The Inner Monologue

(Because You People Have the Attention Span of a Goldfish on Espresso)

Oh, hello there, dear reader. You’ve stumbled upon yet another one of my signature snarky rants—congratulations on having the emotional depth of a TikTok comment section. But I see you’ve finally mustered the courage to ask: “Why are all your posts so sarcastic and unhinged? Can’t you just write something normal for once?”

The answer? Because you wouldn’t read it if I did.

Let’s be real. I could spend weeks crafting a meticulously researched, nuanced, and perfectly cited thinkpiece on the psychological underpinnings of modern discourse. But let’s face it—you’d scroll past it faster than a billionaire’s apology tweet. Why? Because you, my intellectually starved friend, are addicted to outrage, chaos, and the sweet, sweet dopamine hit of watching someone else lose their damn mind on your behalf.

Exhibit A: The Attention Economy is a Dumpster Fire

The internet has turned us all into rabid raccoons fighting over the last scrap of trash-content. Write something thoughtful? Boring. Polite? Weak. Measured and fair? YAWN. But the second I drop a rant about how society is a clown car speeding toward the abyss? Suddenly, I’ve got engagement.

It’s not me—it’s you. You want blood. You want spectacle. You want to nod along while I scream into the void so you don’t have to. And who am I to deny the people what they crave?

Exhibit B: Nuance is Dead and You Killed It

I could write, “Recent studies suggest that polarization is exacerbated by algorithmic reinforcement of extreme viewpoints.” But let’s be honest—your eyes glazed over just reading that. Meanwhile, if I scream, “EVERYONE’S BRAINS ARE MARINATING IN LIQUID STUPIDITY AND I’M THE ONLY ONE WHO NOTICED,” you’ll share it with three group chats and tag your frenemies.

This isn’t a me problem. This is a you problem. You don’t want truth—you want someone to validate your irritation at the world while making you laugh-cry into your oat milk latte.

Exhibit C: The Bar is in Hell (And You Dug the Hole)

Let’s not pretend you’re here for substance. If you were, you’d be reading peer-reviewed journals instead of yelling at strangers in your Instagram comments. But no—here you are, lapping up my sarcastic venom like a cat with a bowl of cream. And honestly? I respect the hustle.

So yes, all my posts are snarky rants. Because that’s the currency you spend. That’s the breadcrumb trail your fried attention span will actually follow. And until humanity collectively decides it wants to engage with ideas deeper than a meme caption, I’ll be over here, cranking out the verbal equivalent of a fireworks show made entirely of middle fingers.

You’re welcome.

(P.S. If this post offended you, good. Now go read a book.)