Anti-Meme Fridays – Worst of the Worst

Welcome to Anti-Meme Fridays.

We’re here with some fresh new meme-hate for your entertainment.

Here’s how it works:  The first meme (or memes) are always pulled from Facebook or Twitter and will have their logic deconstructed in the most sarcastic way possible. The second meme is anti-motivational, offensive, and/or funny.

Because…really…that’s all a good meme should aspire to be.

It’s all in good fun.



Three Memes (Bad)


Holy moly…

…these are bad.

First, and as a general rule, motivational memes are absurd. Foolish. A waste of time. People don’t experience life-changing moments by reading nonsensical quotes/memes on Facebook. They need to go through some serious, real-life growth, usually driven by hard times. Right? Right.

Now as for these specific memes:

Bad Meme 1. Actually, men (and women) can be defeated. Happens every day. I’m not sure if Hemingway really wrote this one, but if he did…it’s either out of context or dumb.

Bad Meme 2. You were given this life because two people got busy and some biology happened. That’s probably the only reason. Humans (especially nowadays when Survival of the Fittest no longer applies) aren’t innately strong, smart, or skilled. These things are earned, and certainly not by everyone.

Bad Meme 3. The love in your heart…doesn’t it die when you die? Or when you decide to stop loving something? I agree with the first two sentences, but the third is silly. Love fades. People change.

And I need a Snickers.


Meme 2 (Not quite as bad)





* * *

That’s all you get today.

Past Anti-Meme Fridays.

Farewell for now.

J Edward Neill

Oh, here’s a few of my deadly serious books:



Why I’m Staying My A%# out of The Woods

With Halloween around the corner I thought I’d dig into my box of what creeps yours truly out.

A gateway to the nether reaches of the soul........

A gateway to the nether reaches of the soul……..

Putting aside such horrors as flying cockroaches (Also known as the spawn of Satan.), and Jules Verne sized squids (It’s the eyes. They bore holes into your soul.) I’m going to focus on one particular thing that keeps me kind of weirded out to a small degree.

The wooded area behind my apartment complex creeps me out.  I’m a grown man, and I’m not afraid to admit that.  Laugh if you want, but for some reason the forested area behind my home can be a creep fest at times.

I grew up camping in Boy Scouts. I love a great hike through the forest, or on a park trail through the woods. Heck, after years of camping in upstate New York, my Dad taught my brother and I how to camp. So I say all this to say I enjoy getting lost (not literally) on a trip or two to the woods.


There’s just something about the woods behind the apartment complex that’s just plain ‘ole creepy. Maybe its because of how my mind works with the writing, I’m always thinking of various scenarios that are playing out in the densely packed area behind my back porch. For instance, the first few weeks after we moved out here a couple of years ago, I remember my wife pointing out a set of sounds coming from the area behind our place.

I’m used to hearing dogs, cats, birds, maybe a raccoon or two. The normal animal sounds you’d associate with a forest that was adjacent to an apartment complex.

What we heard that night was just plain strange. I remember standing on the porch and listening to something that sounded like a cacophony of guttural, low moaning animal sounds. Or as my wife would put it “pure scariness”.


Usually with most animal sounds that you might hear at the same time, you can discern one from the other. An owl sounds like an owl. A dog sounds like a dog. A raccoon sounds like a raccoon.

What I remember hearing that night, and  subsequent nights afterwards, was nothing I’d ever heard before or since. With my writers mind being as crazy as it is, I began to think that maybe a hellish portal had opened behind my house to release some other worldly creatures into our neck of the woods.

Damn you Stranger Things for getting that idea on screen first. 🙂

All I know is that when I’m walking my dog at night, we don’t head towards to the treeline where the woods meet the apartments. Outside of the concern that my pet will run after some random rodent that might pop out of the woods, I’m not chancing being snatched up by any of these creepy sounding creatures.

Now maybe what we’re hearing is just a regular ‘ole run of the mill forest dweller. I just know that I sure as heck am not going to try and confirm or deny that, by taking a field trip to the woods.


Lastly, my apartment complex has done a piss poor job of keeping up the trail that runs through this area. Trash is strewn about, bridges have fallen into disrepair, small ponds are completely dry, leaves cover the path, and it just looks creepily abandoned by society.

