Every week Rare receives thousands of comments on Facebook. Most are normal, some are extremely weird/angry/dumb. In this weekly series, we attempt to guess what we believe the trajectory of thoughts and circumstances were that led a commenter to contribute a particular idea to the discussion of a particular topic. Below is this week’s comment.
We’ll call the commenter “Garrett.”
Writing a flippant, graphic comment that both described and provided a new moniker for female genitalia on a public Facebook post — that was about clocks — might warrant some blowback from friends, or family or an employer were it to be discovered. Especially because it was a comment so odd, so egregious, and so absurdly off-topic for the post on which it was made that one could read it and reasonably wonder about the mental health of the 30-something father and professional who wrote it.
“Is Garrett okay?”
“You wouldn’t realize it from talking to him but I think Garrett might be a sexual deviant.”
“Yeah so Garrett’s crazy, I guess. I mean like crazy crazy. To the point where I don’t even wanna check on him to see if I can make it better. I just wanna be as far away as possible.”
Garrett didn’t care. Garrett was drunk and trolling and also didn’t totally understand how the internet worked anyway. So Garrett saw a post about clocks and wrote that he called “pussies” “front holes.” This was a release for him. It made him feel dangerous. It made him feel uncontrollable, which he needed to feel because he was actually very much controlled throughout the rest of his day. Every day he sat in the same small, enclosed workspace. Every day he listened to the same cheesy country station morning show that played on a radio in the cubicle next to his. He politely paid money for office birthday parties he had no interest in attending. He came home and did chores he didn’t want to do.
Writing fucked up shit on the internet was the one single, solitary way he could make himself feel like there was no one who could tell him what to do, and he did it all the time. Garrett would find random stories and write wildly obscene, completely nonsensical comments on them. Things he wished he could yell in his real life.
“Hey Garrett, Brenda’s birthday is coming up mind putting a few bucks in the hat so we can get her an ice cream cake?”
“HEY CARL PUSSIES ARE FRONT HOLES!”
“Isn’t Billy Bob in Morning on 95.8 The Saddle just the funniest?”
“I PUT MY NIPPLE TIPS INSIDE MY OWN PEE HOLE KAREN.”
Anything to shut up all the inane, dull people around him and force them to be so disturbed by him that they just leave him alone. But he couldn’t, so he vented online. Besides, who would ever see it? Garrett wasn’t concerned. He felt free to write insane, sexually charged declarations wherever and whenever he wanted to. On news stories about Amber Alerts, recipe videos, severe weather warnings, and, of course, stories about clocks.
But then one day Garrett’s boss found a comment he made on a low carb cake recipe video. The comment detailed how Garrett’s basement is basically a Blockbuster for VHS tapes of colonoscopies. He was fired soon after and, finally, left in peace.