I wrote the first chapter of Scared of the Rain my senior year of college after a night out. I came home from the bars and felt the urge to write something outrageous and Victor sprang to life. The chapter was shaped by a few different factors: the yearlong creative writing capstone I was completing, Raymond Chandler, whom I had been reading, and those final bar weekends as a student when I was feeling especially reflective about the college experience—specifically my freshman year and the anxiety and reluctance that had accompanied it.

The piece sat on my laptop for nearly a decade until I rediscovered it a few months ago. Right away, I knew I had something. The voice was realized and the genre, which I like to call “neckbeard noir,” still seemed fun to work in. I wrote chapters two and three and ended up making a Substack for it:

Then I decided that I would try to share it with the world, for better or for worse.

But how could I possibly drive any meaningful traffic to those introductory chapters? Substack Notes is useless, my aunts are on Facebook, and due to their strict rules it’s impossible to self-promote in most subreddits, especially the popular ones that can actually get you clicks.

Well, almost impossible.

As it turns out, I had an old trick up my sleeve. It would ultimately garner me 4 million impressions on Reddit and send thirty-thousand visitors to Victor’s Substack in a single day. How did I accomplish such a feat?

Naturally, it began with a college.

Alumni, aspiring novelist looking for feedback regarding debut noir novel set in UMass

Umass alum here. I graduated a decade ago with an English degree and creative writing specialization and proceeded to do absolutely nothing with it. Lost my job recently so I was killing time deleting some old files and rediscovered this novel I began in college, a campus noir piece set of course on the very campus I inhabited at the time, UMass Amherst.

I usually cringe when I read old writing but I picked this up and it was...surprisingly good. Like probably the single written thing from college that holds up most. So I decided to return to it, and now I’m taking myself seriously as a novelist again for the first time in a decade.

The novel is set at UMass in 2013 and draws heavily from my time there, specifically my first semester, freshman year, fresh off the heels of a devastating summer breakup. The library, the Southwest towers, the back of Monkey Bar...these places serve as the backdrop for a piece that is part bildungsroman, part mystery and ultimately a deep meditation on human belonging and human frailty.

The first chapter takes place on a rainy Saturday night and includes a stop at Antonio’s. (Picture included for proof) I’d love to know what my fellow Minutemen think about the depiction of Amherst and its student population, especially if you went to UMass around that era? More general comments regarding character, plot, theme, etc. are also more than welcome.

Just hoping to take advantage whatever tenuous connections I can at this age and stage in my (non)career. I figured my alma mater would be a decent place to start. For anyone who decides to read and leave feedback, thank you in advance.

Link in comments

And then I dropped the link:

Many criticized the vivid descriptions:

Others condemned Victor himself:

Despite the cool reception, the post sent a few dozen users to my site, proving that the concept had legs. I would just need to keep taking shots until something caught fire. I tried /r/Substack next, hoping the discourse might spill over onto their website where Victor would be patiently waiting.

Does anybody on Substack actually know how to write??

I’ve been writing seriously since I was 13 and it drives me crazy the amount of garbage writing I see on the platform masquerading as something profound. Just because you can start a newsletter and hit publish doesn’t make you a writer and it doesn’t make your inadequate grasp of literary conventions any less glaring.

Before you try to publish on Substack maybe try picking up a book that isn’t Colleen Hoover or Rupi Kaur.

You might say it’s a place for anyone to write but the fact of the matter is that real artists are being drowned out by people pretending to be; writers that don’t have even the most basic understanding of proper punctuation or varying sentence structure, never mind tone, voice, or cadence.

I don’t mean to gatekeep but it’s true. There should be some bar for quality in order to preserve what little literary legitimacy the platform still has. Your thinly-veiled memoir about finding yourself after your divorce isn’t it, trust me.

I did my best to defend my credentials:

But the Substack subreddit was too small and nothing went beyond its walls. It sent a few more readers my way but got me no closer to virality. And so I tried yet another sub, /r/self, with 1.7 million users, few rules, and seemingly lax moderation.

The world no longer recognizes creative genius. I’m a casually of that

I’m in the midst of serializing what is the best thing I’ve ever written on Substack and I’ve been publishing to crickets. Meanwhile thousands of people who picked up a pen for the first time in their lives last summer are accumulating thousands of followers for drivel, usually some thematically-hollow memoir about divorce or parenthood drowning in cliches. No grasp of tone, cadence, or voice, yet these frauds are making a career off of the written word.

And then there’s me, with a background and formal education in the English language, writing in my own invented genre, with a deep understanding of literary conventions--and nothing.

Makes me wonder if this optimized, algorithmic world is the final nail in the coffin for art. When the mommy memoirist is making more than Morrison ever did, we’re cooked.

Again, traffic wasn’t much, not nearly enough to expose Victor Flame to the masses. I decided to try the UMass subreddit one more time, a week after my first post, just for shits and giggles.