I’m a geek when it comes to learning about abandoned areas like The Maunsell Sea Forts of England, Pripyat in Ukraine, or Hashima Island of Japan. Though I think the area where I live is far from getting to the “ghost town” status of these notable landmarks, I feel that the jogging/ walking path behind the complex is slowly but surely getting there.


I’ve walked this path a few times (during day time of course) and each time I find myself with a general sense of unease. Not full on fright, or panic, but more so “yeah, I probably need to get the heck out of here soon”.

Maybe if our complex hadn’t seemingly just wrote off the area, and tried to keep it up, I’d feel differently. Until then, I’ll stay away from the abandoned looking path that winds behind our apartment.

Check out some pics from the above mentioned area, and enjoy.

Have a safe and Happy Halloween folks.

Choose Your Own Afterlife

In pretty much all my non-fiction work, I like to touch on the subject of the afterlife. Not in a morbid way. More of a ‘let’s think outside the box’ way.

It’s a topic I prefer to engage with questions rather than statements. After all, no one really knows what happens after death. Some people will tell you they do, but they don’t. Not even a little. Heaven, hell, reincarnation, utter destruction…all perhaps possible, but none even a little bit objectively provable. The realm of the afterlife is just another part of the human experience in which beliefs, no matter how closely held to the heart, can’t hold up the truth. And the truth is: we don’t know a damn thing about it.

About to be independance dayed

“Shit. I’m either about to be sucked up into heaven…or the aliens from Independence Day have just targeted my ass.”

Especially in this little book right here, I love to ask people to talk about their belief systems. ‘Is there an afterlife?’ I ask. ‘If so, what’s it probably like?’ ‘If there isn’t, is everything we do pointless?‘ The conversation usually goes one of two ways. People either cite religion, which I confess gets pretty boring, or they admit they don’t know, and that’s when things get interesting. In asking these questions and getting people’s answers, one can learn a ton about what makes humanity tick. Because the afterlife discussion is all hopes and fears. It’s unknowable. It’s raw. ‘What if it’s awesome?’ we wonder. ‘What if it doesn’t exist?‘ we worry. ‘Or what if it’s absolutely horrific?‘ we tremble.

But after all the ‘I know’ or ‘I don’t knows,’ I like to take the conversation somewhere fun. I mean…since no one has a clue about the afterlife, why not enjoy the discussion?

And so the question becomes:

If the afterlife were whatever you want it to be, what would it be?”

Now, perhaps through some crazy quantum mechanics, it’s possible in the afterlife (if there is one) we actually do get to decide what it’s like. Probably not, but you never know. I guess what I’m saying is…let’s run with that. Let’s embrace ‘I don’t know.’ Let’s forget about our preconceived notions. Let’s talk less about what we believe the afterlife is like, and let’s talk about what we want it to be like.

And I’m serious.

I want to know your answers.

Here’s the exercise:

You’re sitting before a blank sheet of paper. You’ve got a pen, and you’ve got all the time in the world. Your belief system, your religion (or lack thereof,) and your scientific knowledge have all fallen out the window.

What do you want to happen after you die?

Nothing? Just wanna nap forever?

Do you want to be alone? Or can other people join your afterlife beach party?

Want a heaven? Sitting on a cloud, eating chocolate, soaking up starlight for all eternity?

A more specific heaven? As in, you’re some kind of spirit worshipping a deity in the ether? Cool. Tell us about this deity. How do you battle the boredom?

If you want heaven, do you punish ‘bad’ people with some kind of hell? If so, what’s the hell like? Who exactly goes there? Go ahead. Set the rules.

No heaven or hell? Ok. You’d prefer to join the world-building spirit army who runs the universe behind the curtain? You want to be part of the machine beneath it all? Cool. What’s your plan for the next 500,000,000 years or so?

Or maybe reincarnation? You want another shot or ten at earthbound life? As an animal? A human again? Does this process repeat itself indefinitely?

Or maybe you’d like to be a ghost? A spirit wandering the ethereal plane, watching over humanity, helping people out when you can?

