I’m Talking About Hitler And Baby Rape

I am going to write something outlandish because I know you will read it. I am going to vaguely reference celebrities and pop culture and the news du jour because I know that makes you wet. I will not think very hard about what I am writing because it does not matter. I will use buzzwords that are likely to arouse anger and vitriol because how you feel the moment you lay your eyes on the page is more important than what I’m actually trying to say.

I need to start off with a bang: the headline is everything. Once you’ve click through to the page, you are mine. I own that little piece of your digital soul, trapped inside my ones and twos. Whether you read the rest of the article is of little significance to me. It is not your approval I want, just your patronization.

I do not spend time crafting my words, artfully choosing the right combination of sounds to elucidate a noble or important idea. Rather, I spit out the first, loosely constructed venomous thought that comes into my head. Because you don’t want me well thought out.

I will churn out document after document until I come up with the right mixture of words and phrases and implied sentiments that force you to click share. Because I need you to share. It is easier to make you hate me, but I don’t care about how you feel about what I’ve created. I don’t care about you. I don’t care.

You will probably hate this and, in turn, me.

I will see the page and count the numbers. My only solace is found within the quantifiable amount of readers and social media shares on the page. I will troll the comments section and feel nothing. I will glaze over your sometimes funny sometimes smart sometimes angry sometimes inane comments, reading them without really letting them enter my psyche.

Every time you click on my page, you are giving me life. Every time you click on my page. Because I am your god. Not the one that created you, but the one created by you. The golden shrine constructed to make you feel better about the way you live your life. To justify your own degeneration.

I feed you what you want to consume. Anger and sadness and ignorance on a silver platter. Everything I create is bullshit laced with legitimacy. And I don’t care. Thought Catalog Logo Mark

Read more from Wayne Schutsky here.

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