Chapters 2 and 3 of my Umass noir novel are out

I posted in here last week soliciting feedback on my campus noir novel set at UMass and received some encouraging private feedback although many publicly derided it. A big criticism was that you never get cheese at Antonio’s which just shows me those commenters have never gone there after the bars and so their opinion is moot anyway.

For those who were intrigued by the work it’s your lucky day: two more chapters are out featuring our beloved library, the Southwest towers, and a Zoomass Halloweeen. Looking for more feedback on the world building: does it feel like UMass to you?

Links in comments

Over the course of the week, the gambit sent around 500 total readers to Scared of the Rain. Some loved the work and many hated it, but I had confirmation that the voice of Victor was indeed provocative enough to get eyeballs and get people talking. Five hundred visitors, however, was a drop in the bucket. The smaller communities were never going to cut it.

The formula required to put up big numbers was missing two fundamental components: a more judgmental audience and a girlfriend. Thankfully, I knew where to find both.

The Shitpost Diaries will be back soon with Part Two. Please subscribe if you haven’t for the next installment and over at Scared of the Rain too. If you’re liking the trolling stuff and haven’t read the rest of The Shitpost Diaries yet, start here.

I’ve had the honor of giving two eulogies for people that were close to me in the past several years. The process of writing and giving a eulogy is daunting. It’s a challenging thing to write and even more difficult to give, but also an immense privilege to speak on a person’s life to the people whom they held most dear.

The circumstances surrounding the most recent eulogy that I gave were especially difficult, something that I’m till coming to terms with. When life seems overwhelming, when it seems cruel, when it seems senseless, you can let it break you down, or you can laugh at it. So I did what anyone overwhelmed by sadness and loss and suffering would do: used it as inspiration to troll /r/AmITheAsshole.

AITA for critiquing a eulogy my brother asked me to edit?

I’m the writer in the family. Ever since I remember family and friends have been coming to me for writing advice, whether it be college papers or cover letters or even wedding vows. I’m always happy to help, even though most of them are college educated adults who should know what a comma splice is by now.

Fast forward to a few days ago, when my brother’s best friend passed. My brother is, of course, in shambles. And he’s adamant about giving the eulogy, even though he’s blue collar. He came to me and asked me to edit it because he wanted to make sure he did his friend proud. I agreed because he’s my brother and I’m a talented editor, and he sent me his first draft over email.

And it was, well, terrible. This may sound harsh, but writing is my craft and if you ask me to edit something I’m going to edit it seriously and soberly no matter what it is, eulogies included, and I think a second grader writing about the goldfish he flushed down the toilet could have evoked more emotion.

So I basically told him as such. In kinder words, of course, because he’s in a difficult place and I understand that. But I basically told him the truth: that it was a structurally messy and thematically trite. Of course, I gave him myriad examples of how to develop the piece more coherently, but he was having none of it. He accused me of being condescending and inconsiderate and all this other bullshit, all because he asked for my help and I gave it to him. And now we’re in what is probably the worst fight of our lives, just a few days before the funeral.

AITA?

edit: Additional context. Here are some of the notes my brother took exception to.

- It lacks concrete imagery or any real specific detail that paint a picture of his life. He was “kind.” He was “thoughtful.” This tells me nothing. What did he DO that was thoughtful? What did he DO that was kind?

- Similarly, using phrases like “give his shirt off his back” is so cliche it’s almost insulting to his legacy…give examples unique to HIM

- It’s way too choppy. Vary your sentence length. The audience won’t connect with the piece at all if it’s just composed of 5 word sentences.

- The ending, “I will miss you and love you forever.” This is just totally unimaginative and a terrible note to end on. Devoid of any hope or celebration. Far too bleak.

- Try working in a quote to give the piece a bit more eloquence. I’d recommend an Irish writer. Perhaps Yeats? (He said this was condescending)

Despite my well-intentioned attempt to help my brother craft a riveting piece, the verdict wasn’t exactly sympathetic.

Sometimes it’s fun to drop some straight up rage bait into the post just to rile up the crowd. I was afraid the suggestion that blue collar workers are incapable of writing and giving eulogies might be a bit too far, but it turned out condescension with a dash of classism was the perfect play to further enrage the masses.

I had no choice but to clap back at those who dared question my credentials.

Then we had this snarky ass motherfucker who took it upon themselves to line edit my own post. Their insolence did not go unchecked (also who tf says a shambles?)

My note suggesting he liven up the eulogy with some Irish literary quotes was also (oddly) met with derision.

Other writers also felt the need to chime in:

Including this guy...

...who let me know my post worked exactly as intended.

Anyway, sorry about this one, but boy was it fun.

The Shitpost Diaries will be back soon for the first time in 4 years with my most elaborate troll yet, featuring my favorite persona, the writer. This post will kick off what I hope will be a second Golden Age. Though the magic of Covid-era Reddit and Twitter is forever gone, this coming post proves, I think, that something special can still be created by telling lies on the internet.

If you’re looking for something to read in the meantime, please check out the work of my colleague Victor Flame. And please subscribe if you haven’t! Thanks again.

