The Worst thing on the Internet
I am lower than the lowest internet troll.
I am lower than the snowflake who joins Facebook groups meant expressly for sharing offensive memes, who then goes and reports memes posted in said group when they find them offensive.
I am lower than the pyramid schemer who gunks up your inbox with products you not only do not want, but positively cannot wrap your mind around the possibility that anyone, anywhere, could ever want them.
Indeed, there is no one in all the internet who is lower than me.
Hackers and crackers and identity thieves, you are like the Franco or Mussolini in comparison to the supreme evil that is me.
Makers of pop-up ads and unskippable commercials that show up randomly in the middle of a Facebook video, instead of at the beginning or end of the video, or hell, even at some transitional moment during the video — you are as the little children who want to grow up to be big and strong, while I am what is big and strong.
Content marketers and web designers who make those annoying little buttons that say “Subscribe to our Mailing List” which twitch or bounce every few seconds so you can’t tune them out and fill the reader with so much rage it just makes you want to lay a curse on Neil Patel, Gary V, and all who follow their path of darkness… you are like unto the insignificant unsolicited sales email that ends up harmlessly stuffed into the spam folder in comparison to the knock on the door from a flesh-and-blood door to door salesman that is my diabolical power.
For yes, even influencers, inspirers, and LinkedIn coaches tremble, scratch out their eyes, and rip out their hair at my terrible footstep.
I am more misleading than the writers of clickbait articles, who sucker you in with a semi-interesting story that gets cut off halfway through the preview and put that next to some juicy blonde with her DDs practically popping out of her tank top, only once you click the link you end up on some infinite scrolling list where there is no conclusion to the story and no DDs to be found.
I am less accountable for my actions than the e-thot who literally makes her living by selling nudes and porn videos on her OnlyFans account, but then whines about how men are pigs who insist on sexualizing women all the time and immediately accuses anyone of victim-blaming if they attempt to point out the performative contradiction at work here.
I am more predictable than the comment that inevitably shows up in every single thread online, which brings up Trump and how bad he is, even if the thread is wholly unrelated to politics. Like seriously, you’d see it even if you’re having an in-depth discussion of the finer points of the Arian heresy in early Christianity. Somebody would pop up and start blathering on about Trump because that’s just the politically-saturated sort of world we live in nowadays.
Oh yes, I have no spine and it’s surprising I manage to walk on two legs instead of writhing on the ground like some kinda frickin snakey-snake.
I am less original than a YouTube reaction video.
I am more annoying than a paywall on a random news site you visited for one article and know you’re never going to return to.
I am more obnoxious than the notifications you get on social media sites telling you when other people comment on a post you’ve commented on, like you actually give a rat’s ass.
I am the nadir of all forms of life on the internet.
I am the place where self-respect goes to die.
I make the virtue-signallers look like beacons of integrity.
Who am I?
What am I?
Do you know me?
Oh yes, you know me.
I’m that son of a bitch who goes back and edits all my comments after losing an argument on the internet, so no one will know what I said and nobody will see my foot in my mouth.
That is… no one will know, except for me.
And my shame is without end.