Or maybe you have a darker vision. You want to F with things. You wouldn’t mind being a naughty ghost, a boogey man under the bed, or even some kind of demon.


Happy cloud paradise? Or inbound ethereal storm from the nether world?


You see where I’m going?

French scholar and philosopher Jean-Paul Sartre once posited that since we don’t really know much about the why and how of our reality, we’re free to create our own. It’s a bit idealistic, but perhaps he’s got a point. Just make stuff up and roll with it. Since we might never know the truth, it might be fine just to imagine everything.

Sounds fun, right?

Try it, and share your answers with the world.

J Edward Neill

Asker of too many questions

Author of Matrix-like sci-fi

The Trouble with Being Human

We were never meant to be happy.


Think hard on it. Find a quiet corner and dwell on it. It’s never been a matter of opinion. The point of being human hasn’t ever been to be free, to live long and prosper, or to carpe diem. The purpose of being alive isn’t to love, suffer, be entertained, or have wild adventures.

The only purpose of our existence is to survive.

It’s written into our genetic code. On a cellular, maybe even atomic level, our blueprints aren’t made for happiness. The only thing our DNA cares about is living. Not living in luxury. Or in poverty. Or in any particular place, time, or situation. On a molecular level, we’re driven to adapt and to exist. We need to eat, breathe, eliminate, and reproduce. Nothing besides survival matters.

Trouble is; many of us don’t have to fight to survive any longer.

And therein lies the struggle.

Now let’s be clear. We’re not talking about people who do have to struggle to survive. We’re not talking about hidden tribes in the Amazon, refugees in lands ravaged by permanent war, or farmers who work 23 1/2 hour days. We’re talking about you, yes you, reading this right now. The human with time to spare. The man or woman who eats meals created by someone else, who lives in a house built by others, the lucky person with better things to do than live in constant fear of death.

What are we doing with ourselves?

We’re searching.

But we haven’t found anything yet.

Many Galaxies

Check out all these cool galaxies you’ll never get to visit.

Leisure. Fun. Liberty. Entertainment. What do they have in common? You already know the answer. They’re products of modern humanity. A few thousand years ago, these pursuits occupied a tiny fraction of our lives. And now…well…now the scales have tipped. Our bodies remember that we must survive, but our minds haven’t the slightest clue. It’s not that we’ve gone soft. It’s not as if we should yearn for the days of scavenging, hunting saber-tooth tigers, and dying at the ripe old age of twenty-two. We’ve adapted to this new life, this comparably easy life. We don’t know shit about survival because we’ve never really had to do it. Maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe not.

And so, in the big empty void that remains, we search. We look for answers. We seek out fun. We make stuff up. We savor wonderful things such as art, science, stability, and hope. We invent religions, spar over politics, search for love, and bicker over the question of why we’re even here. We have all this time, more than we’ve ever had in the history of human society.

And because of it, we rebel against everything our bodies are made for.

In conversations with friends, I’m struck by a common theme amongst all of them. They don’t know what they really want. Some are more honest about it than others. That’s ok. No judgments here. But it all comes back to the very human admission that; although everyone seems to seek happiness, most of us only find it in fleeting moments, in the small, unexpected encounters of life. Human culture (American culture in particular) is shadowed by the notion that entertainment = happiness. As if going to a football game, watching Walking Dead, making a crap-ton of money, or playing 17 straight hours of Xbox equals actual, palpable contentment with our lives. But from simple observation, it appears none of these things make anyone happy. At least not for long.

Most of the time, they just distract us from having to be human.

Like I said, I’m not judging anyone. I seek out as much distraction from reality as anyone else. Even while knowing movies, games, parties, and sex won’t fulfill me, I stagger through it all, tipsy with the desire for fun, but rarely drunk with it. It’s probably true I’d find more contentment wandering alone beneath the stars, having long, slow conversations in the dark, and quitting my day-job to paint, write, and create until the end of time. But too often, I purposely distract myself. And don’t we all? These things we do are called ‘diversions’ for good reason. They divert us from the reality that we’ve nothing to really do anymore, that we’re filling the void of needing to survive with things. With stuff. With beautiful, mind-numbing fluff.

So what’s the answer?

