(this started out as a facebook post, that kind of grew out of control)
I don’t think most people realize how many random jerkoffs show up to scream at me anytime I post anything. Which is why I get all these other well-intentioned types going “tsk tsk, Larry Correia is SO RUDE on the internet. He should be nicer.”
Of course, if these people who chide me about my rudeness had to put up with my social media feed for 24 hours, they’d either be curled up the fetal position on their shower floor, weeping. Or they would lose their shit and go on a tri-state killing spree.
I don’t think some of you realize what it is like to be a little bit famous with the wrong politics, but here, let me try to help. Let’s say that you put up a post about anything from current events which is even sort of controversial.
When I do that, people start to share it to their pages, where various strangers see it, and are inevitably compelled to come back to my page to tell me how I’m a horrible person who should die. Then the morons come flooding in. An endless stream of idiots, barking, hooting, screaming, throwing their feces, and dragging their diseased anuses on my carpet. And all of them feel compelled to share their bullshit hot takes with me, a total stranger, in the mistaken belief that they’re going to browbeat me or shame me into silence.
I’m pretty sure there is a mathematical formula to this. Y number of shares, R is the rate of controversy, find for X, which is the number of vapid morons blundering onto my page.
Three days ago I put up that post refuting the meme about the RNC speakers. By the time it got shared a thousand times, off the top of my head I think that thread got me an insane healing power of crystals hippie, five morons calling me names who were so incoherent that I couldn’t actually tell what they were upset by, a couple Common Internet Shit Gibbons, a Socialist Lemming, some pseudo-intellectual gotcha attempts from people who aren’t smart enough to pick up dog turds in the park for a living, and one incredibly boring dope who babbled about his asinine philosophy on EVERYTHING for THREE DAYS STRAIGHT. By the end I was reading all his posts in the voice of Colin Robinson.
That was ONE POST. But not a single death threat, or anyone wishing for me to get cancer… So that was actually kind of nice.
I had one last month, with 8,000 comments, where I ended up blocking over 100 people in 24 hours. That was nuts.
Apparently, where all these people come from, blundering into a stranger’s living room and screaming in his face is a “conversation”. And if you don’t put up with their endless abuse, you’re obviously a bad person.
Awesome. I’ll be the bad guy.
And it is bipartisan. Though I’d say 80% of the time I’m yelled at by annoying leftists, 15% it’s annoying right wingers, and 5% Too Fucking Insane To Register On Any Regular Political Scale.
That’s for controversial posts. For regular, boring, not controversial posts at all, I can count on getting lots of “helpful” suggestions. These mean well, but then never stop coming, and most of them are so awful they really make my head hurt. You’re right, sir, I should totally install more electrical outlets into my closet. Why thank you, ma’am, I should totally disregard my decade of professional experience and write my books according to your really awful suggestions.
Then there’s the people who think they are funny, who aren’t. I’ve heard the same tired jokes 10,000 times. I can’t post about the availability of a new product without Shut Up And Take My Money memes, and I can never mention food spicier than white bread without listening to dozens of people whine about how weak their bowels are. Because having total strangers tell me about their painful shitting never ever grows tiresome.
Except I know they mean well, so I just sigh and move on. Usually. Sometimes it’s just too annoying. (by now I’ve got people mostly trained not to use the Fry meme).
Only then there’s those really needy, awful, painful types who aren’t funny, but who get upset when you don’t think they are funny. And they need to draw you a diagram explaining how they are actually funny, and I should feel bad for not taking time out of my day to tenderly pat them on the head to tell them everything is going to be all right. Because obviously if I don’t care for the mental needs of thousands of total strangers, I’m a bad person who hates my fans.
Worse than those however, are all the people who think I OWE THEM. Why do I owe them? I exist, in their universe at the same time they do, ergo, if I don’t want to let them spam my page with their Get Rich schemes, insane conspiracy theories, or incredibly shitty Youtube videos, I’m a terrible person who hates my fans.
(and it is almost a inevitable certainty of the internet, by me honestly venting, somebody will take it personally and get angry at me for saying this. Also of course, somebody will say “first world problems”. Well no shit, I don’t live in Nigeria. And also, “TLDR” because some people just need to let the world know they don’t read good!)
This combination of perpetual annoyance and entitled fuckery is why the vast majority of authors who are at my level of minor celebrity or above mostly avoid social media, and never interact with their fans. Because it’s a giant ridiculous time suck at best, and at its worst, it’s hundreds of crazy people threatening to murder my family.
But I stick around, because I do honestly like you guys. I interact with my fans far more than most writers. Because most of you are actually pretty cool.
So to deal with the never ending onslaught of hate filled randos, liars, gaslighting scumbags, insane attack dogs, “helpful” types, and the perpetually entitled… I’m a huge dick.
It is a cultural thing. I come from a very loud, animated, opinionated, and aggressive people. The odds of me holding my tongue and never speaking out on controversial topics is near zero. I’m not the sit there quietly and take abuse type. So my Bullshit Tolerance Threshold is set extremely low, and once you cross it, it’s game on. And I’ll skip right to where experience has taught me this “conversation” is going to inevitably end up anyway. It saves us all time.
It’s either that or bail on social media entirely, which believe me, is super fucking tempting.
So anyways, long story short, if you think I’m mean to people on the internet… Oh well. I’ll live. Not that your opinion matters to me anyway, because I’ve discovered the people who get the most sanctimonious about “tone” can usually be goaded into an incoherent rage within five or six posts.