InfluentHELL

Social media is a gift and a curse. I think the whole world can agree on that much. For every interesting product, artist, or comedian we discover through our daily scrolling there are thousands of “influencers” hawking tummy tea we have to dodge to get to the posts we want to see. There was a point in time in my life where I thought the entire thing was a curse. I deleted my Facebook and Twitter, kept Instagram but deleted the app off my phone, and was pretty happy doing so. I’d had enough of the people who fake their entire online existence when I knew them in real life or watching someone get brain washed on the latest popular political opinion. In short – I was a hater. I hated social media and I blamed it on everyone else except myself.

It's easy to become a hater. Much easier than almost anything in the world. And the problem is you don’t even see it coming. Like Kanye said – “I’m gifted at finding what I don’t like the most.” The Hell or Hangover empire is built off blogs about things I do not like and this blog could easily turn into a diatribe about how social media has rotted our brains. But I am going to resist that temptation and look inward.

After being off of social media for so long I was able to really understand what I didn’t like about it. And it had nothing to do with anyone else – it had everything to do with myself. I’m a narcissist. There, I said it. I like me some me. I’m admitting it to you so you can admit it to yourself.  I like scrolling through other people’s posts, sure, but I love posting. Watching the ‘likes’ come in by the dozen gets me a little wet. What can I say? And everyone reading this feels the same. It’s human nature.

So while I do despise half the people on the internet I also despise myself every time I hit post on one of these blogs because I know I am going to sit on my phone all day and watch for who liked it, wondering every second what other people think. I become a zombie when I open up any social media app. Scrolling literally takes over my brain. And more than anything I do not want to become one of those people you dread to see pop up on your Instagram stories. “Oh god, will this guy just stop posting his stupid fucking stories?” “Who does he think he is, Hemmingway?” “Here we go, another stupid blog from Muka that I’m not going to read.” I am terrified of becoming the annoying guy.

What’s worse is that I’ve noticed I passed this gene down to my daughter. We were walking to the park yesterday and there was a big puddle. She bent over to the point of almost falling and started waving at herself. “Oh, hi. Awww, you so pretty,” she said. I looked into the puddle thinking there was a shiny rock at the bottom and low and behold there were our reflections. My daughter is a looker, so I get it, but I realized this is something we both need to guard against. I had the urge to push her in to teach her a lifelong lesson (but I could never - that’s my baby girl). This moment illuminated a lot I could have already learned by simply remembering the story of Narcissus. If you don’t remember the story it’s about a Greek God who is so ridiculously handsome that he can’t move after seeing his reflection in a pool of water. He is the God of vanity. Sometimes I feel like Narcissus (minus the ridiculously handsome part), and social media feels like the pool of water.

What I’ve decided to do with this blog is to write four rules for myself. This blog will be my way of keeping myself honest as I pepper you with my dumbass blogs every week. As this audience grows by a whopping 1 new subscriber a month, by the year 2080, I will have a massive following of around 600 people. Women will be throwing themselves at me because of my way with words (LOL), men will want to be me (LOL), and I’ll have to remember that I’m still just an idiot writing whatever pops into my liquor addled brain.

But this blog will also be a promise. For the small number of people who actually read this every week I couldn’t be more thankful. Really, the gift of social media is happening right here. The fact that I’m able to post anything that’s longer than 140 characters and that anyone will actually read it blows my mind. So, thanks to everyone who’s read and reposted and liked and shared. It means the world to me and I promise, no matter how big we get here (I’d be happy with 100 subscribers), I will never…

1 – Record a video that starts with ‘hey guys’

This might be my biggest pet peeve with influencers. The two words ‘hey guys’ give me douche chills up and down my spine. I have an irrational urge to chuck my phone against a wall every time I hear it. It’s as if the person who says this assumes that everyone has just been sitting by their phones, waiting for this exact moment. “Oh my god! They’re talking to me! They just said ‘hey guys’! I’m one of those guys!” The narcissism is so strong in these people that they actually believe we give a shit about what they have to say. I think the only person who should be allowed to start a video with ‘hey guys’ is the President. Imagine Joe Biden having the camera facing towards him and saying “Ahhhahh heeeeyey guys, President Jill, I mean Joe here.” Maybe then I’d perk up and listen, for a laugh at the very least.

