Look, things are not going well for me right now, for no particularly good reason. Problems that once seemed commonplace ("Oh damn, the check engine light is on") now seem catastrophic ("NOT THE CHECK ENGINE LIGHT!"). Throw in enough little, normal problems and you have the situation in which I've currently found myself -- whimpering behind my desk at work.
BUT HERE'S THE THING.
I go to blogs and facebook (and now that behemoth Twitter, brought by the foulest wind off the Great Salt Lake on an icy winter's day, a stinking abscess on my soul, an all-around plague upon the children of men*) and I am completely blown away by sheer lameness.
You made a smoothie? Oh, really? Was it nummers? Was it nummers to your tummers?
I am happy!
I am annoyed!
I am mildly constipated!
What? A friend with whom I have a troublingly codependent relationship has said something??? *Snuggle!* *Giggle!* *Frown!* *Gulp!* *Gasps!*
(Question: Can you *litigates*? *philosophizes*? *establishes political foundation by which our future republic shall be run*? *thinks dirty thoughts while pretending to pay attention in church*? *feigns enthusiasm*? *sucks up*? *represses urge to pee*? *regrets life choices*? *ignores funny taste in mouth*?)
I think I would like Twitter better if it were more like Survivor, The Bachelor, and American Idol -- once you have proven yourself useless, ugly, or untalented, you have to leave the twittersphere in a slump of shame. NO CONFETTI OR MONEY OR ROSES FOR YOU!
Granted, there will always be someone who was in the Top 3 all season long and then suddenly sends a model down the runway wearing nothing but neon pink string and washers (DAMN YOU, EMILIO! RT: @emiliosmodel: I'm gonna straight up murder that douche) but the possibility of being called the weakest link would forever force people to try their hardest be on their A-Game.
(Mixed metaphors = mark of tired Ru. *slowly dies inside* #needssteak&aDietCoke #existentialcrisis)
NO MORE FAILURE, INTERNET. Let's all commit to reaching beyond the easily grasped standard of mediocrity, and remove this specter of asshatism from our collective generation. Together, we shall move forward with all means of valor, casting false self-deprecation in the form of announcements of "failure," exclamation points, and any mention of chocolate by the wayside, knowing these things to be mere crutches of the intellectually untaxed and Cathy comic strip wannabees, and striving for a reduction of lameness and oversharing, which is the truest mark of honor and glory we may hope to achieve.
Try outdoing that in 140 characters, bitches.
* I'M SORRY, I FEEL STRONGLY ABOUT TWITTER, OK?