At this point, I’m pretty sure I cry-wolfed myself into not being able to ever write about anything that’s serious or real without people automatically brushing it off as fraudulent hogwash. Granted, some people will still take it jussst serious enough to send me a short, 30-page cease and desist document. But still, it’s like I completed some kind of deranged devolution from a real person to an impish character of sorts. That’s what I’ve become–The Boy Who Wrote Poppycock. Whatever. I’ve made my bed so I’ll pathologically lie in it too.
The option of saving my professional integrity and redeeming myself with months worth of genuine blogs on certifiable topics sounds tempting, but I have an ominous feeling I’ll just end up quinquagintupling down and continuing to do what I’ve been doing. Worst case scenario is that I get fired or laid off, then use my Early Childhood Special Education degree to get a new job from an employer who doesn’t know how to search people’s names on the internet.
“Oh that? Hahaha! Don’t worry about that. There never even was any cocaine. It was all just an elaborate scheme, so you actually CAN hire me now.”
Speaking of the internet, fake stories, undiagnosed sociopathy, professional careers, and finding new jobs…
Up until today, I’ve logged on to LinkedIn at least never, and I’ve wondered about what was happening on it even less than that. To me, it was just a formal site for unsuccessfully networking with professionals and unsuccessfully sharing resumes. I cared about it with the apathy of a thousand yawns and reserved my passionate emotions (hatred, ire, revulsion) for other social media apps and their abominable users.
I’ve written about the horniest and corniest young men on Twitter to the point where the horse’s corpse has been beaten to cremation. I’ve trashed the tweet thieves ad nauseam, attacked the astrology-worshippers, and let the chopper spray all over the faces and bodies of former Vine stars. But this whole time, I’ve been missing out on a completely different—and possibly worse—mine of gold-plated cyber shit.
During this disturbing discovery, I realized that LinkedIn has its own version of insufferable “influencers” and gag-inducing posts. And yes, I realize that I’m years late on this one, but yet here I still am, desperately making a content out of a mole hill.
Get a load of Richard over here and his weird obsession with juicy bits.
How do we “consume” books? We fucking read them, Tony Cock. We don’t listen to Alvin & The Chipmunks remixes to them on our headphones like you. We simply read them. We’re not attempting to have unsolicited, in-depth discussions with Stephen King afterwards. We just read them. We’re not channeling Herman Melville’s spirit to ask him analytical questions about Moby Dick, you literal Dick.
Oh really, Daniel? Last night my ten month old son asked me about work, and I explained to him that I was in the middle of blogging and what that meant. After listening for a while he shit and pissed all over his diaper. Nailed it.
The Tweetdeckers of LinkedIn
Take the time to read this insanely viral StinkedIn (pun about how much LinkedIn stinks) post from someone a little more esteemed than a clout-chasing, community college kid who steals tweets because he wants to get sucked off in his Dodge Dakota by Twitter girls who live on the other
side timezone of Texas.
Upon first glance, it might come across as a shitty, fabricated story from a self-congratulatory egotist who’s patting herself on the back under the guise of “inspiring” others. Upon second glance, that’s exactly what it is. You hired someone solely because he had the passion and determination to get slightly wet in order to try to obtain a salary? 95K working-class adults read that shit and thought to themselves, “hell yeah.” Terrifying.
Even scarier? The comments:
This appears to be some kind of dystopian scenario where everyone is forced to cyber praise their leaders all day in order to power their surroundings and earn merits.
Even cornier? The fact that “reputable professionals” are aggressively copy-and-pasting this fake story and keeping it in the first person to play it off as their own.
So yeah, I’m not going to dive any deeper than this for now, but I honestly think it might be my new least favorite social media platform. If you removed all the flavor from Facebook and then puréed it, you’d have LinkedIn.