There is none. At least not one I can fathom. I’ve theorized that one day we’ll all plug ourselves into a permanent create-our-reality engine, but it’s not as if it’ll matter to anyone alive in the here and now. Every road I travel and every social media banner I see screams out how to find happiness. The world tells us to be grateful for what we have, to cherish the small moments, to ignore all negativity, and to hug our children (and our dogs.) But I’m not convinced. I hear people say they’re happy, but I see something else behind their eyes. I glimpse malaise in place of passion. I see embers cooling, not fires roaring. We’re all weary. We’re all in need of epic-level distraction. The pursuit of happiness looks legitimate, but it feels false.

If humans were united in a true cause to make it all have meaning, we’d do it. But instead it feels like we live on islands.


This isn’t a condemnation of humanity. Hardly. It’s not even particularly scientific. It’s just an observation that all the things we’re doing don’t seem to have any connection to what we say we desire. Is it because of some error in human engineering? Or…is it just that we’re not really designed to seek out and maintain happiness? I’m sticking with the latter. Life can be what you make of it, but only to a point. Because even though we all try to be different, inside we’re mostly the same.

Consider these:

Does technology make us happier? As in; do fancy iPhones, huge tv’s, and badass cars increase our quality of life?

Is extreme convenience always a good thing?

Is it always valuable for the media to stream reports of events we’re powerless to affect?

What will happen if, five-hundred years from today, all the primary problems facing us (food, disease, poverty, war) are eliminated?

For these, I have no answers. Because sometimes contentment comes from not knowing. Entertainment might not bring happiness, but perhaps acceptance has a shot.

The glass isn’t half-empty or half-full.

The glass doesn’t even exist.

We made it up.

* * *

For slightly softer philosophy, check this.

To dig in places deeper and darker, go here.

J Edward Neill

The #NothingMatters Movement

It’s funny the things we decide to care about.

It’s curious the flow of socio-political liquid through the masses.

Do you ever wonder if, a thousand years ago, the hashtag causes would’ve been #SanitationMatters, #PeasantsMatter, or #ArrowsDon’tKill but #ArchersDo?

ArcheryDuring World War II, if Twitter had existed, the Allies’ causes would’ve been obvious (Sadly the Axis’s would’ve been, too.) But what about during the American Revolution? Would it have been #IndependenceMatters, #RedcoatLivesMatterToo, or simply #FuckKingGeorge?


Nearly every day of our lives, we see someone or some group expelling causes across the internet. Seems everyone has an interest in telling everyone else what should be important. ‘You should care about this,’ they shout. ‘This is important, #TheseLivesMatter,’ but, ‘That shit over there doesn’t matter.’ These days anyone with fingers and a computer has a soapbox. Some folks choose not to stand on it. But a crap-ton of other people are happy to jump on and start talking/typing.

But talking ain’t the same as doing.

And while a hundred-thousand people might appear to agree with a common cause on their Facebook pages, ultimately they’re all just individuals. With their own lives and problems. Most of whom don’t actually give two shits about the cause beyond clicking ‘Like.’


If a tree falls in the forest and no one’s there to hear it, did it make a sound?


If shit goes down and no one’s there to care, did that shit matter?


Every day globally, thousands of humans die. Some from sickness, others by accident, still others by war, suicide, and foul play. Every hour, people are wronged. People are robbed, kidnapped, assaulted, maimed, and abused. Now imagine all these terrible things if no one reported them. No news. No weather channel. No 60 Minutes specials. No hashtags made up to gather attention. Without media coverage, the only ones who’d know about localized suffering would be the survivors, the perpetrators, and a handful of observers.

Compared to the way things are now, the world would be quiet. It might even seem peaceful, even though it wouldn’t be.

Because…without the media storm surrounding the modern world, we’d never know about all these terrible things. Not even the good things. We’d never care. #NothingWouldMatter because we’d never hear about stuff. We’d be the same as most people were a few hundred years ago. The only things that would matter to us would be those affecting our village, our clique, our small sphere of stuff we could actually see, hear, and touch.

