True Story©... And your damned hashtags

True Story©…

                My level of disdain for people who fake wittiness is beyond measure.  Also, sometimes I have a hard time maintaining my temper in response to such things.  With that in mind, I fucking HATE hashtags for the sake of hashtagging.  I understand the use of them for discussions on a topic on social media, like last night’s debate or MLB playoffs games.  But cramming a sentence preceded by a pound sign under a post with no spacing because you thought it was witty is enough to send me into a rage.  Seeing them on an email, text message or even a fucking t-shirt makes it even worse still.
                One day last year, I decided that I’d had enough after a rough morning on The BookFace.  I was off work and home, and several consecutive posts contained the worthless hashtagging scheme and I was pushed into action.
First, I spent one hour on Google, Wikipedia and everywhere those sites led me to learn who specifically it was who INVENTED the hashtag, then I set about the task of locating that person with the intentions of fucking assaulting them.  1:15pm, I had my information and was ready to be on my way.  Armed with a full tank of gas, no responsibilities until the next day and (of course) these hands, I was ready to hit the road and go whoop an ass or seven.
…  then my FUCKING car wouldn’t start.
                So here I am, ready to kick ass, knowing precisely who it was to be and why and I am done in by a selectively inanimate object that chose THIS day to become inanimate.  Instead of getting on the road to collect a body count over what nonsense their creation caused, I had to deal instead with a 300k+ mile Subaru doing what 300k+ cars do. 

Oh well, I will go get em next time.
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