But, I didn’t. I just said, “I KNOW! I HAD TO MARK MYSELF INTO A NEW AGE BRACKET THE OTHER DAY! I’M PRACTICALLY MIDDLE-AGED ACCORDING TO THIS STUPID SURVEY!”
Wasn’t that helpful? I thought so.
Then, I grabbed my coffee. I would have reached for the wine, but it was 7 o’clock in the morning and my dog was in the kitchen with me and she is very judgmental about that sort of thing.
Originally posted on My Amusing Dispositions:
In fact, I have one friend who absolutely refuses to watch a movie unless it has a happy ending. You know those movies where the guy and girl don’t actually end up together? Or the movie where the protagonist dies? Or the one where the kid has to shoot his own dog? She flat-out refuses to give them a moment of her time. I tried to argue with her once, trying to defend these great movies by telling her the endings were more “realistic”. To this, her response was, “Do not misunderstand me. I do not watch movies because I like to be reminded of reality.” Good point.
See, the movies give us false hope and make our real-lives look like a big bag of shit. The movies make everything look adorable and exciting. Even the smallest chore, like washing a Golden Retriever, is hella fun. In the movies, you sit the dog in the washbasin and hose him down as bubbles fly around and he licks your smiling face as you giggle with delight.
In real life, you struggle to get the massive beast into the washbasin, but not before you trip and fall into it yourself. You then attempt to hold him down, all the while trying to squeeze shampoo into your fur-caked hands as the dog wriggles free from your death grip. The brute then begins running towards the neighbor’s child as you chase him with the rubber hose, flinging water around like you are Leatherface with a chainsaw screaming, “Get back here you little fucker!” The neighbor then comes outside, horrified that you are speaking to their child that way, and hurriedly ushers their the kid off the swing set and gawks at you until they reach the porch.
Do you ever just have a brief lapse in judgment where you assume something you are about to declare is common opinion and you actually end up on the unpleasant end of disgusted stares? I hope you have because if not, then my worst fears are confirmed and I am, in fact, the only person to which this happens.
The reason I bring this up is because it seems to happen to me in the most mundane of situations; situations that shouldn’t call for this sort of hoopla. For example, the other night I was having dinner with family and my aunt got all giddy about her favorite sitcom, a little known show called ‘The Big Bang Theory.’
“Did you watch it the other night?!” she asked my mother, who proceeded to agree with her that it was just the sweetest little episode ever. Then, my aunt gushed about how Sheldon actually KISSED his girlfriend, Amy. Naturally, I was confused because I am apparently the only person in America who has never seen a single episode of this show.
“He kissed his girlfriend?” I asked, trying to understand the shock everyone was feeling that should not come from a grown man kissing his girlfriend of two years.
“Yes,” she replied. “It was a long kiss!”
“Why is this a big deal?” I asked. Then, I immediately regretted even asking at all.
“IT’S A BIG DEAL BECAUSE THEY’VE NEVER KISSED BEFORE!” she shrieked at me.
“They’ve never kissed before?! And they’ve been dating for two years?!”
“He has a touch phobia,” my mother chimed in. “So they haven’t kissed.”
I decided to ask the question that I assumed everyone else was thinking, but I completely overestimated that idea. “Why are they even together then?”
“Because they share similar interests, they are both smart, they like each other,” my mother sweetly said as if that was going to prevent me from asking any further questions.
“Well…how do they have sex?” I blurted out, honestly curious as to why two people would stay together for two years without any physical contact. Ever.
“THEY DON’T!” my aunt once again shrieked at me.
“Then what’s the point?” I asked laughingly, but no one joined in my laughter. They just looked at me like I had just admitted to being a brazen hussy. Suddenly my aunt, who insists on showing me pictures of the tw0-penised man every time I am near her, was acting rather prudish.
As I looked around at them staring at me in disbelief, I started to recap what I had just said. I had pretty much just admitted to my family that to me, relationships were pointless without sexual gratification being involved. Yes, not my wisest move, but Jesus Tap-dancing Christ you would have thought I just told them I liked to dropkick puppies for fun. Even my cousin appeared to be shocked by my comment and didn’t seem to find it funny, and she just had a baby so I happen to know for a fact she puts out. I mean, she’s married and whatnot, but still.
