I’m still unsure of this whole Gab business. As far as I can tell it’s entirely populated by those of an alt right political persuasion. Even though I identify and agree with many of the alt right’s tenets, an echo chamber is still an echo chamber and a group love-in is still puke inducing.
“I would never want to join any club that would have someone like me as a member.” Attributed to Groucho Marx. I wear this one on my sleeve. I don’t want to join your club. I don’t want to be your friend. And I certainly don’t want to get with your program. I just want to be left alone while I sell lots of books.
The problem is that those two things do not go together. My brother told me that I should be on instagram. Doesn’t he know that I don’t own a fucking camera? I don’t even have one on my phone. If I’m ever in a car accident I’ll just have to get out of the car and pretend to take pictures of the damage so the other party who is obviously at fault will get all intimidated and stuff.
What is a writer supposed to do with a photo sharing platform? How many pictures of a guy sitting at a keyboard can people take? But then again I shouldn’t be surprised at this. I’m approaching this from the wrong angle. I’m thinking that they will think like me where in fact they don’t think like me at all. They think like people who want to join the club.
Like Gab. That’s a big club based on the popularity of what you post. It’s a competition to get “likes”. Whoever invented likes back when the internet was forming like some sea dwelling amoeba should be taken outside and shot against a pockmarked wall. And then propped up and shot again. I got on Gab because it was a startup and I figured that if I got in on the ground then the going might be good. Nah, the going is just like any association of its type.
Today one of the trending hashtags is about International Men’s Day. I didn’t even know that we have a day. The hashtag is filled with people gushing about how awesome it is that men have a day. Like I said, puke inducing. So I wrote this.
You will notice that I did not get any likes. Woe is me, oh woe is me. What shall I do?
I have people follow me who I do not know. I wonder if I should reciprocate but immediately I am filled with visceral disgust at the fact that I am even contemplating such a course of action. The truth is that I do not need other people around me to feel better about myself. When I was a kid I’d hang out in my room and read books or design worlds for my D&D game. Kids would come over “to play”. What is this play thing of which you speak?
I haven’t changed much in adult life. I was at my cricket club yesterday watching the games as I’ve been a bit unwell and I wasn’t right to play this weekend. I spoke to some people but really I was quite happy with my beer in the sun, watching the game on my own. If someone came close I’d take out my phone and pretend to take pictures of birds.
I suppose I could do that on instagram. Here’s a photo of a magpie that I took today, buy a fucking book, you bastard. It could work. Stranger things have happened.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m a funny guy in real life. Truly I am. The life of the party and all that. I can have people in hysterics for hours if my mood takes me. But there always comes a point where I’ve had enough and then I get up and walk out. No fucking around. I was having fun but I don’t think that I’m having fun anymore so goodbye. People can’t handle that. Especially when you’re the host. They don’t understand why you’re handing them their coats. They are gobsmacked that you’re behaving in a manner that indicates that you do not want to be a member of the club.
Well no shit, Sherlock. How many times do I have to say it? I don’t get these snooty men’s clubs in the city. What are you supposed to do in there? Sit around and talk? Women sit around and talk. Men sit around and punch each other in the face.
I’ve been watching old Clint Eastwood movies. I watched The Eiger Sanction the other day. There’s a scene where Clint and this airline hostie are seducing each other. Clint has her back at his very impressive bachelor pad. Then he uses his big line:
“I’m going to take you upstairs and rape you.”
Que girl giggling as she calls him a naughty man or something like that. Then it turns out that she has betrayed him so he kicks her out and tells her to take the twenty dollar bill in the tray in the hall for payment for her services. What a cad.
I wonder how that line would go down today? Like AIDS in a gay bar probably. I could post it on Gab and see how many likes I get. Maybe make a hashtag about favorite lines from old movies. Then everyone will want to join my club. I’ll be in, man. The sky’s the limit.