I suppose one of my character flaws is that I have very little patience for other people’s personality “quirks”. I go from zero to off-the-charts irritated quickly when confronted with nonsense generated to gain attention or solicit friendships. Being a borderline shut-in for most of my twenties provided me with the opportunity to spend enormous amounts of time with my head up my own ass, examining what I was about and why, and I came out the other side with one eyebrow permanently cocked Spock-style with disdain at...well, pretty much the entire universe.
As the years have marched on, our general culture has morphed into that guy that stands in the background of news reports done live and on the street who jumps up and down, waving his hands, perhaps pointing at his genitals. People pour every single thought, feeling, and deepest secret out into the world. Once, it was done to perhaps find fellowship with others feeling and thinking the same sort of thing and, ultimately, lead to some sort of personal epiphany. Nowadays? It’s less about finding fellowship and more about FML.
Yes, the delicious, hyperbolic FML, which stands for “Fuck My Life”. In the right hands, it can serve as a semi-amusing, ironic statement about just how privileged one’s life actually is. For instance, I was barbecuing yesterday and left the pork chops on a bit too long, resulting in dry pork. FML, y’all, FML. It’s “funny” because I can afford to cook pork on the barbecue and I live in a neighborhood where I can go outside without fear and do said barbecuing. Har har....har. But more often than not, FML is in the wrong hands, the hands of insipid douchebags who really do think not getting a good parking space or not getting a phone call from a potential dating candidate equals a life that should be crammed down the nearest shitter. People who can’t wrap their brains around the concept of changing a tire let alone privilege.
These are the people who will write screeds on the internet about every single problem they have, from the small to the overwhelming. Of course, the small problem could very well be overwhelming, depending on what kind of delicate flower we’re dealing with. As it’s in many people’s natures to aid those we sense might be in a bit of a pickle, commenters subsequently fall over themselves to provide the writer with possible solutions, information, and what have you. The writer dries his/her salty tears and thanks everyone for the internet hugs and positive vibes (heretofore known as “pozzies”) and swears they are going to CONQUER THIS PROBLEM.
Two days later, the writer has an update. Wait, it’s not an update, it’s a list of reasons why all the good suggestions given to him/her by well-meaning suckers – I mean, people – simply will not work and oh my god and WTF and FML. Second verse, same as the first and scooby dooby doo. It’s as if something clicks in these creatures’ heads – “if I actually solve my problem or take steps to do so, I will no longer have the shiny spotlight of attention focused on me and I will be expected to conduct my affairs like a grown-up person does! THIS SHALL NOT PASS!” And the well-meaning suckers – I mean, people – will continue to fall for the same shit, different day and I will wish to be rendered sightless by a swarm of Africanized bees that have come for the sole purpose of stinging my eyeballs out of my head.
Ah! Hyperbole! My theme(ish), I have found you. Hyperbole is used by anyone who’s ever said “I would kill to get a shirtless Justin Timberlake to serve me a bowl of dulce de leche ice cream as I recline on my chaise lounge”. My problem with hyperbole is that it’s so dull. I mean, hyperbole your ass off all you want, but if you’re going to hyper your bole, jazz it up. If your life is such a gut-wrenching nightmare of a traumatic cesspool of a dungheap because that book you wanted from the library is out on loan for another two weeks and no, the librarian will not tell you who has it and no, the librarian will not call that person and demand they finish reading it so you can finally tuck into “Life-o-Matic: Gallagher’s Smashed Watermelons For the Soul”, then you’d better bring some serious shit in order to keep my attention and not cause me to flip off my computer screen with two emphatic fuck-you-fingers.
Don’t just drop the FML like you’re dropping the mic at the end of your set at the Dysfunctional Coffee House and Espresso Pump, fucking tear shit up and make your hyperbolic statement one for the ages. In an earlier paragraph, for example, I stated that I wished to be blinded rather than read self-absorbed internet screeds from infantile people who prefer drama over a low-key, ordinary life. I could have left it at “I wish to be rendered sightless”, but instead, I chose to BEDAZZLE(tm) that sentence with the desire that my sightlessness come at the teeny apiarian hands (claws? Mitts? Pincers?) of Africanized bees (very aggressive, those bees) whose only mission in life isn’t to reproduce or make sweet, sweet honey, but to POKE OUT MY EYEBALLS.
If we’re doomed to live in a self-absorbed culture that results in people doing whatever it takes to get all eyes on them/prove what unique critters they are/set themselves apart from those boring jerkwads who just go to work and pay their bills and do weekend trips to assorted places with their families and/or friends, then you had damn well better step the fuck up and entertain me while you’re sadmouthing everything in your universe in order to grab some of those cozy internet hugs-n-pozzies. Is your old lady givin’ you a hassle because you decided to buy all of “Space: 1999” on Blu-Ray instead of paying the gas bill, and the resulting argument made you feel sad and, like, only your internet friends truly understand how “Space:1999” on Blu-Ray (BLU-RAY!!!) is way more important than some stupid gas bill? The only way to avoid the negative Nancies who are going to shit all over you even more than your ole lady by agreeing with your ole lady is to make that argument and subsequent realization that internet friends will always support your fucking bullshit as flashy and over-the-top as a kickline at a Vegas titty show. Employ metaphors, dramatic ellipses, plenty of *actions* (i.e. *rolls eyes*), and have at least one, if not TWO potential catchphrases tucked away in your telling. Don’t make the mistake of capping it with a mere “FML”, though. “FML” is simply not powerful enough to communicate to your fans (because that’s what you really want - fans, not friends) the gravity and the pathos of your previous evening’s disagreement. There is only one way to conclude your sordid, heartbreaking tale.
YOU MUST CREATE YOUR OWN INTERNET MEME.
YES. Every SINGLE TIME you saddle up and are going to throw down your despair about the Bath and Body Works discontinuing the Pink Grapefruit scent or someone not being nominated for an Academy Award, it must conclude with a viable Internet Meme. I know, I know, so many have been taken already, but you’ve been telling us how smart and clever and unique and zany and yet delicate and fragile and damaged you are – I know you’ve got it in you to put on a true show every single time you take to Facebook, Twitter, your blog, your other blog, and Tumblr. Go forth, attention seeker, and THRIVE.
That pozzie right there? Free of charge, honeydrawerses, free of charge.