“Well, you don’t watch the show!” she yelled. “So, you don’t really understand!” I was expecting her to slap me in the face and scream, “HOW DARE YOU QUESTION SHELDON COOPER! BE GONE WITH YOU, WHORE!”
My comment had officially lulled the room to silence, and an awkward pause lingered for a bit. Eventually, my aunt got distracted by a cat video and we all moved on, but it was certainly uncomfortable for a moment. I resisted the urge to follow-up my comment with “Yeah, you heard me. I am a grown-ass woman!” But, I managed to stifle it.
In honor of my little brother’s 21st birthday, I thought I would share some fun facts about him. And yes, that is a hungry cat on his shoulder trying to steal his sandwich.
Here we go:
1. He shares a birthday with Abraham Lincoln, or should I say “Baberham Lincoln.” Sexy beast, he was.
2. My stepfather once asked him to back the family car up to get it out of the way, and he instead drove it forward into the living room. The wall is still cattywampus to this day.
3. A man, who I suspect was a schizophrenic, approached him at a Guitar Center once and demanded that he tell him he liked his hair. And then his shirt.
4. He was a drummer in a band, but he can also play the guitar, the bass, and the keytar. Ok, I made that last one up. Do they even make those anymore?
5. He owns a banjo. This does not help the stereotype of our locale.
6. In Germany, a local woman started conversing with him in German. When he politely told her, “Oh, I’m sorry, I’m American,” she replied with “Oh, I didn’t realize. You didn’t seem American. You weren’t acting like an asshole.”
7. Out of all the grandchildren, he is the baby.
8. When he was little, he had a speech impediment that caused him to say his “R’s” like “L’s”. It was adorable because he would say things like, ‘I’m scaled’ instead of ‘I’m scared’. Also, one of his good friends was named Pierce and he pronounced his name ‘Pills’. Of course, it’s gone now. Dammit.
9. When he was tiny, I pretended to die to freak him out and he called 911 for real. I felt bad because he was upset and crying. I think he still remembers this as one of his most traumatic childhood experiences.
10. As children, I made him eat soap. When my mother came in and saw what I had done, she said, “Well, great. Now he’s going to die.” I burst into hysterics and she said, “Calm down, I’m just kidding. But that will teach you to make him eat soap again.”
Happy 21st! It’s all downhill from here!
“Aw, geez. Look at this picture! It’s dogs being hauled off for meat in China. So sad,” my aunt said as she shoved her phone into my face while I was busy shoving a questionable bologna sandwich into my mouth.The picture was heart-wrenching, to say the least. Did I want to see their poor, puppy dog eyes being pulled away by a wagon so they could be ground into hamburger steak? No, of course not. Most people don’t. If you do, you are most likely aware by this point in your life that you have some major issues that need to be addressed by a professional because you are the worst kind of person they make.
I’d like to say this was an isolated incident, that my aunt doesn’t thrive upon horrible photos/videos/stories involving the revolting evils of the world, but unfortunately I would be lying. She doesn’t constantly look at things like that because she is fond of imagining the blood-curdling screeches given from wounded seal cubs. It’s just that she can’t help herself from looking. I think she may be a masochist, actually.
If there is a video circling Facebook of a woman drowning puppies in a bucket, she will watch it. And dammit, she will try to make me watch it too. She will be heartbroken from exposing herself to it, she will tear up and stare at her phone in pitiful disbelief that people could be so cruel. But yet, SHE WILL CONTINUE TO WATCH IT! And later that day, she’ll read a story about a local shelter that was hosting dog fights, and she will want to show me pictures of it over Sunday dinner.
I would like to preface that I am not naive, I know what people are capable of doing. I am from the internet, after all. I just find it best for my own sanity that I avoid upsetting myself constantly with horrific images so that I do not have to be committed to an insane asylum because I have an ASPCA commercial playing on a constant loop in my head.