Saying ‘hey guys’ is bad when the person has a ton of followers but it’s even worse when the person is relatively unknown. What guys are you talking to? You have 100 followers. Give me a fucking break. No one’s listening – just stop it. And I am one of those people with a low follower count. So if you ever see a post where my ugly mug is in the shot, and I start with the term ‘hey guys’, you have permission to punch me in the fucking face next time you see me.

2 – Thirst Trap

The amount of cheesecake on Instagram should be outlawed. I had the misfortune of looking up what Drake meant in his latest song ‘You Broke My Heart’ when he said “she got a Jung body”. He was referring to Doctor Jung, a man known for his prowess in the Brazilian Butt Lift game. When I looked at this fine Doctor’s Instagram I was immediately peppered with ass videos in the “suggested reels” area for the next month. I started searching random words like ‘cat’ and ‘dog’ to rearrange my algorithm. There is more ass and tits on Instagram than your local strip club. It’s no wonder Gen Z doesn’t leave the house or have sex. It’s all right there in their pocket.

So, If I happen to get a book agent, somehow sell my book to a publisher, and make a post shirtless with my book blocking out my penis – end me. No seriously. Take me out. I don’t want to live anymore and posting any pictures without a shirt on is a cry for help. (Also, my hairy chest and stomach would make someone throw up before it made them thirsty.)

3 – Post about political issues

When is this trend going to stop? I mean this dead seriously. With a new catastrophe popping up daily on the news why does every Tom, Dick, and Harry on social media feel the need to make a comment on it? It’s infuriating. Your followers don’t care. They want to go on their phones and either a) look at cheesecake (see rule 2) or b) scroll aimlessly to forget about their awful job or spouse or whatever other stressful thing they are ignoring. They do not care about the latest “genocide” you are hell bent on stopping with your re-post. I’m sure Benjamin Netanyahu is going to stop trying to kill terrorists because you made a post about it! “Oh no, Twatty McTwatface, from Freehold, New Jersey says that Israel is very bad, maybe we should stop and listen,” Netanyahu says in his next cabinet meeting while trying to fight a war. You are screaming unintelligible, uneducated, bullshit into the void. For the love of God stop. You’re embarrassing yourself.

If I ever give a fuck enough about a political issue and I start posting about it, the world has already gone too far. Just let it burn, and me with it.

4 – Post about a “National Holiday”

There are 11 real national holidays. That’s it. But according to Instagram there are 432 fake “national holidays” that people feel the need to post about. “National Women’s Day” just passed – as if all the days in my household are not National Women’s Day. I’m surrounded by women. They rule my life. So sue me if I don’t make a post celebrating them even more than I already do. January 19^th is national popcorn day. And some jerkoff on social media went to a movie that day just to post a picture with themselves and a bag of popcorn. I don’t need National Margarita Day to pound a couple of tequilas. National Fuck Yourself Day should be something we start. It will be every year on May 20^th, my birthday, and the point of the holiday will be to…you guessed it…go fuck yourself.

The only true national holiday I will be posting is my wife’s birthday. If you’re married then you know your wife’s birthday is more important than any other day of the year. You must post and you must be attentive to her every need for that day and the month following. But if you ever see me veer off the path and make a post about No Diet Day (May 6^th – no seriously, look it up) I want you to change all of my passwords and lock me out of all my social media accounts. I don’t deserve them.

P.S. – After I post this blog I am shutting off my phone.

P.P.S – Yea right, I’ll be refreshing to see who read it for the next 8 hours.

P.P.P.S – Follow me @alexmooka on Instagram and Twitter.