I’ve been writing stupid things on the Internet since 1998, and in that time it’s rare for me to have a story I haven’t told anyone before. So, you’re in for a treat. I want to tell you about a beautiful woman named Ashley, the biggest disappointment in my life, and how a fantasy I have explains why the myth of social media persists long after its debut in 2007.

In 2002, I took a year off from Alfred State College because my first year was … not a pleasant experience. Mostly for reasons I documented in Social Media Is Bullshit.

Returning to Alfred State was not high on my list of things to do. At the time, I would have rather been anally penetrated by Wolverine’s adamantium claws, but then I met Ashley and all was right in the world.

Ashley was absolutely beautiful, and I was in love with her the moment I saw her. Unfortunately, I spent most of my life being functionally retarded, so my attempts to get her to pay any attention to me were met with horrible and hilarious failure.

(On the upside, I did get a sweet cat out of this mess, but that’s a whole other story.)

For a brief moment though, a light appeared at the end of the tunnel. The last day of school had arrived, and after numerous attempts to get Ashley to hang out to me, Ashley called and left a message on my answering machine saying she wanted to do so.

And for a few seconds, I felt amazing. Like I was proclaimed king of the world, having earned that crown after strangling Jack from Titanic with some razor wire I found in the street.

But as it goes with anything in my life, as soon as something amazing happens, something even worse immediately follows. This happens almost like clockwork, so much so that I can safely predict that if my book hits The New York Times Best Sellers list, you can bet I’ll be dead the next day. Probably smothered in my own feces by a crazed social media marketer seeking revenge.

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