Subscribe now

Again? I said. There are so many heartwarming Christmas classics. There’s Elf. There’s Die Hard. There’s Olive the Other Reindeer. Why do you always want to watch The Grinch?

I love the Grinch, she said.

I sighed.

Whose go-to Christmas movie is The Grinch? Or was I being a Grinch myself by never giving it its fair due? Was I dismissing the film because it didn’t fit with my own shallow idea of what a Christmas movie should be?

Let’s watch, I said, determined to give it another chance. Maybe by better understanding the Grinch I could better understand my girlfriend. The Grinch spoke to her for a reason, but why?

To my dismay, she put on the 2018 version and there we sat, sipping beers, watching the Grinch go house-to-house with a bulging sack of toys over his shoulder, vacuuming up every last present under every last tree. I looked over at my girlfriend, her eyes sparkling like a Christmas tree in the night as she watched the Grinch commit several felonies.

And then, out of nowhere, a thought crossed my mind: what if my girlfriend didn’t identify with the Grinch at all? What if it wasn’t about alienation or loneliness or even redemption?

What if it was about something deeper, something far more raw and animalistic, something truly Freudian?

How do I (24F) get my boyfriend (27M) to dress up as the Grinch and fuck me?

I have a Grinch fetish. My boyfriend knows about this and for the most part accepts it. He isn’t crazy about it and doesn’t really get it but he at least tries which is all I ask. He’ll sometimes read the book to me to set the mood, or if he’s really feeling kinky tell me “You’re a mean one” in the heat of the moment. He’s even begrudgingly come around to at least playing one of the three versions of the film every time we do the deed (although we tend to stay away from the live-action one because it’s too much for me).

The thing is, I don’t want to hear about the Grinch or listen to the Grinch or watch the Grinch. I want to be fucked by the Grinch. And for the record this is common among women. The Grinch’s bulging sack of toys to me (and many others) is what a Mack truck is to Cardi B. The fact that he’s good with dogs and experienced trauma at a young age makes me want that long, fuzzy dick even more.

My boyfriend asked me what I wanted for Christmas and I told him straight up. I told him to put on the greenest, silkiest Grinch costume he could find, kidnap me from my bed on Christmas Eve, and then ravage me in front of the Christmas tree.

He flat out refused. Said it was too weird for him. I was literally begging this man to let this pussy save Christmas and he was like nah, I’m good. It ended up turning into a fight where he admitted he only gave into my initial Grinch kinks to placate me and was still uncomfortable about the fact that I had moaned “Grinch” during sex a few weeks ago, but only because his song was playing in the background.

So he’s drawn a line. And if I don’t drop the Grinch fetish (which as I said is incredibly common among women but sadly taboo) he’s done for good. I don’t want to lose him over this. But it’s really hard for me to see past my sexual proclivities especially during Christmas season. Is there any way we can even compromise on this, or do I simply need a more adventurous man?

This was the first post ever written from the perspective of a woman, and my most successful. Most people took it for the joke that it was, although there were quite a few who came out of the woodwork to question the veracity of my claims.

A poll was even conducted:

Many used the opportunity to stress the importance of consent and boundaries which does, in fact, extend to Grinch play:

There was some deeper, more thought-provoking analysis:

Even prominent members of the fetish community contributed to the discourse:

Perhaps unsurprisingly, there were several hedonists willing to don the green costume themselves.

One even slid into my inbox, proving, once again, that the internet is a far different space for women than men:

Merry Christmas, everybody.

Check out my next post of mine inspired by quite a different experience than sex with the Grinch: A Yeatsless Eulogy.

Another strategy for a successful troll is to take the more obviously satirical route, to write something obviously fake but funny and ridiculous enough to be forgiven. My first shitpost ever, I feel like my girlfriend doesn’t appreciate the fact that I’m IHG Platinum Elite status enough, took this approach, though all of the subsequent entries in the series were a bit more grounded. This was mainly out of necessity: obvious trolls always resulted in almost immediate removal--which meant no comments and no chance of being shared on Twitter, and therefore no content.

Still, sometimes I can’t be bothered to toe the line. Sometimes I just want to fuck around. I was on my laptop and an ad for Mr. Clean’s magic erasers appeared on my feed and I immediately had a thought. It was over the top, outrageous. I knew it stood little chance of slipping by the mods, but I had to write it.

And the result was, well, explosive.

I think my (28M) girlfriend (25F) wipes her ass with magic eraser

My girlfriend who is a beautiful person recently moved in with me after two years of dating. This is the most I’ve ever been around her besides the few trips we took as a couple before living together and for the most part it’s been great.

The first time we stayed overnight someplace I remember spotting a couple of magic erasers in her purse. It struck me as odd but I didn’t want to be rude and I figured she just brought them to wipe down any dirty surfaces in the room. But the thing is I never saw her clean anything on any trips despite the magic erasers nestled in her purse. One time I even purposely spilled a beer on the floor to see and all she offered was the hotel toilet paper.

