The Influencer Infection

 


    You’re very kind. Too kind, probably. Most people are. It’s one of the big problems, you know? Too much goddamn kindness, not enough thinking. But thank you anyway. It fills the quiet.

    So, I’m looking around, I’m observing, it’s what I do. And I’ve been trying to figure something out. Maybe you can help me. This whole “influencer” thing. Huh? Influencers. What the fuck are these people influencing, besides the bowel movements of their equally vacant followers? Every pimply-faced nitwit with a phone and a ring light is now an “influencer.” Influencing what? The catastrophic decline of Western civilization? Because if so, they’re doing a bang-up job, I’ll give ‘em that.

    They stand there, "Hey guys! So today, I'm gonna unbox this box of shit I got sent for free!" And a million morons watch. Unboxing! It used to be, you got a box, you opened it, you took the shit out, that was the end of it! Now it’s a spectator sport. It’s content! Content! That’s another one of these anemic, bullshit words. Everything is “content.” It’s not a song, it’s not a book, it’s not a goddamn painting, it’s “content.” Like it’s some kind of beige, tasteless nutritional paste squeezed out of a tube to fill the empty fucking hours in your empty fucking lives.
And they’re all "creating." "I'm a creator!" Oh, are you? What'd you create? Did you create a new system of ethics? Did you create a vaccine for stupidity? No, you created a 30-second video of yourself putting on makeup while dancing to some other asshole’s music. Bravo. Michelangelo can posthumously suck your dick, I guess.

    It’s all part of the same mindless diarrhea of self-importance. Everybody’s got to have their “brand.” Their “platform.” Their “narrative.” What happened to just having a goddamn life? You know, a private life? Where you didn’t feel the need to photograph your fucking breakfast and broadcast it to a world that, believe me, does not give a rat’s ass whether your avocado toast has artisanal sea salt on it or not.

    "Be authentic!" they tell ya. "Live your truth!" Usually from people who wouldn't know authenticity if it bit them on their surgically enhanced, heavily filtered ass. Authenticity is now a performance. It's a curated series of carefully selected moments designed to *look* authentic. It's bullshit, squared. It's bullshit wearing a "Hello, My Name Is Bullshit" name tag.

    And they’re all about “engagement.” Gotta boost that engagement. You know what engagement used to mean? It meant you were gonna get married. Now it means some thumb-fingered imbecile tapped a little heart icon on your picture of your cat. Meaningless. Utterly, profoundly, cosmically meaningless.

    But hey, what do I know? I’m just an old cocksucker who used to string words together. Apparently, now I’d be a “long-form verbal content creator” with a “legacy platform.” Sounds important, doesn't it? It's not. It's just more syllables to say the same fucking thing.

    So, keep scrolling, keep liking, keep influencing. The planet’s on fire, the government’s a criminal enterprise, and your brain’s turning into oatmeal, but hey, at least you got good engagement on that picture of your fucking latte. Terrific. Just fucking terrific.

Thank you. Go fuck yourselves. I’m outta here.

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