The Metro is a widely read news-paper I write for some-times. Thought Catalog is a widely read web-site I am kind of surprised I have never written for, because I'm both exceptionally vapid and yet really pleased with the sound of my own retarded inner monolog at the same time.
As I've just learned, the paper , in an article on the paper's website about a new that serves the same purpose as the aforementioned Tumblr, namely, taking the piss out of Thought Catalog, which I am referencing here on my own blog, in a post in which I intend to also contribute to the overall theme and then the snake sucked its own internet dick and why are people stupid now oh my god who cares. Quoth the Metro:
This week, though, another brave soul took up the call and joined us in the fight to shame Thought Catalog back into obscurity (or at least, back to LiveJournal, where overwrought writing belongs). The novelty Twitter account is a collection of imaginary Thought Catalog articles so Thought Catalog-y they could only have been written by someone who really understood what it's like to be in your twenties.
Then the Metro has a fun little game on the site where you guess which is a real Thought Catalog headline, and which is from @ThinkingCatalog. THE INTERNET. It's hard. Go try.
I'm more interested at the moment in the contents of Thought Catalog Haters, the Tumblr where they've compiled examples of the shittiest writing on TC, like these super serious and important thoughts below, cataloged. That may just be because it reminds me of my first entree into the world of being a pompous little shit in my own early twenties publishing something in Mcsweeney's called Actual Sentences Written by Students in My Fiction Workshop in a Well-Respected MFA Program Over a Period of a Couple Weeks or So, a piece that not only proves that I'm old, but also that I was possibly an even bigger prick back when I had my whole life ahead of me and literally, quite literally, knew nothing. About anything.
Thought Catalog Haters:
Hearts drawn on misty windows and pieces of paper torn from notebooks. Jagged edges. Or edge. Bits left behind in a 10-inch spiral. Initials linked by plus signs. Taking turns being on top. You try on a different last name. You try on a different life. A gold-plated ID bracelet. Again, initials. Heavy on wrists around which you can wrap your thumb and forefinger. Jackets, too broad in the shoulders, too long in the sleeves. You know him by scent. You know him by heart.In Love, We Are All Teenage Girls (No Offense To Teenage Girls)
I’ll realize that I’m not the only person in the world. Little by little.Replacements For The Phrase “I Love You” (One Thought Catalog writer freed from solipsism, only 1,536 to go!)
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4 comments:
How's that now?
I guess it's not a thing? I thought it was a thing.
I've got a horrible addiction to checking Cracked.com. 'Listers' seems a more appropriate term than 'writers' for these kinds of websites.
I can't read Cracked without going into a rage for some reason. The listifying of the world opresses me. Not that this site is any great literary achievement.
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