A Day in the Life of a Facebook Troll

Pick one!

One often wonders “who the fuck is this dipshit?” after he comments “someone needs to get laid” on a photo of your college roommate drinking wine in a Hello Kitty Snuggie. You think to yourself “this is a tiny little man in saggy purple briefs eating a low calorie microwave pizza and wishing he could move out of his mom’s basement…” You wonder what his goddamn problem is. You wonder why he won’t disappear. Then you close the Facebook window and go back to watching Better Call Saul because you have an actual life.

The Facebook troll (let’s call him Lil FT) is not awakened by a chirpy alarm alerting him to shower and prepare for his work day, no, Lil FT is punched from slumber by his mom calling on the landline and hollering into the answering machine at full volume. “I hope you aren’t still sleeping! The cat needs his insulin…” He pulls the filthy pillow with Cheetos crumbs over his head and drowns out the part about plunging the toilet and picking up fly traps. As he reaches for his iPhone 4, yes the one the neighbor kid sold him after he got an iPhone 7 at his Bar Mitzvah, he hears a familiar PING. It’s a Facebook notification that reads, “Fuck you, Jared.” Lil FT snickers, he’s not deterred, and returns to the thread to quickly write “someone needs to change there tampon!” Yeah, that’ll teach her. 

We should quickly note that the Facebook Troll as a species has no issues with misspellings of annoyingly common words like their/there or 7th grade commentaries on boobs, menstrual cycles, and all types of unwanted and mildly rapey comments about women’s bodies. 

Once he shows that ugly slut what’s up, he tosses his phone into the pile of dirty laundry on his floor and eats a giant bowl of Captain Crunch while watching the hot mom next door scream at her children. As she glances over and notices Lil FT staring her face curls into one of disgust and she flips him off while mouthing “asshole.” Yes, this stinky bonehead may or may not have spent the hours of 2-4am last week commenting such gems as “what up MILF” and “wanna borrow a cup of sugar Mrs. Robinson?” on photos of her vacationing with her children. 

It’s true, Lil FT is the actual worst. 

What’s next on the agenda, you may wonder? Well, after he shreds his jury summons, turns his underwear inside out instead of changing it, and prank calls the homeless women’s shelter; it’s time to settle in for a political debate he knows nothing about with some gay dude who’s mutual friends with a that bitch from high school who called him a “revolting parasite” when he asked her if she’d blow him in a private message. 

The rest of the day is pretty obvious : nap, reheat some microwaveable mac and cheese, post the same meme of Melania Trump topless with the words “The Role Model Women Need, Make Women Great Again” on all Planned Parenthood pages. 

Hey, Asshole! Yes, you, cupcake, I’m talking to you. A small turd-man in your MAGA hat stinking of head sweat and caked with dandruff, picking your oily nose and trolling around your coworkers Facebook feed hoping she has a bikini shot from her trip to Cabo you can beat off to. You, my friend, are the slimy patch on my new organic kale that is just gross enough to make me toss you in the compost bin. You are the hairball in my shower that just won’t go away, no matter how much baking soda and vinegar I dump on to you in a fizzy rage. You are the used condom floating in the pool on my vacation, clinging to a dead lime and soggy cigarette butt. 

You are the reason we close our browser, slam shut our laptop, and coat ourselves in hand sanitizer, never fully able to get the creep off our skin.

We all know you Lil FT, and each and every one of us has stayed up hours past a reasonable bedtime trying to silence the stinky beast who will never never, never let it go. Although I can never truly delete you, there is an upside for those of us just trying to share cute photos of hamsters eating burritos. Unfriend and Block. I can literally watch all your racist and tone deaf comments vanish off my page, and my friends can entertain themselves for hours making fun of your chronic grammatical mistakes and pathetic existence. Unlike you, I can return to the actual life I have, the one with real live humans and physical contact, knowing that you are floating around out there like scum on a pond, but briefly thwarted. 

Jesus you suck.