Dead on. I had a post with a few other types that I can't stand, but I wasn't nearly as eloquent as you were.
(in case you're interested, http://greenlaneseo.com/blog/2012/07/things-i-learned-by-flushing-3000-followers)
One of the neat aspects of Twitter is the opportunity to see the posts and profiles of people who aren’t in your timeline, through retweets. It’s also the most infuriating. It’s distracting and like a car wreck, you just can’t help but look at the home page of one of the Twitter-dicks, herein known as Twicks. These are the people who fall into one or several of a few broad categories: trendy, selfish, cutesy, angry, lame and phony — kind of like a “seven dwarfs of Twitter,” except that was only six.
Some of us “noobs” are easily perplexed by over-tagged tweets. Clearly they are written by an App and not a human. When I see tweets like: “RT #snuggle #wormhole RT @LZ – No DM’s w/tags, #cornfire #antigen @WH not receiving, @dylanThomas #southeast RT http://23%8*~295-5″ – I just blink twice and move on. They look like the coded messages Jesse Ventura receives through his aluminum hat. Let’s lighten up on the blue-text, hyper-messaging services, shall we?
Right, left and libertarian; women will go back in aprons, children will starve, free enterprise will be abolished, the poor will be injected with leprosy through their SSI checks, old people will be sent to China to transport coal in their Rascals, the state will tax your urine stream, teachers will be racked, the republic is in jeopardy… ENOUGH! Don’t you people ever just notice a sunrise, have a great slice of pizza or, perhaps laugh — ever?
“Lover of chocolate butterflies” — “Random flower sniffer” — “If you don’t know Jesus, you don’t know Jack” — “Searching for hunky, settlin’ for spunky” — “Just a molecule of sparkle in a galaxy of wondrousness-ishosity” — “Once put a kitten on a waffle… sooooo cute” — “Lover of hunter moons and phantasmagorical writer of YA beat poetry” — “Volunteer changer of Depends on long lines at Rite-Aid.”
For @TheJamieLee, @SarahKSilverman, @filthyrichmond. Reading their tweets is my cardio; I laugh so hard I sweat. I’m sure there are more funny women on Twitter, or at least I hope so, but these are my top three and one of them might take me to brunch since I gave ‘em a whoot whoot. Feel free to comment on your top three funny tweeters. Hint; Bella Abzug isn’t funny anymore, or living actually. That’s not funny per se, but Bella was a scream at dinner parties in the 70′s.
Here’s how it goes: I follow someone because their bio seems to be related to my interests. Ten seconds later, they “thank me” and try to sell me something. I unfollow.
Or avatars that blink, sway, glisten, wave at me or otherwise flop around on the floor for attention like a five-year-old from the Upper West Side of Manhattan. We get it, you love yourself and can’t wait for the world to notice you. We noticed, and we don’t like you. You’re annoying. Go away.
OK, I’m not saying I use Twitter as a dating service, but stop posting fake images of yourself. It’s false advertising. Don’t put up a picture of Andie McDowell just because you look like Roddie McDowell (as Cornelius). Just be honest about who you are. Look, Joan Didion isn’t winning any bikini contests this summer but I’d still fall prone at her feet if I crossed her sacred path (unless it was in the subway, in which case I’d just take a knee, but I’d bow my head). OK, stop snickering, I swear I don’t cruise chicks based on avatars. I’m a professional, dammit.
Must we read every last detail of your lame day? That’s for Facebook.
“Just had my third falafel since Tuesday. #nolife”
“Fillin’ my iron with distilled water while the cat licks himself.”
“Can’t get the lid off this can of salt-free, tasteless, whole grain rice puffs.”
“Where’s my step-dad, I need some luvin’? #WT”
“Should I wear the brown pumps or slit my wrists?”
“Changing the empty toilet paper ’cause God-forbid the lazy bastard husband of mine does it.”
They have a best-selling book (see #10) and a seemingly solid professional life, yet feel unworthy unless they have tens of thousands of bogus followers. “Gee, this guy looks popular. Why haven’t I EVER heard of him? Let’s look at his followers.” The first 57 look like quotations from the Dead-Sea Scrolls. Wait… this girl is kinda cute, hey what does, “ma raison d’etre — empoisonner votre vagin avec cacao…” mean, exactly?
OK so you entered a fiction contest at your tiny library and after taking down the flyers in the lobby so no one else could enter, you won second place out of both entries. Yay, you’re an award-winning author! “Of all the books sold on Amazon about the Burundi stock exchange, mine sold the best.” Oh, by the way, I bought your book and after three pages I was Googling home delivery of hemlock. Hey, I’m no John Updike, or even Dave Barry for that matter, but I occasionally get a few laughs from the boys at the Elks.
Just what we need in this celebrity-driven culture, another reason for people to jump on something or someone merely because everyone else does. OK, I admit it; this is how I found out about Phyllis Diller’s death, the earthquake in Russia, and the enormity of Kim Kardashian’s butt, along with the unfathomable number of people who follow someone who adds absolutely nothing to society. Oh… and that “Call Me Maybe” song by Carly Rae Clampett-Jepsen. But you gotta admit it’s a catchy tune.
that bash or in other ways misrepresent the real star. The thing is, I don’t hate them because they’re lame, moronic, misleading or sneaky. I hate them because I didn’t think of doing it first. No, seriously; have you slackers nothing better to do with your time than spew negativity, snide remarks and sarcasm in the name of humor? Wait. Nevermind.
Before you hang me from a yard-arm, whatever that is, please understand that I understand. I realize these pesky little annoyances don’t amount to a hill of beans in the real world of social media, of men and muse; of women and the hope of a wink from across the coffee shop, preferably one with wifi (cue the rising inspirational music).
But sometimes, when the wind is low in the west, and the mournful yip of coyotes draws near, I know you’re out there, toiling under a scolding sun (lamp), clacking ferociously, agonizing over 140 characters of literary constraint in a valiant strike at the wittiest damn tweet this side of the Pecos and well… (Reagan voice) that’s just the kind of America I dream about.
So forgive me if I care about my better tweeps, my free-to-be-me hippie Karma-bangers of pith and wisdom. Spare me to loathe those who would lessen their contribution to our fine union. Do not go gently into that dark timeline. Just, ya know, be a little — OK — a lot less annoying while pressing on.
Who annoys you on Twitter?
Featured image courtesy of SaraiRachel licensed via Creative Commons.