That Pitchfork Mentality

Nobody cares if they become part of the lynch mob. Why? It’s all on Twitter/Facebook anyway.I don’t care how he feels in real life, who she is to her family/friends, because I’m just a username that I can easily change; and you messed up and I’d love to give you an idea of just how much you did even if you’d probably never meet me ever. Because you messed up big time, and nobody’s going to be more embarrassing than you (at least, for a few more hours). Will my words burn? I hope it would. I hope it would seep into your skin, into your core, and taunt you in your sleep that YOU.MESSED.UP. I hope you dream dreams of that awful moment and haunt you for the rest of your life. Oh, because if I were there, or I was there, oh I saw you messing up. It was awful. It was the worst flop ever. You deserve to be on the Guinness for this amazing hate filled flop of yours.

— Does that feel good? Did it get you howling in laughter, or relieved greatly of the sting of loss? Does it give us satisfaction of being ‘better’, of turning back time and changing certain events? If we look back at our lives will we remember this one single moment when we insulted someone behind the virtual shelter of our computer/tablet screen and howl in laughter at how right, and funny, oh, and how witty we were? Will this increase my market value, my status in society, get me a good partner, send my kids to prestigious schools — only for them to learn the same things that I’m doing to those I witness have failed at one single point in their lives?

A little wisdom before posting, please.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s