Believe it or not, I don't actually set-out to have my social media privileges revoked on an individual basis. More often than not, a blunt yet innocuous statement is interpreted as a threat to humankind and I am blocked only to become an even stronger and funnier before. It's kind of like a reoccurring boss fight in a video game, except I can never be defeated. This most recent situation was just that.
The celebrity I emotionally maimed is best known by the masses for his work in a recent Oscar winning movie about drugs and AIDS. Arid Ghetto, as I will refer to him, also fronts an angsty band band that frequents festivals like Warped Tour. I actually saw this band perform while I was in my emo-turned-scene high school days. The show was on St. Patrick's Day and the band members all wore kilts during their performance, because geography, cultural markers, and a quick Google search are hard. I've followed the band loosely since then mostly because 2/3's of its members are sexually appealing, including Arid Ghetto. I wouldn't say I take the band or its members seriously because unlike its almost exclusively white, female, under 21 fan base, I have slightly more refined taste in music. Or more simply put, I have taste.
Anyway, I follow Ghetto's Instagram account for the occasional shirtless picture. For the most part, Ghetto's posts garner no reaction from me simply because can only withstand sifting through the thirst of a thousand hormonal teens for brief moments. It's kind of like being within three miles of the still radioactive bits of Chernobyl. Actually, it's exactly like that. A few weeks ago Ghetto posted a photo suggesting that everyone should lower their home heating temperatures slightly to reduce carbon emissions. This is certainly a great idea and one I even endorse. Unfortunately, what I don't endorse is celebrities fanning themselves in their ivory towers as we plebeians look to them for scraps of life advice, particularly when these celebrities seem to disregard their own dictates. Being my helpful self, I decided to take a moment to remind Ghetto that he frequently takes private jets to and from shows and this is a massive contributor to climate change that can easily be eliminated. Unlike my last social media blow out with Rat Von P, I never received a response and continued on my merry, and informative, way. It wasn't until yesterday evening that something struck me as odd. I was scrolling through my Twitter feed hoping to find someone as funny as me deserving a retweet. Instead I came across a tweet from Ghetto that linked to his Instagram account. I check my Instagram account pretty frequently and realized I hadn't seen this most recent post, even though I had been on Instagram not five minutes earlier. After some anonymous investigation it occurred to me that I had missed three weeks of Ghetto's posts because he had blocked me. Another few minutes of sleuthing revealed that the last post I ever saw was the one I had (helpfully) commented on. Nothing makes me feel quite as energized as knowing I caused a self-aggrandizing celebrity a moment of unadulterated emotional distress. I wish I could bottle it and sell it. The problem with celebrities blocking me is that I get an unrelenting hard-on that can only be relieved through vaguely aggressive social media commentary. To meet this throbbing need, I took to my Twitter account to ask Ghetto some very important questions, all listed below.
Do you prefer to look at yourself in the mirror when you masturbate?
Do you cry before or after every highly redundant song you record?
Which end of your Oscar do you insert in to your anus first?
Do you rub your nipples in a clockwise or counterclockwise motion?
Do you soak your balls in lavender oil or sandalwood oil?
Do you ever wish you had a clone of yourself to make sweet love to?
When stroking your ego do you use a water based lubricant?
Have you ever considered that your primarily female fan base has ulterior motives for their interest in your music?
Is Buffalo Bill from Silence of the Lambs your acting muse?
Do you secretly envy every person you have ever had sex with because they got to have sex with you?
Do you wish to connect with people on a molecular level?
How excited were you when you found a way to integrate the word "rape" in to one of your jingles?
Have you ever open mouth kissed a bear?
Do you think everyone has forgotten the one time you were photographed making out with Paris Hilton?
Are you the reason Lindsey Lohan barely made it out of 2007?
Who would win in a fight between a tiger and a lion?
Are you actually a reptile?
Do you have a toilet paper preference or have you never actually pooped?
What are your thoughts on the new Star Wars movie?
Are you a little pissed that God appears in the bible more frequently than you?
Do well-timed and calculated retweets make you the leader of the social justice movements?
Should oatmeal and raisin cookies even exist?
Is it fair for Chipotle to charge extra for guacamole?
Is it hard to hide your boner when you are directing 14 minute music videos under your pseudonym?
Can you tell why kids love Cinnamon Toast Crunch?
Was the moon landing a hoax?
Is your favorite part of the Illuminati the secret meetings, fruit punch, or dungeon torture porn?
What is your favorite pizza topping? Smugness?
Is the Suicide Squad movie going to be bad or really bad?
How long can you stare directly in to the sun?
Do you think the bubonic plague should make a come back?
How often do you take Buzzfeed quizzes to find out what type of sandwich you are?
It seems to me that using this sample size of two instances, 100% of celebrities don't like it when you make valid, ego-crushing statements on their Instagram pages. In fact, 100% of the time they will block you, practically requiring you to turn to Twitter to patronize them. And 100% of the time it will be the most gratifying part of your day.
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