Now, I’m not going all nihilistic on you. To say #nothing has any value at all would be a tough sell to most people, especially those with children, lovers, amazing friends, close family, or even pets. However…if we peek just outside our bubble of people and things that matter, what’s out there? What’s really out there? Good stuff. Bad stuff. But mostly just stuff. Stuff that doesn’t affect you. Or me. Or anyone other than the people directly involved in it.

Now let’s take a #DoesItReallyMatter quiz:

Pretend you and everyone you knew got really pissed off at how refugees in a faraway war were being treated, but none of you actually went out to fight the bad guys oppressing these refugees. So. Did the refugees matter to you? As in really?

Let’s say you actually did get up and fight the bad guys, but that one generation later, the refugees formed a country who started doing the same terrible things that had been done to them. Did your involvement matter?

If a city a hundred miles away vanished overnight and all its people were lost, but no one you knew had ever lived there, would it matter to you? Honestly?

If a nation (population 1 billion) you’d never paid attention to were invaded and destroyed tomorrow, would such a catastrophic loss matter to you? Other than maybe make you afraid for your own nation? Other than maybe make you crap your pants? Is it even possible for one person to care about a billion other individuals?

What I’m saying is; for all the things a person really, really cares about in their life, they’ll fight like lions to defend. They’ll make huge sacrifices, they’ll go to war, they’ll spend all their money, they’ll invest their heart and soul. They’ll die to see it done. It’s that important. #ItMatters.

But for everything else, they’ll just go online and ‘Like’ it.

…or talk about it at the water cooler.

…or catch in on the news right before watching their favorite tv show.

Because, just maybe, #ItDoesn’tReallyMatter

No matter how much we like to tell ourselves we care about all the crazy stuff going on the world…

…most of the time, we don’t.

We can only really care about the things closest to us.

And that’s just the way it should be.



* * *

Want to start a few hot debates with all the guys and gals in your life? Click here and here.

Want to sit in the shadows and read about people who have it way tougher? Right. Here.


J Edward Neill

All your heroes are dead

The other night, whilst sitting among friends in a crowded restaurant, I accidentally eavesdropped on my neighbors’ conversation. Ok…it wasn’t accidental. The lull in my friends’ talking gave me an easy window to listen in on the fascinating exchange between a guy and a girl. I couldn’t resist.

It started well enough.

When the pretty girl (30-something, short brown hair) sat down with the guy (early 40’s, funky comb-over,) everything seemed ok. He kissed her, told her how beautiful she was, and ordered her a drink right away. She told him all about her work problems, including how she’d lost a chance at a big promotion. He sympathized with her, reassured her, and seemed genuinely concerned about her travails. But…and there’s always a but…the conversation soon took a turn for the intriguing. After ignoring several rings of her cell phone, the girl starts getting nervous. She admits to the guy that her husband is looking for her, and that hubs suspects her of having an affair, which she clearly is.

Wait. It gets better.

Our cool, comb-over guy seemed unbothered by this news. He says something to the effect of, “It’s ok. I understand. I love you. I’ll wait for you for as long as it takes.” As far as adulterers go, he made a good show of it, appearing genuinely in love with the wandering wife. But…and there’s always a but…after a while of talking, touching, and kissing, the girl gets up and goes outside to text her hubby that she’s, “Still at work.” And that, “…boss has me working OT.” Classic stuff there. I have a feeling she didn’t fool anyone.

 And while the lovely lass is busy lying, Captain Comb-over gets to the good part.

No sooner does the girl go outside than this dude picks up his cell phone and dials. Obviously he was drunk, else it would’ve been pretty obvious that I was listening in. I mean…c’mon. I’ve got good peripherals and all, but I was practically leaning over his bourbon. So our hero dials, and it’s clear another woman picks up on the other end. He starts talking to her, all the while looking over his shoulder and chugging his drink. And then he says, “Don’t worry. She’s outside. She can’t even see me.” The woman on the phone says something I can’t hear, and then…after hitting up the bartender for another drink…our hero says, “She has no idea. I’ll see you tonight. I love you.”

And he’s right. Girl 1 had no idea.

At this point, you’re thinking I’m judging these two. No. I’m really not. Where other people sling their lies and plunge their loins isn’t my concern. But it was while eavesdropping I wandered into a dark place at the back of my mind. I touched upon a belief I’ve always possessed. I remembered that the world has almost no heroes, and that for every good thing we want to believe about someone else, skeletons in the closet remain.