So now she lives with me. And I can’t help but notice that there’s a stack of magic erasers in the cabinet under the sink. Like way more magic erasers than anybody would ever need unless of course they were wiping their ass with them.

To be fair she does keep the bathroom pristine--but her body is pristine as well, so you see the problem. It’s maddening. I even left a tiny dot on the toilet paper in the bathroom to see if she’s used it and it hasn’t moved a centimeter--all this while the magic eraser stash under the cabinet steadily depletes.

I mean what the fuck do I do. This sounds like insanity. But the truth is right in front of my eyes. What do I say to her? Is a woman’s personal hygiene something I should even talk about? I wish I had a magic eraser for this whole shitty situation.

tl;dr: I’m almost certain my girlfriend is wiping her ass with magic erasers

The post immediately spawned a heated debate about the merits of magic erasers as an ass-wiping instrument.

Other kind souls offered surprisingly wholesome advice:

Except for this person.

Some decried my communication skills:

Others lambasted my methodology:

Many women jumped to a different conclusion entirely.

I had to dispel the rumors:

But the responses only echoed a theme that was far too familiar:

In the uproar, however, were nuggets of wisdom. About the shortcomings of sexual education...

...and the superiority of bidets.

(which we still don’t use over here in the states, for some reason, even after the Great Toilet Paper Shortage of March 2020).

And then, while I was relishing in the ridiculousness of this literal shitpost, I saw a tweet, the type of tweet that reminds me why I do what I do.

And that's how what started off as an absurd post about wiping one's ass with a magic eraser ended with props from the former CEO of Reddit herself.

In the interest of transparency, I should say that when I first conceived the post it was absolutely, one-hundred percent supposed to be taken at face-value. I had no intention of the magic erasers being mistaken for pads, but when the internet suggested it, the idea was too good not to run with. This is why you might have noticed the glaring paper towel dot plot hole, which kills me to this day.

Buckle up, it’s time for “Grinch Kinks.”

Back when I was single, I was never was really a dating app guy. This was before Hinge and Bumble and all these other apps with unique twists. When I was in college, everyone used Tinder. I downloaded it sporadically but always ended up deleting it because I never got any matches, although I did get hot and heavy with a bot once. I’ve since attributed the matchless phenomenon to the fact that all my pictures looked like they were taken by my mom and my bio that read, “I’ll write you a love poem.” I was also wayyyy too selective, like probably offensively so.

All this preamble to say I’ve been trying to do a post about Tinder for a while. I knew the premise had potential, but despite my initial attempts, I never could quite get it right. Then, the other day, my girlfriend texted me from work as she underwent her daily lunchtime Impostor Syndrome fueled meltdown, and, suddenly, my match was struck.

Girlfriend (26F) is mad because I (27M) was on Tinder. But she’s got it all wrong

Sooo basically my girlfriend caught me on Tinder. And I know that sounds bad, but it’s all a big misunderstanding. Let me explain.

I’m a UI developer. The company I work for designs mobile apps for other companies, and we were put on this project the other day. It’s a big deal, and as such I wanted to make sure that the end product was executed flawlessly.

I decided to do some research in my off time, and made a point to download and examine the UI of every app that I could. I wanted to see what worked and what didn’t. Social network apps, news apps, banking apps—you name it. I studied them all. And, stupidly, dating apps.

My girlfriend was using my phone the other day when she noticed that I had downloaded Tinder. She immediately started freaking out. When I finally got a chance to explain that it was for work, she calmed down a bit, but then she opened the app and immediately started crying because I, stupidly, had made a profile.

I explained to her that having an account was a key component of the app we were contracted to develop so of course I had to make a profile in order to fully evaluate the user mechanics, and it was no different than the accounts I had made for Youtube and Bank of America.

She trusts me and knows that I’m serious about my work, so she accepted this explanation, until she saw that I, stupidly, had actually matched with some women. I admitted to her it looked bad, but that I was truly trying to evaluate its functionality and my interest in it was strictly professional because if this project goes right the bonus I could get could change our lives. I wanted to get every perspective I could.

At this point I realized we were barreling toward the cliff and tried to avert disaster by explaining to her that before she opens my inbox, she should know that a chat component is a huge part of the upcoming project, and that she can also check my messages to Facebook friends and DoorDash delivery drivers because I was just as friendly to them.

She wasn’t having it at this point, and stormed out of my apartment. I get it looks bad. I realize now that I should have left out the dating apps from my research, but sometimes I take work too seriously for my own good. Is this salvageable? Do you think if I showed her this post she would understand? Or is her trust broken forever?

edit: I guess it would be relevant to mention she has trust issues from a previous relationship

tl;dr downloaded tinder for professional purposes but girlfriend doesn’t trust me

They weren't buying it.

There was also the vast conspiracy that immediately unfolded:

There was gratuitous use of one of my favorite descriptors, "gaslighting", because that means I absolutely nailed the subtext.

