I’m the type of person who beats a dead horse until it’s, well, dead. And then, just to make sure it’s really dead, I circle back once, twice, thirty-three times to verify. Sorry for the metaphor, PETA. Yet, you can rest easy knowing that no animals were harmed in the making of this blog article. In my previous articles, I’ve bitched about men, social media, phones . . . You’re right: At this rate, we’ll be here for a while. Let’s save some time and say I’ve bitched about quite a lot over the past two years. In writing, anyway. Yeah, sure, in person, too. Today is no different; I’m here . . .
I have a problem. Insert joke, right? Because, as we all know (those who stay up to date with my blog and column, anyway), I have more than just a problem. However, the problem I have today, the problem I’m facing this Sunday morning, is—go figure—the gay community. Last fall, I wrote an article on how disappointed I am in the gay community. Well, plot twist, the gay community is still disappointing and disheartening. Or, to be blunt, the gay community is STILL fucked. Let's have an open chat because I'm genuinely curious about something: What is the appeal of posting pictures of . . .
If I ever see Mark Zuckerberg in public, I’m going to walk right up to him and tell him to eat a dick. Maybe I’ll punch him in the face. Maybe I’ll just keep on walking. After all, jail is no place for a delicate flower like me. Still, I’ll at least give him the finger. (For legal purposes, let me be clear: I’m not going to attack Fuckerberg—I mean, Zuckerberg. Small joke.) Though, the same thought is present for the dimwit who created Twitter, Instagram . . . What the hell? Let’s throw in the founders of Snapchat, Tumblr, TikTok, Telegram, Grindr, porn sites, and any other app that . . .
I can’t believe I’m writing this blog article. I can’t believe it’s necessary for me to write this blog article. Yet, here we are: sipping on hard seltzers and gossiping about sex, love, relationships, and the gay community. Fascinating stuff, really. Cue the eye roll. I partly blame myself. If you’re new to my work, shame on you. I wrote an article last year: “Be Careful What You Wish For.” Apparently, though, I didn’t read it. Too many times I’ve wished for a life similar to Carrie Bradshaw’s. Hell, I even refer to myself as “the male Carrie Bradshaw.” So, here we are: drinking hard . . .
For the past few years, I've occasionally slash consistently bitched about different social media platforms for myriad reasons via both my blog and column in Rage Monthly. Now, any sane, rational individual who hates social media so much would, you know, delete Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter, and never look back. The jokes on you! I never said I was sane or rational. Perhaps I'm a masochist, crazy, or just a dumbass for staying active on social media? Maybe I want something to bitch about, and that's why I keep an online presence? Could I even be a hypocrite for complaining so . . .