Let’s talk this over. Because I know where you’re gonna hit back. You’re going to point out the good people in your life: the dads, moms, grandmas, soldiers, teachers, BFF’s. And you’re going to assert how these people, with their grace and humility, are the true heroes. The unsung. The real deal. I’m fine with that. I get what you’re saying. Small deeds and simple acts of kindness can be heroic. Everyday people doing everyday good things are awesome.

But remember:

One man’s treasure is another man’s trash.

A hero to one group of people can be a villain to another.

And for every one thing you know about your personal hero, there are ten things you don’t know.


To start trimming the list of people we consider heroic, the easiest place to start is with celebrities and political figures. This year alone, the bones tumbled out of the proverbial closet at an astonishing rate. Consider Bill Cosby, among my generation’s most beloved men, now hot on the skillet for his roofie-administering ways. Consider Jared Fogle, long a television mainstay, busted for banging teenagers. Consider the Duggars, the Ashley Madison scandal, and the impossibly long list of NFL ‘badasses’ beating the crap out of their wives and girlfriends. Now I’m not suggesting any of these people should’ve ever been considered heroic, but nevertheless…celebrity-worship is a huge thing, especially in the US. And now we get to watch the previously-beloved fall, and fall, and fall. My guess is that at some point in the past, certain people viewed these famous folks as good, solid, and loveable. So now what? The onion is peeled back. Have they learned their lesson? Or will they simply find another celeb to hold up high?

Now let’s get dark.

Think about these questions:

Is every soldier a hero? Are most of them heroes? If so, are they heroic just because they fight on your side? What do you think the widows of their enemies would say?

Can someone who does great good in the world still be called heroic if, when no one’s looking, they lie, cheat, steal, or abuse?

Is doing hard work to support your family heroic? If so, doesn’t that make almost everyone who lived in pre-modern times a hero? (Back in the day most everyone had to bust their asses just to survive.)

If a firefighter regularly saves whole housefuls of kids and cute puppies, but is a shitty father and a negligent husband, is he a hero?

If a single mother works two jobs to support her kids, but smokes like a fiend (thereby shortening her life…which her kids need) is she heroic?

If someone gives millions to well-meaning charities, but pilfers a little for himself, is he…

…I think you get the point.


People do heroic things all the time. They save lives, teach wisdom, and sacrifice themselves for the greater good. People can be beacons of light in dark times, pull others together to make huge differences, and enact changes for the betterment of everyone. For brief, shining moments, people can do wonderful things.

But at some point, people go back to being people.

And no matter how high you hold them up, they will tumble. They will do things when they think no one’s looking. They’ll be human.

So be careful whom you look up to. 

And be careful why you look up to them.

* * *

Want more challenging questions about humanity and the crazy shit we do?

Look no further than here.

J Edward Neill

I know nothing…

The older I get, the more I realize that…much like Jon Snow…I know nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

Age, experience, intuition…all out the window.

Waiting for boom

See that tall building? I’m standing on it. I’m waiting for something useful to pop in my head before the meteor hits me in the face.

If that game from the 90’s, You Don’t Know Jack, applied to real-life, I’d lose. Badly.

Want a few good examples of my know-nothingness?

Glad you asked:

* * *

I don’t understand why anyone gets offended by anything. Ever.

I don’t know a damn thing about women. Or men, for that matter. Hell, I don’t even see eye-to-eye with my cat. Probably because she’s blind. Whatever.

I can’t grasp why pizza, cake, beer, ice cream, and butter-slathered steaks are bad for people. I mean…on a scientific level maybe. But with all this science, I don’t get why we haven’t invented perfectly healthy triple-chocolate ganache cake. What the hell, science?

I don’t understand superhero movies. At all. Especially the dudes (and girls) who wear capes and garish costumes. Wouldn’t a cape just trip you up when the worst shit was about to go down? Wouldn’t a bright red leotard just make you easier to hit? Hell if I know.

Skulhed Face

My superhero mask. Note the easy-to-hit face.

 I can’t wrap my head around procrastination. Isn’t doing something right fucking now a better idea than waiting?

