Every time I’ve opened Twitter over the last two weeks—or over the last few months—something terrible had just happened or was still happening. Orlando, Philando Castile, Baghdad, Dallas, Turkey, Nice, another acquittal in the Freddie Gray case, Brussels, Brexit, this, Turkey again, the adoption of the most rabidly anti-LGBT platform in GOP history, Baton Rouge.
I started to feel like the act of opening Twitter—me opening it, you opening it, all of us opening it—was creating a news vacuum that horror and heartache were rushing in to fill.
So this morning… half asleep with my phone in my hand… maybe still a little high from last night’s pot lozenge… I thought, hey, maybe if I don’t open Twitter today or turn on the TV or listen to the radio… maybe if I can get everyone else not to open Twitter or turn on the TV or listen to the radio… maybe the Republican National Convention won’t happen.
Maybe Scott Baio won’t give a speech to major political party’s nominating convention. Maybe the batshit “patriarch” of that family of duck-humping dickfucks won’t jizz all over Jesus’s leg in Cleveland. Maybe Antonio Saboto Jr., someone I may have masturbated while thinking about back in the early 1990s (I don’t recall for sure, but I can’t rule it out), won’t give a speech in heavily-accented English to a crowd of Republicans who would’ve prevented him from immigrating to this country if they could’ve. Maybe the open-carry assholes won’t show up. Maybe the Republican Party won’t nominate a racist demagogue for president and a sexist, homophobic potted plant for vice president. Maybe we would be spared these and other horrors.
But by the time I got out of bed… it was too late.