Medium Has Some Shitty Writers — And I’m Probably One Of Them
Have you ever scrolled through Medium and thought, “Wow, these writers are narcissistic as hell”? Half of them are bragging about their body counts or spilling bizarre personal dramas — like how their 10th-grade teacher groped them in a 1991 Saab. Honestly, who cares? Nobody’s impressed.
Sure, I could post endless rants about my own dull, tragic life, but at least I’m self-aware enough to admit my audience is mostly clueless fools. Let’s be real — I’ve never claimed to be a great writer. Writing’s just therapy, a way to stay sane.
And hey, maybe one day I’ll go off on my PTSD from Iraq or the parade of time-wasters who treat my expertise like an all-you-can-eat buffet. You know what? Screw it. I’m putting up a “little free library” outside my house in Berkeley. Except instead of cute paperbacks, it’ll feature my books on covert hypnosis and sexual gratification — a delightful “library of horrors” for the curious passerby.
Speaking of horrors, this guy I should’ve never wasted my time on reached out recently. Total waste of space. One of those users who takes what they want and vanishes when it’s convenient. He actually had the audacity to call my writing short and terrible — while sending me a single, pathetic sentence. One sentence.
Of course, it’s short and terrible, you clueless idiot. I write for your tiny attention span. Anything longer, and your brain would probably short-circuit.
Honestly, what makes a man lean into being that guy? The guy a woman hates. Is it a compulsion? A choice? He should start posting on Medium too, where his followers can stroke his literary cock.
And while we’re at it, let’s give an award to the most absurd lie I’ve heard this year. It goes to a very fat man who, instead of showing up on time for his appointment, showed up two hours late with sandwiches. Sandwiches. Make it make sense.
Oh, I could go on another long diatribe about Peter — years of him wasting my time, bleeding into my writing as a pathetic caricature. A character who, quite frankly, deserves to be buried alive, his last breath dragged out of him.
But back to Medium and its endless supply of vapid content: “I banged 20 hookers and didn’t catch an ounce of VD.”“Aliens stalked my room and tried to probe my asshole — and I loved every second of it.” “I walked backwards to Kentucky with my finger on my nose to prove I’m not an addict.” It’s all the same garbage, regurgitated for clicks.
Honestly, I can’t even get through a headline without getting bored. It’s like sex with Peter all over again: dull, repetitive, and I’m counting the tiles on the ceiling, praying for it to end.
