“Maybe you’ve got a little buddy there to help you eat a strawberry three times the size of your body, but we all die alone.”
No, really. Who writes this shit?
So, the setup is simply that I have a friend who adores turtles. A life passion sort of thing. Naturally, I am compelled, then, to forward her any turtle-related stuff I encounter in the n’ether*. Such as a HuffPo temptation called, “24 Tiny Turtles Who Need A Reality Check”. And, yes, the pictures run the gamut from cute to fascinating, but perhaps the most striking thing is the open nihilism of the captions for the slide show. No, seriously, it is clearly somebody’s idea of a joke, but come on:
• “Do you think life is a game? It’s time to stop eating that strawberry and get a job.”
• “What could you possibly accomplish with your life? You’re smaller than a banana.”
• “Oh, look at us, we’re three tiny turtles all in a row. Well, NEWSFLASH: life is full of pain.”
• “Not only does this penny show your scale, tiny guy, it’s a reminder that you’ve never earned a penny a day in your life.”
• “Maybe you’ve got a little buddy there to help you eat a strawberry three times the size of your body, but we all die alone.”
These aren’t jokes. They’re fortune cookies pulled straight from the Devil’s ruddy bum.
And, no, the advice to not attempt to write comedy while hung over and jonesing for a rail has never really worked out well for anyone who has ventured forth from such crossroads.
Really, though: Who writes this shit?
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* That would be “net aether”. No, it’s not some trendy word. I just thought of it. Figured to try it out. I mean, you know. I loathe cutesy words like interwebs, and the intertubes joke gets old after a while.
B.D.'s Last Refuge 