And those couple of responses that combined the internet's favorite buzzword with its conspiratorial ways.

I tried to respond to the criticism as honestly as I could.

Here's a few more tweets that I loved.

**drops “nebulous user needs” in a sentence**

**can’t recognize satire**

And I’ll end it with a few comments that made the English major in me all giddy inside:

It ain’t no accident, Samantha.

Please check out the next entry in the series, Magic Erasers & Maxi Pads, my shittiest shitpost yet, in which I bewilder women everywhere and get props from former Reddit CEO Ellen Pao along the way.

I know that in some parts of the world the Dunkin diehard exists mainly as a laughable New England stereotype. And although I’m a far cry from the non-rhotic, no bullshit, backwards Sox cap wearing Masshole who needs his Dunks daily, I still have given Dunkin more of my money than they probably deserve, and am certainly guilty of using a love for coffee as an excuse to guzzle down beverages loaded with sugar and pumps of caramel syrup.

As an internationally recognized internet troll, I'm always looking for inspiration, and the other day it happened to strike in the Dunkin drive-thru. As I waited for the line to proceed, my gaze drifted to an advertisement plastered on the window for their latest rebranded product, the Charli, a caramel cold brew with whole milk named after TikTok star.

I saw the advertisement and immediately considered if there was a way that I could turn this innocent rebranding into an inflammatory /r/relationships or /r/AmITheAsshole thread. As it turns out, there was.

AITA for complaining to the Dunkin manager about a mislabeled coffee?

To start off yes I’m the stereotypical New England Dunkin aficionado and there’s this Dunkin by my place that I hit every night before work. I only drink cold brew even in the winter because it’s undeniably superior. My go-to order has been a caramel cold brew with whole milk. If you don’t know where I’m going with this, congrats you still have brain cells.

So last night I rolled up to the drive-thru and instead of the graying lifer that usually works the window it was some squeaky high schooler who I could barely hear. I placed my my order and then she paused and then was like oh you want the Charli?

I said no. I wanted a caramel cold brew with whole milk. And again she’s like yeah you want the Charli, that’s the Charli. So obviously I was a little irritated at this point so I said I no I’d like the same damn drink I’ve ordering since Charli was in diapers.

She got the hint and put the order through and I pulled up and paid with my rewards perks. After I pulled away to inspect the coffee I saw that the dumb girl had unbelievably written “Charli” in flowery letters right across the top. Obviously that was intentional, and petty.

I parked and went inside and found the manager. I’m also a manager in the service industry so I was obviously respectful and informative but basically I let her know that her employees need to respect customers’ preferences and that grown men don’t want to deal with the stupid Tik Tok bullshit. I also told her I don’t need my employees at my job thinking I’m into any of that vapid shit, or that I give a single fuck about Charli or Chase or any of that nonsense.

Since my language was a bit stronger than I’d intended the manager basically threw me out and told me to never come back even though I’m literally a regular. From a customer service standpoint I know I’m in the right, and the manager should have acknowledged their mistake. I know I used stronger language that I should have but I was provoked. AITA?

edit: I’m 27 not some boomer

For some reason, the internet took issue at a grown man being so incensed at the naming of a beverage after a TikTok star that he was banned from the Dunkin Donuts. Let's take a look at some of the hits:

Dunkin aficionado

Undeniably superior

Graying lifer/squeaky high schooler

Here were a few more gems:

Oh, and you can't forget the personal chats that I received:

And of course, no troll would be complete without doubling down in the comments:

And what sets apart basic troll posts from the truly great? Character.

And I'd like to end with perhaps the most validating comment about my talent as a writer that I've ever received:

That’s voice, baby. And if you want more of that please check out Developer Duties in which an innocent downloading of Tinder leads to accusations of infidelity.

The other night I was talking to her about the game since she’s never played before and my head started to pound. The high from my previous creative writing shitpost that I’d been riding for the past few days was wearing off and I was coming down, hard. I needed a fix. But how? I couldn’t think of anything to write about. I hadn’t been tossing around any ideas in my head.

And then it dawned on me. Why not take the innocent and adorable conversation my girlfriend and I were having about our island name (Augusta Island, for the month we started dating) and hair color and house locations and completely turn it on its head? In a community of supportive and friendly and passionate fans, anxiously awaiting the latest release, why not be the villain?

AITA for telling my girlfriend to get her own copy of Animal Crossing?

So around a month ago I (31M) preordered the new Animal Crossing game that comes out next week. I’ve been a huge Animal Crossing fan since the original 2001 GameCube version and to say I’m excited would be an understatement.

My girlfriend (23F) lives with me and she has never been a gamer. I’ve tried to play games with her but she just isn’t good. She has no concept of defense in Rocket League, she can’t hold a candle to me in Smash and the only time she ever wins Mario Party is if she gets bullshit bonus stars. You get the point. Gaming just isn’t her thing, which is fine. I still love her and it’s never been an issue.

