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Barstool Instagram Chronicles Part 2

 

The past few months have been a colossal struggle for me, socially and professionally. Not because of the deprivation of personal interactions or the “helpless feeling” of watching the world and economy slowly crumble at the hands of a mysteriously deadly virus. But because I’ve been unfairly besmirched by a widespread rumor that I’m some kind of pathetic “social media intern“ who’s in charge of receiving submissions for the Barstool Instagram page.

 

 

Since early April, my DMs have been inundated by videos of Knockoff Knoxvilles and Pontius Pilots crash landing into beer pong tables and setting their friends ablaze in hopes of being featured on our infamous Instagram page. It’s gotten to the point where I almost completely lost the primal instinct to even entertain the women who periodically grace my direct messages with their silly theatrics. 

 

 

  

Eventually, it started feeling like these girls actually didn't have any romantic or sexual interest in me at all, and they were just using me as a “means to to an end” or something. Who’s to say, though?

 

 

 

At times, curiosity and Pavlovian principles got the best of me, and I couldn’t help but respond to them (fellas, do you blame me?). But I almost always left the conversation even more perplexed and lonely. 

 

 

 

The worst part about sifting through all the videos, besides the fact that they are almost always impossibly awful from start to finish, is that I seem to be too old and out of touch with the comedic trends of modern college kids to even find an ironic sense of entertainment in them. My only defense mechanism, rendered useless. And from my research, the male gender's submissions were infinitely worse. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Worse yet, it seemed like some of the gentlemen didn’t even consider me the “means to an end.” I was merely a lowly messenger boy. I may as well have been a pigeon to these fellas.

 

And I was a slave to their demands. 

 

As bad as most of the videos are, I’m only ever rubbed the wrong way when the “stars” of the submissions are young children who have no intention of being filmed and turned into fodder for the madmen in the Barstool Instagram Instagram comment section. As a former early intervention specialist who’s worked professionally with babies, toddlers, and things like that, I know exactly how important it is to treat them with respect and refrain from exploiting them for personal gain.
 

 

So when I get a video of a grown woman, starving for viral internet fame and using “jump scare” tactics to frighten her poor little child, who’s probably starving for meaningful interactions with his mother and food, I get a little defensive. Instead of simply ignoring this broad’s carnal cries for clout, I decided to teach her an important lesson about consent.

 

This lass was mercilessly unrelenting. It was almost like she was so lost in the facade that she was going to achieve viral stardom that she was willing to go through the most ridiculous and illogical acts to get it done, even if it meant impersonating a toddler in an email exchange to an ANUS host. 

 

 

In fact, she was so impatient and eager to get on the Barstool page, she started sending me additional videos of herself attempting to smoke drugs from weed apparati. 

 

Not on my watch. 

 

Oh, so you want me to post a video of these teenie weenie tots at their most emotionally vulnerable moments on an account with 8 million rabid followers? Imagine the shame and embarrassment they’d feel upon getting ruthlessly heckled in the comment section by the most savage midfielders at St. Joseph Prep. Hell no. 

 

 

 

No harm on my end. 

  

Ok, so the following video was actually pretty good, and the girl who sent it was more resilient than a Navy SEAL, so I decided to actually meet her requests. 

 

 

 

Her video was only 8 seconds, so to ensure that it would at least be a little bit longer than the advertisement beforehand, I edited it into a 40 second clip. Enjoy.