I guess that means I don’t understand waiting.

 I really don’t get the whole introvert vs extrovert discussion. Does it matter? Help me understand please.

I can’t understand dogs. As in how they’ve managed to enslave so many people to their weird walking, pooping, and biting things rituals.

No one understands cats. I think you’re all with me on this one.

I don’t have a clue why some babies cry through the night. Isn’t that counter-intuitive to survival? Did ancient civilizations go all Sparta on the loud babies and hurl them over cliffs just to silence them? I dunno.

I don’t get cell phones. Specifically texting a lot. Nor do I get the iWatch. Or the Fitbit. Or why runners wear heart-monitors/biometric space-time distortion devices around their chests. Jesus dude, just fucking run.

 I definitely don’t get having political allegiances.

Or online dating.

Or dating at all. (Just have sex with your friends.)

I never understood classroom learning. Or professors lecturing. Or 30 kids squirming in their seats listening to teachers talk. Most people learn best by actually doing shit, right? I obviously have no idea what I’m talking about.

I don’t get runway modeling. No one wears that stuff. I mean…ok…the girls are gorgeous. Maybe it’s just about watching hot woman strut around nearly naked. I suppose I understand that. Maybe.

 Never grasped watching a ton of TV. It’s 97% commercials, isn’t it? But even commercial-free, that shit zombifies people.

Speaking of zombies, I don’t get the zombie craze. It looks cool, but I still don’t get it.

Someone explain cosplaying to me. Is it just the hoping-to-see-a-hot-girl thing again? No idea.

I don’t get bae.

Or selfie sticks.

Or duck face.

I definitely don’t know a damn thing about Bieber, Miley, Selena, Beyoncé, or Lil Wayne. In fact, I don’t get modern music at all. I’m not even really that old. Why is this stuff still popular? No clue.

I can’t understand how sex and nudity are both glorified and taboo.

I don’t comprehend super sensitive people. Or social anxiety. I kinda wish I did, but I don’t.

I fail to see why anyone who’s not becoming a doctor, lawyer, or scientist would want to go to college (in the US.) Soaking up tons of debt to begin your life doesn’t feel right. But what do I know? Nothing, obviously.

 I’ve never understood church.

Or the IRS.

Or lacrosse.

I don’t get speed traps.

Or racism.

Or child-abuse.

Narcissism has always eluded me. Along with Desperate Housewives, Antiques Roadshow, and the Miss America/World/Universe pageants.

Or any pageant for that matter.

I don’t understand why everyone who says they hate drama actually swims in it.

Or potential dates who scream about ‘hating games’ being the biggest game-players of all.

I don’t see why I can’t have a margarita at work.

I’ll never grasp why some people are humble and others arrogant. But then the next day it’s vice versa.

And I’m utterly clueless why some workers don’t take all their vacation. Screw that.

But most of all, more than any of this stuff, I really have no idea why I’m here.

Or maybe I do.

Maybe I actually understand most of this stuff.

Maybe I just don’t want to.

* * *

Want more existential, slap-you-in-the-faceness?

 Check this out.

J Edward Neill

 Follow me on Twitter: icon-twitter-64

The 7 Twitter Personalities


If you’ve never had a Twitter account, good on you.

If you’ve currently got an open Twitter account, I’m sorry. I really am. Let’s hug it out.

A few weeks ago, we gave you the Top 7 Facebook Personalities. We thought it was funny, yet entirely true.

But Twitter’s a different monster entirely.

Don’t believe me? Just sample my Twitter feed here.  140 characters changes a person into something…unknowable.

The 7 Prime Twitter Personalities

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UnIronic Tweeter The Un-Ironic Tweeter – If there’s a such thing as normal on Twitter, this is probably it. The Un-Ironic Tweeter doesn’t try to annoy, inundate, or advertise. She’s probably just a normal gal with a few interesting things to say. Such as, “Doing laundry and look, the dog crapped in the basket,” or “Yay. Husband left me…again.” I’m mostly kidding. I’m 99% sure most of this archetype are good people. They say genuine things, are polite and generally engaging. My only trouble is that most people go to Twitter looking for at least a little bit of trouble (or money.) You say you want to be completely reasonable, honest, and not try to sell me shit? I believe the highway you’re looking for is called Facebook. It’s a few exits back.