The other day she apparently stumbled upon a YouTube video of the new Animal Crossing game and started telling me how excited she was to play. I asked her if she was going to purchase another copy and another Switch and she was stunned. She asked me why she would need to get her own when I already ordered one and I explained to her that it isn’t the type of the game you share.

She got all upset and told me that she thought it would be cute to live in the same village and be neighbors and I told her that simply wasn’t the case. There’s only one town per game, and I don’t want somebody who has zero concept of how the game should actually be played making decisions that negatively affect the town. I don’t want her stealing exotic fruits from my orchard that I plan to sell, I don’t want her buying furniture from Tom Nook’s that I might want to adorn my living room with and I certainly don’t want her placing her house next to mine because she thinks it’s cute, thus spoiling what I plan to develop into a lavish estate.

She told me that it was just a game and she thought we could bond over it but we’ve never been able to bond over games so why start now? Of course she doesn’t get that it’s a game in which grinding and planning is key. I can’t be prevented from carrying out my vision simply because she wants to run around with her dumbass pink-haired character catching butterflies or making a constellation out of our initials which I know she would do.

I told her it was nothing personal, that I still love her, but she started crying and told me she doesn’t want to play the stupid game anyway. I kind of feel bad but I also feel like it’s unreasonable for her to just assume she can just insert herself into one of my passions without considering how disruptive doing so actually is. I make more than her so I even offered to buy her her own console and game but she said that wasn’t the point and now I’m lost. AITA?

To be honest, I was worried that people wouldn't buy the whole 31-year-old man obsessing over a game with cute, talking animals but they bit this one hard. I love video games but I think the whole "gamer" identity is incredibly lame but apparently "gamers" take this kind of stuff very seriously.

Amazingly enough, however, the true Animal Crossing diehards, those who understood the struggles of sharing a town with others, came to my defense. A few of them, afraid of catching heat in the echo chamber that is Reddit, messaged me privately.

This one martyr actually jumped to my defense in the Reddit thread and got downvoted to hell.

I actually reached out to /u/gripleg in an attempt to find the Facebook group where the argument was happening. Unfortunately, he said it looked like it got removed because the two sides were at each other’s throats. I was disappointed at missing the chance to put faces to the grown adults fighting over the merits of my fictional argument but the fact that it happened at all brings tears of joy to my eyes.

But perhaps the most rewarding part of all of this was actually the confirmation that I’m actually an extremely cute and romantic boyfriend:

And finally, shoutout to the Twitter user who made this:

If you're liking my series please check out DISillusioned where I take aim at some of the most insufferable people on social media: Disney couples.

I knew that my fourth post had to be something different. The previous three had all in some capacity dealt with ungrateful and at times terrible boyfriend and I knew that I needed a new angle. But what? A quick reflection on my college days brought back recollections of my ultimately fruitless times spent in creative writing workshops, and suddenly, I had my inspiration.

Alexander was in the 12-person creative writing course that I took my junior year. While everyone in the class took fiction writing far more seriously than they should have, Alexander was by far the worst. He believed himself to be the next Pynchon, locking himself in his room even on Friday and Saturday night as he labored over a Word document in a vain attempt to unlock the human condition. He also happened to live on my floor.

When it was his week to turn in his piece for discussion, he submitted an 82-page “first chapter,” written in the maximalist style of DFW’s Infinite Jest, which he had admitted to me he had never actually read. The professor had him give it to the class two weeks in advance so we could digest it properly and I never read a word of it because fuck that. Throughout those two weeks I often bumped into Alexander in the hallway or the bathroom where he’d inevitably ask me how the reading was coming along. I always told him that I hadn’t gotten to it yet because I was busy with other work, but I’m sure he could tell from my bloodshot eyes that I had other priorities.

I’ll never forget the day his workshop finally came when, after I added nothing to the discussion, he singled me out in front of the whole class and asked me if I had anything to contribute. I didn’t, of course, and I could feel my face turning red as I sputtered out a sentence something along the lines of “I think everyone else pretty much said what I think.”

Looking back, I probably should have just read his piece. But as every writer knows, writers are the worst, and I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. If you’re reading this, Alexander, sorry for not reading your piece, but thanks for the inspiration.

AITA for calling a student in my creative writing class a “feeble-minded twit”?

I am a creative writing major. I’ve always had an infinity for storytelling. I was writing dialogue in the first grade and by the time I graduated high school I had penned hundreds of pieces, most of which were roman á clefs in the spirit of Hemingway. A lot of people counseled me against majoring solely in creative writing, but it’s my calling.

I’m in a year long creative writing thesis course with nine other students. Admission to the course was selective, and the coursework primarily consists of workshopping creative writing pieces with the rest of the class. Four of the students are poets which can often prove burdensome to the rest of us as they have very little grasp on the conventions of fiction.

Anyway, earlier this week it was my turn to be workshopped. I turned in a 59-page piece that I had been pouring my heart into since the summer, the first chapter of a novel based loosely on a girl I hooked up with during my freshman year. Thematically, it focused on the transience of romance, self-medication, powerful sex, and time. I was really excited to hear what the class had to say.

