Rant: The Humblebrag

We need to talk about the humblebrag. For those of you occupied with “having a life,” allow me to explain. The Urban Dictionary, clarion of modern-day slang and decoder of tween sayings, defines humblebragging as:

Subtly letting others know about how fantastic your life is while undercutting it with a bit of self-effacing humor or “woe is me” gloss.

Me? I’m broadening the definition to include any and all attempts at subtle gloating.

After years of careful avoidance and copious amounts of eye-rolling, I’ve decided to take a stand. It’s time we strike the term “humblebrag,” from our lexicon and start calling it what it really is: “A-holes making themselves feel better by showing the world how awesome their dumb sh*t is.”

That don't impress me much.

That don’t impress me much.

Bragging smug jerks, I’ve got your number hussy, and I’m here to tell you fumducks that humblebragging is OVER. We’re on to your shenanigans and I’m going to pull back the curtain of lies, mistruths, and superfluous back-patting.

So whip out your palm pilots and straddle your Mac Books, it’s lesson teachin’ time. Take some notes, you nincompoops.

First and foremost…

YOU AREN’T FOOLING ANYONE. WE ALL KNOW YOU’RE A BIG, FAT, SHOWOFF

Oh, you had kombucha tea with Gwyneth Paltrow’s personal yoga instructor while y’all “got your groove back” at the Vegan Day Spa? Nobody cares. Most of you skanks are lying and embellishing the truth anyway. If I’ve learned one thing through the fake as hail fakery of social media, it’s that everybody is full of lies. Matter of fact, this classy lady has the right idea:

Amenz.

Amenz.

 

KEEP THE SEXY LOVE SONNETS TO YOURSELF

Hey, I’m happy that your lover showers you in diamond-studded teddy bears and y’all make love for 7 hours straight while the angels weep. But quite frankly, we’re all super grossed-out by your sensual brags and show-off photos. For every pic of a horse-faced “hot” wife/husband, the world is muttering, “eh, they’re not so great, maybe a Long Island 6, but no more than a Hollywood 2 at best.”

 

Hands off fellas, she's all mine. #smokinhotwife

#smokinhotwife

 

QUIT TRYING TO BE MARTHA STEWART 2

Quick question, Pinterest whores: How does it feel to know that you are DESTROYING THE FABRIC OF OUR VERY EXISTENCE?

Cram it!

Cram it!

Life was way easier before you tramps started in with your perfection contests. Did it ever dawn on you that Junior doesn’t need a f*cking bento box filled with organic kale and fair-trade rose-cut radishes? You and I grew up without every moment perfectly crafted and ingeniously engineered, so can your little Purvis.

Look at it this way, all kids eventually turn into teens, and teenagers are impossible to please/ destined to hate you no matter how many icing florets you festoon upon their homemade gluten-free pop-tarts. Give it up already!

 

TRAVEL-BRAGGARTS: I SEE YOU AND IDGAF 

Oh my goodness, you’ve been to Europe and everything was amaaaaaazing? You don’t say!?

Just remember that Clark W. Griswold went on a European Vacation too, and y’all know what? It wasn’t nearly as awesome as when he stayed the f*ck home.

Best. Vacation. Ever.

Best. Vacation. Ever.

 

Stop trying to subtly tell us about that time you had REAL tapas in Spain. WE. ALREADY. KNOW. You remind us every chance you get. If the “charming locals in SPAIN,” threw some old bologna on a stale Ritz cracker, you’d rave about it.

While on the subject of bragging travelers, I want to give a quick HELLO to all my sunset sluts out there. These are the folks who insist on sharing photos of perfect sunsets from far-flung locations that they are currently enjoying. News Flash: There’s a sunset every f*cking evening, numbnuts.

 

There's literally a million of these out there.

Not special

 

EXPENSIVE RESTAURANT BOASTERS: SHOVE IT IN YOUR PIEHOLE

Tell you what, next time y’all feel like checking into a fancy-dancy restaurant and posting numerous photos of the cat-vomit you paid 175 bucks a plate for, remember that I’m watching. For every high-dollar braggy meal you let us know about, I’m imagining you hunched on a toilet crapping it all out. FYI: I always go into graphic detail whilst picturing people grindin’ it. (You’re welcome.)

Friendly date-night reminder: Nothing kills the post-dinner panty drop quite like brandishing a smart phone and snapping a picture of your meal.

(Unless it’s this. If you’re eating a candle salad, you deserve to OPENLY brag AND take pictures.)

Suck it down.

 

 

ICED-OUT BALLERZ, GO FREEZE YOURSELF

Pro-Tip: People that actually have money, don’t need brag about it. Let that soak in for a hot minute. Consider the sexiest man alive, Bill Gates. Homie is rolling in the cheese, but dresses like a Driver’s Ed. instructor who moonlights as the manager of a Shoney’s. Bill Gates doesn’t need to show you how rich he is, he’s too busy traveling the world eradicating terrible illnesses on his dime.

Now THAT'S pimpin.

Now THAT’S pimpin.

You’ll never catch Billy G. instagramming piles of vaccine vials with stupid captions like, “Ballin’ so hard I can afford the non-generic versions of this medicine, yo!” Which brings me to my next point…

 

 INSTAGRAM IS THE ABSOLUTE WORST

Hey guys, I have a great idea, let’s round-up all the technological advances from the field of photography in the last 40 years, set them on fire, and embrace the grainy nightmare of pre-digital photos. Truth: Instagram only makes your sh*tty phone camera pictures look even sh*ttier. #NOFILTER

I hate you.

I hate you.

 

And finally…

ENOUGH WITH THE HASHTAGS

Nine times out of ten, dumb dummies will shoehorn in their humblebrags through feeble attempts at witty hashtags that simply exist to #drivehometheboasting.

Just because Twitter murdered the pound sign’s dignity, doesn’t mean you have to contribute to its further shame with your #notclever hide-a brag hashtag.

Stop-the-Hashtag1

 

Look, I know a ton of y’all reading this are currently feeling the deep scarlet flush of shame across your face. Even though you’re probably guilty of these offenses multiple times over, it’s not too late to save yourself from being a miserable hemorrhoid on the asscheek of social media. Take my public undressing of your non-impressing as the wake-up call it was meant to be. Afterwards, join me on my crusade.

For every bragging jerk that floods your screen, simply reply with: “good for you.” Eventually, enough tepid “good for yous” will take all the fun out of trying to make the world jealous, and this sorry not sorry variety of braggadocio will go the way of Myspace.

DOWN WITH THE HUMBLEBRAG.