The RetweeterThe ReTweeter – Everyone loves this person. And I mean…everyone. Just try and say something bad about them. It’s hard, right? You pour your soul into a perfect 140-character Tweet detailing the horrors of ebola-infected chipmunks, and ReTweeters click a button and spread the word, epidemic-like, across the globe. Sure, they don’t create anything themselves. And no, they probably didn’t follow your link or give two shits about you as a person. Who cares? You RT for them, they RT for you, and the whole fucking world is happy. I hate happy endings. 😐

Starving Artist The Starving Artist – I’m guilty as charged. My bad. Literally 80% of my followers are this archetype. They’re definitely starving, though as for the artist part, I’m not so sure. With the boom in self-publishing and printed art outlets, the Twitterverse has erupted with painters, sketchers, and writers. In a matter of a few years, my competition went from other published authors to every human being in the entire fucking universe. Anymore, it’s rarer for someone not to have published something. But seriously. Most of the Starving Artist Twitter crowd are good people. Talent or no, they’re genuine. But I would like to schedule a class called ‘When Tweeting About Your Book, Shitty Grammar and Clunky Blurbs will Annihilate Your Writing Career.


The ReQuoter The Re-Quoter – Yeah. This guy. The one who Tweets about the soulfulness of writing, the drowning emotional awesomeness of reading, and the spiritual connectedness of ejaculating paint onto paper. But that’s not really the trouble. It’s the memes, the #AmWritings, and the quotes…the damn quotes. Yes, I know what Stephen King said. Something like, “If you do shit, other shit will happen. And if you don’t do shit, no shit will happen.” You know what I’m talking about: Picture of celebrity + quote that celebrity may or may not have actually said = half your Twitter feed. Also, some Re-Quoters like to regurgitate boring quotes about life and love. Shit-tons of quotes. Things like, “My life will never be complete without you,” or “Someday you’ll come back for your toothbrush…and my vagina will be waiting.” I’m convinced most of these secondary type of Re-Quotes are bots, but it’s hard to tell. Hopefully it’ll all soon die. But if it doesn’t, the world needs to end.



Anchor The News Anchor – I’m fine with this type of Twitter archetype. Mostly. Although he’ll never post anything original or creative, at least you’ll be informed the very instant a celebrity dies, a politician farts, or King Jong Un is spotted picking his nose. I’m kidding. Sort of. At least the sources the News Anchor links to are completely legit all the time. Aren’t they??





The SpammerThe Spammer – This Twitter dweller probably isn’t even human. Or if it is, it’s 150 humans living in a Bangladesh hut (with better wifi than anyone.) If you’ve been on Twitter for longer than 30 seconds, you’ve rubbed elbows with a Spammer. Yep. The sexy girl pitching how you can increase your Twitter followers by 7 million. The smiling dude flooding your feed with links leading to crappy click-bait lists. The douchey lists with names like ‘The 7 Twitter Personalities.’  Wait…what?


The pRon star The Porn Starlet – Unlike Facebook, Twitter isn’t really regulated.  Meaning if your five year-old son types in ‘boobies,’ he’ll get flooded with hundreds of images of girls getting Kool-Whipped in the chest region. Being a guy, if I scan my new followers on a daily basis, I find that at least a third of them are naked women. Some just want more followers. Others offer ‘no credit card needed’ links to…you guessed it…sites that use your credit card to let you watch cam girls impale themselves on cucumbers and farm equipment. I suppose it’s harmless. I mean, nuthin’ wrong with half my Twitter feed being teenage girls bending themselves into positions I didn’t know were possible. Nuthin’ at all. Right? See you tonight, Sasha.


The Uni-Linker (Posts the same one link over and over again. Forever)

The DM’er (Doesn’t know that no one reads direct messages)

The Hashtagger (#Hashtags #Every #Goddamn #Word)

 The Unfollower (Follow them back within a half hour, or else…)

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 Next week on Tessera Guild: Stalking Women on Instagram.

In the meantime, check out the only book you’ll ever want to put on your coffee table.

J Edward Neill