For me, the line between “moderately happy” and “devastatingly depressed” is a paper-thin one, so I’d rather not immerse myself in images of baby animals being tortured if I can help it. If I am trying to have a good day, a heartbreaking story about poaching can ruin me. Recently, I saw a photo of a herd of elephants that had been left to die after poachers had killed them for their tusks. Even the little baby ones. I took it hard because elephants are pretty much my favorite animal in the world, and this story made me want to slather some grease on my face, tie a camouflage bandanna around my forehead, and lurk around the jungle in order to exact acts of unforgivable revenge upon the heartless bastards that did that.
See, now I’m getting off topic.
My aunt can’t keep her face out of unspeakable horrors. I think it gets worse all the time. You cannot say anything without her somehow managing to weasel mangled animal carcasses into the conversation. Take for example a conversation that happened last night that began with a simple comment about the Sochi Olympics. The news ran a story about the deplorable ways the government has been treating their citizens in Sochi due to said Olympics, and she yelled out, “THEY ARE TOO BUSY KILLING ALL OF THE STRAY ANIMALS RIGHT NOW!!!”
Of course, she was referring to the news stories about Sochi officials being ordered to kill any stray animal they could get their hands on so those tricky bastards weren’t running free during the Olympics. However, she didn’t stop there. She went on a 10-minute rant about de-clawing cats, followed by another discussion about a slaughter-house video she watched on purpose. It was a hoot. Nothing really livens up a room like a discussion about castrating baby pigs.
I think I may have to install parental controls on her computer and phone before she loses all ability to function.
I’m not saying she’s the only one in the family with a tendency to be a Debby Downer, she’s just by far the craziest about it. My mother doesn’t bury her face into horrifying videos because she can’t look away, she just tells incredibly sad stories that make you want to cry into your green beans at the table. However, she’s tricky about it because you don’t always see it coming. Unlike my aunt who just blurts out gruesome facts like she has a sick form of turrets, my mother will begin a lovely story and end it with a gut-wrenching finale that destroys your entire universe.
One such story would go as follows: “Oh, I read this story today about this guy who owned a horse. He was a blind man, and he adopted the horse from a rescue shelter because it had been malnourished and was in bad shape. He and the horse grew very close, he was the blind man’s only friend because his wife and children had died in a house fire. The same fire that caused him to lose his sight. This horse was a blessing to him, and he began to cherish life again. They were inseparable. Then, one night as they were riding home, a rabid dog came out of nowhere and started trying to attack the man. The horse swooped into action and stomped the dog to death in order to defend his owner. Luckily, both the man and the horse were okay!”
“Aw, that’s a really great story,” one of us would innocently chime in.
“Yeah,” she would sadly say. “The horse ran out in front of a semi-truck and died the next day.”
Yeah. Mommy just launched a mental torpedo right into your face.
Of course, she didn’t do it on purpose. We all know what it’s like to want to share a heartbreaking story you had the displeasure of coming across that day. The problem with her stories, however, is that you never knew if it was going to be a nice, normal story or one that would make you bawl into your pillow later that night. It sort of became a game of suspense when she would begin a story at dinner. We would all hold our breath and wait for the ending. It got to where if she began a story with, “Aw, I heard a story today about this veteran and his dog…” we would all immediately drop our forks and brace for the worst.
Yes, my family has a pension for sharing tragic stories. However, I must admit that I am no better. The apple doesn’t fall far from the traumatizing tree. For example, my friends and I will be sitting around talking about a Lifetime movie we saw where a woman was brutally murdered so the criminals could steal her baby. My friends will be laughing about how hilarious it was to watch the bad acting during the movie and how the plot was completely over-the-top ridiculous, and I will cut everyone short and say, “That really happened, though.”
Annnnnd everyone will feel like a guilty jackass for laughing and the mood at the table will have completely changed. Not to mention the fact that I read a lot of articles and sometimes they contain some pretty awful information about recalls in China pertaining to food and medication. Let’s just say letting someone know that China raises seafood in sewage ponds is NOT the best topic to bring up while someone is eating a fish sandwich.
What can I say? I come by it honest.