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New Year, New You (But Not Really Because You’re An…)

Asshat

“I’ll never call yo mama outta her name, but I’ll damn sure call her Collect…” 

That’s the last one I promise. New Year, New Me, amiright? Besides, it ain’t my fault yo mama agrees with me…and answers my calls.

“New Year, New Me!”

“Cutting all the negativity out my life in 2016!”

“No more new baby faaaaaaathers/mothers…”

And, save for the part about not getting knocked up (or knocking up) AGAIN, I believe them all. Because New Year, a New EVEN SHITTIER Version of the Douche We Already Knew. I, for one, appreciate the unintentional transparency. If the move is to announce what will and won’t remain in your life, it’s mighty considerate to remind us the most ugly aspects of it will remain. Can’t pour syrup on shit and call it decency, you know?

I tend to consider myself a solutions-orientated person and I enjoy helping others. With that in mind, your shortcomings aren’t the result of some extrinsic shitstorm that meandered into your life somehow. It’s not as complex as you conveniently seem to make it. No, the problem (and remember, you can fill oceans with my compassion) lies in the fact that you’re a terrible human being that just isn’t good at being alive. You suck. The people that have enabled you to suck as bad as you do suck even more. Success and personal happiness aside, you’re a Shitkicking Assclown that probably shares posts on Facebook about what the best physical feature of each zodiac sign should be (as if each sign is basically a long ass incestuous breeding ground to ensure that all Scorpios have shiny fingernails. That’s not how any of this works, you SHIT. SIPPING. ASS. HAT). Or maybe you stop in doorways to check your phone while six people try to get by. I COULD continue to wish all the inconveniences of life onto you, exclusively and concurrently, or I can try to help these poor, lost Douchenozzles…

How do I know you’re an awful, insufferable person? Because, you Dried Pit Stain, you’ve been telling on yourself all year. From declaring yourself as ‘petty’, to your douchey thinkpieces, to your bathroom selfies, to the excessive sharing of your ugly ass baby, there’s a long trail of turd nuggets that point me in the direction of your delusional self-aggrandizing. Maybe you’re cognizant of your behavior; perhaps you aren’t. Or maybe- most likely- you just aren’t aware of how much of an Asshat you really are.

It isn’t entirely your fault, you poor Asswipe. Your friends and family have allowed you to become blissfully unaware of your transformation from irritating to fully terrible. Facebook is mostly culpable. There is no other space, digitally or otherwise, that applauds and encourages your increasingly egocentric conduct. Who else would take pride in seeing a picture of a weak ass Chipotle burrito bowl or read about how Blacks should be celebrating Kwanzaa because…? You don’t even know, either. That’s the worst part. You didn’t even read the article; you saw a heading that KIND of applied to something you MIGHT be persuaded to think is true so you shared it with all of us. I thank you for inundating my feed with that asinine shit. I also thank you for allowing me to see all the unsavory things in your personal life that you ought to be more hesitant about sharing. You’re not terrible because of the others that encourage this shitshow; you’re terrible for letting your shitty decisions bathe in their approval.

So how can we make you a less shitty version of yourself in 2016? Simple. Shut the hell up. Just stop saying or doing anything. Period. Don’t go outside. Don’t go online. Become a recluse; only appear in public to do whatever it is you do to earn money. Go home every night and sit in an armchair and let life pass you by because you clearly don’t contribute anything to it. Disappear from the collective consciousness of the social world entirely. If you have to welcome some of that negativity back into your life in 2016 for that to happen…collateral damage, right? Just don’t tell us about it this time next year. And give yo mama my Skype ID for me.

A.J. Armstrong is the Creator of The Fly Hobo and His World of Oddities

Play Me Off

Media

“Daddy, do you think I don’t have a soul because of my wires?”

I froze; this little girl stared at me with those big hazel eyes and clutched a beat up brown teddy bear. At this moment, I knew she deserved the truth. I swallowed, knelt down and grabbed her shoulders.

“Baby, I love your wires. You don’t have a soul because of those; you don’t have a soul because…well…baby, you’re light-skinned…”

*RIMSHOT* PLAY ME OFF, JAMES!!!

Let’s talk about social media, James. Remember when sane people were the only ones allowed online? No? Neither do I. What I do remember, though, is when people didn’t take it to such extremes. My homeboy would ‘poke’ 5 females a night on Facebook in 2005 and we all arched our eyebrows and commended his boldness (Eds. Note: Facebook was created and originally intended for college kids; I know 2005 seems early to some of you). Today, girls hold roundtables to determine maximum selfie ‘like’ time and some Central Nigga sits and creates random memes that take hold of the Twittersphere within minutes of anything newsworthy occurring. That’s all cool, I guess, but let’s talk about some people that need to just chill. Like forever.

Remember that Instagram post we saw yesterday, James? The one with the ‘model’ bent over some community pool with heels on? Yeah…that THOT. THOT is here to stay, James; don’t look at me like that. That THOT…THOT…got 128 ‘likes’. I ain’t mad at all, but the comments section made me purse my lips a bit:

“Daimt lil mamaa…”

@ric_slick_thick

“You got twwwo migetts in yo bacc pokets”

@show…SomethingTheNameIsReallyLongAndStupidAndImNotRepeatingItBecause…Stupid

“U need some street D numba 980…”

@SomeGuyThatWasAboutToHaveHisNumberAllOnThisPostForTheSakeOfMyArgument

Hahahahahaha…and this is some girl that lives in suburban Detroit.

How about these Twitter clowns though, James? The ones that…what’s that? Steak them? Oh…you HATE them…I do too, man. I do too. The charm of Twitter is that you have to write words to express your point. The sad part of Twitter is that people can’t spell (even with a Smartphone), can’t form whole sentences and sound ridiculous. The Gucci Mane rant was probably the funniest thing I’ve ever seen but damn…why are there periods in random. ass places, Guc’? Instagram is why women have left Twitter in the dust though. You don’t need a personality when you’re taking pictures of yourself in a dirty bathroom mirror with water spots dotting the bottom of your filtered posts. James just pointed out something really poignant about Instagram women but I won’t repeat it because…it’s not like those girls can read it, right? Bunch of THOTs.

#FelonCrushFriday. Remember when that doofy shit happened? Women need to explain why that was ever a thing. Not to me, though; I saw how ridiculous most of you all were on Father’s Day. How did you convince yourselves this was okay? The worst part about it all is that it spread SO quickly. I mean, I’m sitting back watching my Twitter timeline and I see the same felon that was on my Instagram feed. Then I open Facebook and I see the same felon that was in my homegirl’s GroupMe conversation. What makes it even worse is that I watched the BET Awards and I saw the same felon being mentioned by a famous THOT that was…play me the hell off, James.

Facebook died when old people could get accounts. I hate everything about Facebook. I hate the women so in love and insecure about their relationships that every uploaded picture is of her and her man doing…stuff. Mundane, pointless, annoying, stupid stuff that only serves as a confirmation to themselves that their boyfriend is theirs and only theirs. Crazy THOTs. I hate every teenaged picture of me floating around that terrible place. I don’t want to play Slotomania Slot Machines, yet I get invited twice daily by weird old women that probably use their two index fingers to type Facebook chat messages to people that aren’t even logged on. I hate Facebook so much. I really do; my feed is filled with God and Worldstar fights. Dear Jeebus, can you just send BOTH of these people to Hell for being douches? That actually might be my next status. Just pray for the babies and the THOTs, please. Play me off, James.

A.J. Armstrong really doesn’t get you people. He’s also the creator of The Fly Hobo and His World of Oddities. He also understands the irony of sharing this with his Facebook friends so…shut up