I’m Not An A$$hole, I Just Have a Blue Tick


I’m Not An A$$hole, I Just Have a Blue Tick

Illustration: Akshita Monga

Iwoke up one morning wondering whether my closest friend was accurately defining themselves as skoliosexual, when I’ve noticed them liking posts of cisgender people. Impulsively I tweet this thought out to my 1,000-plus followers who are waiting with bated breath for any sign of someone reconsidering their sexual orientation.

My friend was defeated, they admitted to being a fraud. How boring. To my satisfaction, however, at least one cis-man had the gall to tell me that this “choice” of gender offends his ability to understand what’s going on. This cisnormativity outraged me all the way until breakfast – avocado toast with a side of a 280-character assassination.

Yeah, I’ve ended a few careers in my life. I mean, I won’t be so forward as to call myself an internet God or anything, but I do have a blue tick next to my name…

I receive a message from a friend who wants me to put up a post about his comedy show, forgetting that my official stance on social media is humour-agnostic. What a loser. Still, I comply in the hope that I might be able to indulge some of my followers who appreciate this vacuous art form. To confirm that this show is indeed a great recommendation, and not a low-brow comedy gig, my tweet is composed of three words: “Best.Funnies.Wow.” This is sufficient to make my pleb of a friend famous and also give me an opportunity to rail against comedians I find unfunny.

Suddenly, there’s a trigger alert; a newsperson has delivered an opinion I disagree with. In all my 22 years of living, I’ve never seen anything this disagreeable. This has inspired me to compose a free-verse, punctuation-implied, vocabulary-distrusting, seven-word poem.

“how news sO bad

we hAte it”

Get it? It’s post-ironic, post-industrial, arthouse, blue-tick poetry. And it’s put on a plain black background, so you get a better idea of the colour of my soul. FYI, I was just liked by the social-media head of the Congress. No biggie, they’ll share anything.

Sometime during my lunch, while cancelling a few more people I disagree with, I decide it’s time to take the selfie. The #NewProfilePic has one bottle of expensive alcohol, one shiny hotel lobby, and an extreme close-up of my face so you can’t see anything else. To go with my new selfie, I must give myself a new Twitter handle. Remembering that I once went by “Star Shatter”, I now feel this image has more of a “Moon Melter” feeling to it. Despite its lack of apparent meaning, the blue tick near it should give you a better idea of how deep I am. My bio also gets an overhaul, “Liar. Honest. Pulled. Pork. Moon. Melted.” Maybe I should consider adding some French to it later.

Ever since I bought all of Sonam Kapoor’s old accounts, my life has changed. Now that I have a blue tick everyone wants to hear what I have to say. I can be a writer, a critic, a musician, an anthropological wanderer, or an astrophysicist. The options are endless. It’s amazing what opinions from people you agree with on everything, can do for your self-confidence.

Meanwhile, my attention has been diverted once again to my phone.

The herd I identify with has moved to a new watering hole. A 95-year-old celebrity has made a statement that does not adhere to our modern social constructs, and hence deserves to be yelled at. Rant after rant is posted until the nonagenarian retracts his statements, shuts down his account, and dies alone. A news outlet that usually compiles my rants in a list of political opinion from social media, reported that we made him cry.

Tough beans. I’m just doing my job. I have a blue tick after all.