To start, my professor praised my control of language and use of metaphor. Other classmates lauded the dialogue which has always been a strength of mine, and the only hot girl in the class described it as “raw,” so I was riding high.

Then Luke, a sporty douche who writes shitty poems, spoke. He basically tore my whole manuscript apart. He said he found the structure (á la Proust) confusing, the cunnilingus descriptions gratuitous, and the protagonist self-indulgent and unlikeable.

I obviously took offense to this, and asked him if he had actually read the piece or if he was just a “feeble-minded twit.” The whole class gasped at this, and he told me I was out of line. After class, the professor spoke to me and told me that if I wasn’t able to take constructive criticism then I shouldn’t be in the workshop, and if I insulted another classmate again he would fail me. I realize I probably could have chosen my words better, but am I really the asshole here? Luke went out of his way to bash my story in front of the whole class, and it was hurtful to watch something so deeply personal be ripped apart.

Despite my concerns that the post may have been a little too on-the-nose, it nonetheless duped an amazing amount of people, many of whom were keen to point out the difference between “affinity” and “infinity.”

Naturally, many of the initial Reddit comments did in fact call the post out for being satire. Many unsure of whether or not to take the post at face value called for excerpts from the piece, which I was all too happy to provide.

For some reason, a lot of people found this more offensive than the original post.

Needless to say, it was another fulfilling journey, even earning me a feature on @menwritewomen and a retweet from Dana Schwartz, creator of the parody @GuyinYourMFA Twitter account.

The icing on the cake, though, was this:

Three days later, I was back shitposting again, and this time I turned to the Animal Crossing community to stir up some trouble. Check out the post that was so bad it was featured on Polygon: More Than a Game.

YTA: You’re the asshole

NTA: Not the asshole

ESH: Everyone sucks here

NAH: No assholes here

After my initial account had been exposed by Twitter, I knew I had to venture into other subs to avoid detection, and AITA was ripe for trolling. All I needed was a controversial topic, and Harry Potter houses proved perfect.

AITA for insisting my girlfriend would be in Slytherin

Got into this argument with my girlfriend the other day. We both agreed that I would be in Ravenclaw because they value intelligence and I graduated college cum laude and have read Faulkner. But we couldn’t agree on what house she belongs to.

She was adamant that she belongs in Gryffindor and I just had to call her out on it. I told her she was only saying that because Harry was in Gryffindor and that as a white girl whose dad is a lawyer and whose mother is a clinical psychologist, she’s never had to overcome anything in her life. One of the tenets of the Gryffindor ethos is courage, and it doesn’t take courage to drive around in the Audi that your dad bought you.

So of course she gets mad at this, further proving my point. She asks me what house I would sort her into, and I tell her Slytherin. And she responds exactly as a Slytherin would. She frowns, turns red, and then tells me I’m an idiot, I don’t know what I’m talking about, and that she’s taken the quiz on Pottermore multiple times and is always sorted into Gryffindor, so why the fuck would I say she’s a Slytherin?

I value honestly in a relationship so I basically told her that she comes from a rich, 100% Irish family, and that she tends to be a bitch when she doesn’t get her way, like right now. She flips out. We start fighting. I probably should’ve just told her that she was a Gryffindor but I was heated so instead I doubled down and said that even her sexual proclivities would point to Slytherin because she’s a dom (which I love) but she still refused to see my point.

She told me I was an asshole taking a discussion about fictional houses so seriously but like I said, I value honesty, and I think the house a woman chooses for herself says a lot about how she views herself and the person she aspires to be. AITA?

The post evoked a variety of responses, many of which were from the “Read Another Book” crowd which I didn’t even know was a thing. More interestingly, it ignited a debate on both Twitter and Reddit about the merits of the four Harry Potter houses.

I couldn’t help but feed the flames, just a little bit.

Ultimately, this post led to my crowning achievement. When people ask me what drives me, the reason I do what I do, I can only point to this:

If you like this material, check out Picasso’s Brush, where I take up the mantle of aspiring novelist, and shock the internet with my pretentiousness and purple prose.

Girlfriend (21F) isn’t talking to me (23M) because I suggested her Bitmoji was too hit

So me and my girlfriend of course text a lot and like to send Bitmojis back and forth. I mainly like to use the “Send pics” Bitmoji which doesn’t always work but she’s always sending them, for good mornings, goodnights and everything in between which I think is cute.

Anyway yesterday she sends me a Bitmoji in the middle of the day. She must have updated it because this Bitmoji was HOT. Like it had flowing hair, these big, gorgeous eyes, and was wearing this tight, sexy dress that my girlfriend would never have the confidence to wear in real life.

Don’t get me wrong, my girlfriend is beautiful, but this Bitmoji was legit flawless. So I just reply back, “Is that supposed to be you?” She replies, “Obviously,” at which point I say it doesn’t really look like her at all, and she should go back to her old Bitmoji that wore a cute coat and was, well, slightly pudgier.

