Every type of annoying person on Twitter
Views my own
As vast and varied as the world of social media is, the sad reality is most Twitter users, from the deep complex accounts who quote 5SOS lyrics, to the annoyingly popular bloggers, all the way down to you with your depressing 48 followers (including mum), can be slotted into neat categories.
The main problem with Twitter is how every user who posts considers themselves a public figure, often without a hint of irony. Whether a student journalist telling you to “read their exclusive” or a narked-off single mum spewing death threats at X Factor contestants, they all tweet like what they’re saying matters to anyone.
Nobody cares what you think.
“Views your own” are they? “RT is not an endorsement”? You must be ridiculous overworked to fit time in between your freelance blogging to make it clear to all twelve of your followers that you sharing that article about animal cruelty was NOT an advocacy of it. You’re not a major celebrity, nor are you the BBC (unless you are in which case, carry on) – people know how twitter works, give them a bit of credit.
There’s no need to write “words in” – your job literally revolves around using words, at least let it extend to your bio. The only thing worse than this smug attempt to downplay what you do is tweeting an article “I did a thing for _____”. Why can’t you say “published in”, or better yet, save the self-promotion for your LinkedIn profile. Their obnoxious “#JOURNOREQUESTS” clog your feed, attempting to mask the fact that they’re just “aspiring journos”, something they could easily remedy by swallowing their pride and finally uploading something to Buzzfeed Community.
You have so little going on in your life that you deem a very minor hobby worthy of entry in your bio. You may as well put “Inhaler of oxygen and exhaler of carbon dioxide” in there. You’re not an officiando, you’re a weapon with no mates.
Scum. Subhuman scum.
The epitome of the self-importance Twitter breeds, people who livetweet minor events are unquestionably terribly lonely. Good evening everyone, and welcome to 150 mindless statements on #TheWorldChessChampionshipSemiFinals. Over the course of the next two hours they’ll be practically on their hands and knees begging you to unfollow them. Their girlfriend left, the hamster’s dead and all that’s filling the void is the possibility of someone, somewhere, getting a kick of out this.
The lowly livetweeters intersect somewhat with “political tweeters”, and anyone who thinks that they can follow along to a minute by minute account of BBCQT as an actual opportunity to engage in fiery political debate. Actually all you’re doing is getting into a potentially friendship-ruining argument about the fisheries bill and haemorrhaging followers who can’t believe you could be simultaneously so wrong and so boring.
Unless you’re begging celebrities for a “RT” for a good cause, and not for Craig David to play at your cousin’s wedding, you’re not a good person. The squeak of your desperate “RT” is the final straw grasp of the cyber-stalker. “Hi Mr. Downey Jr. I have your kids and I’m locking them in my basement for the forseeable future. RT?”, “Yo Jamelia. I go to bed crying every night looking at polaroids I took of you through your kitchen window. RT?”. “Anyone? RT? Pls? I will kill again.”
But stalker RT’ers at least have some honesty. They’re not as bad as more self aware celeb Twitters, ironically retweeting celebrities who don’t fit in with your personal brand. Barry Chuckle won’t give you a retweet because your sarcasm is undermining the purity of his work – stick to your minute by minute RIP tweets and telling everyone how you favourite every one of the inspired thoughts of Gervais and Dawkins.
The extent of your political awareness is a snorting ironic Ed Balls tweet on Ed Balls day – as if the poor guy hasn’t had enough embarrassment this year already. He was caught out in a very human moment and has had to live with it ever since. Imagine if your family celebrated the anniversary of that time your mum walked in on you wanking – you wouldn’t find it funny, would you?
You revel in referring to something you’ve read without linking to it, to a controversy as you pen an angry tweet to someone with a dot in front of their name so everyone can see it and get involved. Am I supposed to private message you asking you to explain what’s going in? To admit I’m out of the loop? Is that what you want?
Nothing will make you hate our national game more than a trawl through #footballtwitter. It’s a strange place where you back up their attempt your boring attempts at being Gary Neville by hashtagging a load of pointless acronyms (#COYS, #YNWA, #AMF) in an effort to bait fellow morons into ‘debate’. There’s Terrance, the die-hard Man U fan from Grantham arguing in full caps with about 20 Arsenal fans in Singapore.
Nobody cares what you think about David De Gea, nobody is interested in that bullshit transfer rumour you just retweeted and dear god please don’t fucking live-tweet the match. Just open a beer and watch the match on your own, enjoy the simple pleasure of the beautiful game without complicating it with your artificial anger and asking what Wenger was thinking bringing Walcott on that early?
The epitome of the pointless football tweeter is Lord Sugar, who just tweets what happens in Tottenham games as it happens. When Harry Kane scores, he just tweets: “Harry Kane’s just scored. 1-0 up.” It’s as if he feels he’s got to fill a gap in the market left by Ceefax.
Look, please stop retweeting Vice is Hip. Whoever’s behind this account gave up a very, very long time ago. I imagine they’ve got a little tombola with their favourite words written on pieces of paper – ISIS, why, Putin, did, Kanye, why, invent, Russell Brand, trolling – they spin the tombola round, pick out the words in a random order and puke out a tweet that wouldn’t’ve been funny in 2013. Let it go.
Twee British twitters
Your Twitter handle is your moment to prove how interesting you are. So, why then are you using it to tell your following how good you are at the most mundane everyday task? I’m talking to you “lovesacuppa94”. You might as well be a walking specialist, sleeping aficionado or pooing professional. Weirdly though, the twee tea drinkers like to think of themselves as the kookiest people around. They’re really into cat cafes, cupcakes, cookbooks and other equally quaint bullshit. Basically, they’re everyone who works at The Guardian.
No, you don’t actually reside in “London/LA/Stoke on Trent”, you’ve been on your holidays or visiting your depressing long distance girlfriend and now that defines your Twitter persona. Where are you right now? Terminal 4? Stuck in traffic? At nana’s? Get that in there too.
Twitter doesn’t even link to Instagram properly anymore, please stop tweeting your pictures. Your alluring click sit means I literally have to open a new window now to look at your avocado and toilet selfies. You’re only one step above people who link their Facebook to their Twitter, those scumbags.