Threads and Tweets and Skies (I don’t know what Bluesky is calling its posts but I am to assume it’s twee and silly) are in the lexicon today and if you don’t know what any of that is, congrats on your well-adjusted nature. In the absence of a functional adult to run Twitter, the great social media harvest of 2023 has commenced in earnest. We’ve all branched off into factions. Some will inhabit the emptied hull of Twitter til the end comes alongside the porn bots and the assembled blue checks complaining about their silencing. Some are Threads-curious; some are trying to get into Club Blue Sky. The pretty people on the ‘gram are about to get a rude awakening with the influx of the bridge troll brigade coming over from Twitter in search of a home, and my fondest hope is that some people learn how to snark and other people pick up a good skin care regimen. Wins for everyone.
Everyone is trying to find a platform they belong on, which should be the wildest sentence ever typed and send any rational society sprinting to shut down the internet for two weeks until we figure out a better way forward for all and atone for a litany of sins.
We won’t do that, obviously. This machine is broken, and now the solution is to figure out which flaming hunk of the wreckage we’d like to ride down to terra firma upon like drunken gods, toasting and no-look shooting as the world burns bright around us.
Obvious college basketball metaphor goes here.