She flips her shit. Starts saying I don’t love her, I’m not attracted to her, and all this crazy shit. She told me to leave her alone and hasn’t answered any of my texts even though I’ve been bombarding her with “I love you” Bitmojis since last night.

We’ve always communicated very openly about everything so I am just surprised that after being together for 2 years she reacted like this, over a Bitmoji. I mean seriously guys this could have been Emily Ratajkowski’s Bitmoji, that’s how perfect it looked. Any suggestions on how to proceed? Is this relationship salvageable?

tldr: told my girlfriend her Bitmoji was hotter than her and now she’s pissed and not talking to me

Though I thought the post would receive a similar reception to my previous IHG post, it proved more controversial than expected. The ever angry users of Twitter were quick to jump down my throat, leveling accusations of poor communication and body shaming against me.

I was also accused of being sexually into cartoons which if you don’t count Jessica Rabbit is absolutely not true.

Then, amidst the vitriol, emerged a voice of reason:

And just like that I was burned. Somebody had noticed my username, “IHGPlatinumElite”—and put two and two together:

After being exposed, I knew I needed to move on: to a new account, and, more importantly, to a new subreddit. Fortunately, Reddit’s Am I The Asshole? subreddit, in which users seek judgment at the hands of the internet, was fertile ground.

Check out A Ravenclaw Reads Faulkner, where I went on to spawn a heated debate about the Harry Potter houses, while simultaneously getting William Faulkner trending on Twitter, just for the hell of it.

We had gone out for the night and when we got back she immediately passed out. I sat next to her, wide awake, sipping on wine alone. Somehow, I found myself on the relationship_advice subreddit, and decided to submit something for the first time. The next day, I was shocked to find out that it had blown up on Twitter.

I feel like my girlfriend doesn’t appreciate the fact that I’m an IHG Platinum Elite Rewards member enough

The title says it all. I signed up for the card in August. Threw down the $95 annual fee like it was nothing. Let my mom buy the groceries with it for a few weeks so I could hit the $3000 necessary to achieve the 120,000 bonus points.

And I just flexed on her. Not on my mom on my girlfriend. Dropped 20000 points for a night at the local Holiday Inn Express, complete with a continental breakfast.

But she just doesn’t seem impressed. We walk in the front door and approach the concierge, where I slide my license that expired two weeks ago across the counter, followed by the silver, spinning IHG Mastercard that reflects every last drop of light in the room.

“Thank you for being an IHG Rewards Club member,” she says, and she means it. She begins to check me into the room when I flash a wink at my girlfriend and drop the line: “I was wondering if it was possible to upgrade rooms, since I’m a, you know, Platinum Elite Status. It is--one of the perks.”

She flashes me another one of those smiles out of a Philip Marlowe story and swipes another card. “I can upgrade you to the suite.”

I nod.

“There you go,” she says, “a suite. Room 212.” I don’t say thank you because I don’t have to. I’m Platinum Elite Status.

The suite doesn’t have a jacuzzi like I had hoped, but it does have a couch which I’m sure I’ll be fucking on later thanks to my IHG card.

We go out for drinks with her friends. I open up a tab for everyone under my card, letting them know it’s 4 points per dollar on everything for the first year, so load it up.

She gets hammered. Starts screaming Alanis Morissette at the karaoke bar. And finally we head back to the suite where she eats her double XL chalupa, throws up in the trash can, and falls asleep. Meanwhile I’m laying next to her like an asshole, listening to her snore, and staring at the couch that held every possibility in the universe only hours before.

I just don’t know what to do. What’s the point in being an IHG Rewards member if the points and the Platinum Elite status don’t turn her on?

Thankfully, this didn’t go over too many heads. Most appreciated it for what it was, a satire of people who take their credit/reward card perks just a tad too seriously, although many of the details, such as my awkward attempt to get upgraded to a suite at the front desk, were rooted in real life inspiration.

There were a few gems, though:

This last guy is clearly Spire Elite, a milestone I have yet to reach.

And then, of course, there were the incredibly perceptive Twitter users who saw this for what it truly was: a brilliant, innovative means of guerilla marketing sponsored by none other than the omnipresent Intercontinental Hotel Group itself.

Sign up for the IHG Rewards Card today and automatically be upgraded to Platinum Elite Status. We’ll even upgrade you to a room with a couch.

While I was exhilarated at the time from all of the anonymous adoration, I never anticipated at the time that trolling the angry, excitable and opinionated communities of Reddit and Twitter would become a hobby of mine. I would go on to spawn a heated debate over of the four Harry Potter houses, break the hearts of Animal Crossing fanatics everywhere, and incense the expansive community of internet users who like the call themselves “writers,” among many other things.

Years later, I would find my IHG post at the all-time top of /r/churning.

Some might it shitposting. I call it art.

And this was just the beginning.

Check out the next installment, A Bangable Bitmoji, where I confront a real problem: Bitmojis being too hot.