As you man the grill, smuggle fireworks into the state, and reflect on the Supreme Court's recent decisions affecting the rights and liberties of tens of millions of Americans, please take a moment to stop ruining the American experience for the rest of us. Here are five easy ways. Get on it.
When James Madison put together the framework of the constitution, it wasn't a representative-government-in-a-vast-and-diverse-nation-in-a-world-that-only-knew-monarchy hack. When Thomas Jefferson penned the Declaration of Independence, it wasn't a sovereignty hack. And just because you are getting less shitty at going about your day-to-day business doesn't mean you have hacked life. Clearly, your life is running you. All you've done is found a pathetically trivial way to shelter yourself from the quagmire that is your existence. What's that? You just toted your bagel to work in an old CD spindle? You lit a hard-to-reach candle with a stick of spaghetti? Great. But unless you're working for or against the NSA, all this "hacking" is nothing but an annoying and hopefully-brief moment of cultural excrement from the bowels of a recession coupled with the ubiquity of cheap consumer graphic publishing software. People, we have the gift of freedom of expression; let's stop wasting it on this nonsense. But hey, nobody at Buzzfeed can get paid if they don't keep churning this shit out, so hack away.
I know, I know. How else are you going to sound macho and cool? Worse, how are you going to explain all the failures and half-successes of your twenties? (Ed. note: if you're over thirty and still subscribe to this mindset, just stop reading. You're a lost cause.) Whether you can't muster even an ounce of give-a-damn about your job, what another human being is trying to communicate to you, or the plight of some disadvantaged group (the poor, immigrants, the disenfranchised, etc.), your tactic aims to set the bar at an extreme low, virtually guaranteeing that anybody with any degree of sincerity comes off as a tool. Let's be real. You only "give zero fucks" when the situation dictates that you probably should give at least a few. Like when you're watching The Hangover while babysitting your neighbor's five-year-old. Or when you wear socks and sandals together. Or when you roll into work too hungover to take your shades off. Or when you eat a whole tube of cookie dough. Or when you pop that booty of yours all night even though it's a small ass booty. Or when you spit your chewing tobacco in the Ugg boot of a girl who passes out after she tells you that dipping is gross. Or when you park in the fire lane of a church because you're driving your dad's Tesla. These are true stories, people; I couldn't make this up. Go ahead and toss IDGAF, YOLO, and Kanye's new album in this category as well.
Want to visually depict the heart and soul of your family? Build a totem. That shows some real care and dedication. Select a mature tree, cut it down, transport it to your home, set it in the ground, carve it, and paint it. Get deep with the symbolism and show that you really understand what your family is about and that you care enough to spend some serious time and sweat to put it on display. Short of that, get your stick figures outta my face. I can tell you didn't even clean and dry your rear windshield before applying your decals because mom's left ankle is peeling away like a burn victim. The job's already started, so how about you just peel on until your whole gangly gang is crumpled up in a sticky little ball that you can conveniently choke on while driving? That is, unless you're already driving like a maniac. In fact, the only reason I want to know that you have six kids, three dogs, and a kitten is if you're driving like a total maniac, and you want the whole world to know the reason is that your family is actually driving you insane. Then it's fair game, you amuse me, and I respect your decision and hope your kids grow up and GTFO in the immediate future so you can get back to what you really care about, namely Jimmy Buffett concerts and one-upping your prick neighbor's landscaping. You can also amuse me and continue rocking the stick figure family if you're brutally honest with your family's shortcomings in the interest of publicly shaming your weakest link. For example: Your teenage son got busted drinking, smoking weed, and blowing up a port-a-potty with a quarter stick at a party last weekend? Great. Now his stick-figure avatar on the back of your Town & Country is crying in his room because you took his iPhone away and told his girlfriend he's grounded because you found him naked with a girl in the pool. Now that's a parenting hack.
No, not real porn (All SFW). That's as honest an American visual genre there ever was, save late-night Cinemax. I'm talking about food porn. Beer porn. Design porn. Cloud porn. Demolition porn (actually not the naked, blindfolded version of demolition derby). Kittie porn (not kiddy). Nature porn (careful with your Ns and Ms). Gadget porn (actually not what you would think). Gun porn (don't mix violence and sex). Disaster porn (not like your first time, but like 24-hour news cycle coverage of mass-casualty catastrophes). Corn porn (Mofferman tells me it's a farmer thing). Cabin porn (Ed. note: Ahhhh, cabin porn). Calling the visual representation of something "porn" means that viewing it excites you to the level of sexual arousal, or that such images can replace actual sexual arousal. If either of those are true for you of any of the non-porns above, keep hashtagging, you twisted bastard. Own that fetish, baby! Otherwise, stop desensitizing your Instagram followers by making them think of you getting hot and bothered when you could really just say, "Hey, check out this rad picture of my kitten eating a Spanish omelette in a cabin overlooking Yosemite Falls with some serious cumulonimbus clouds reflecting a dope sunset around the silhouette of my AR-15 while search crews try to locate the final two passengers from that plane crash last week!"
You may think that Yelp is a great democratic equalizer, giving everyone a chance to contribute their voice to the reputation of any commercial establishment. Well--no. Sorry to disappoint you, but Yelp is a dark place where you go after you realize your friends and family instantly turn on autopilot when you get into the nitty gritty of your latest dining and nightlife experiences. It's like the people who Yelp have to get it out, just have to. If Yelp didn't exist, their critiques would be in their diaries, scrawled on alley walls, or dreadlocked into their cats' fur. People Yelp churches. They Yelp gynecologists. Gas stations. Wal-Marts. A few tenth-level, dungeon master Yelpers have even figured out how to read minds, but have tragically wasted this power on determining all the terrible things their server is thinking after said Yelpers order a single round while holding down a twelve-top for two hours (Ed. note: it doesn't take a sixth sense to determine that you're an asshole). How is this information valuable to anyone else? Who cares if you and your boy toy were on the rocks and just needed everything to go smoothly at dinner? Who cares if this place was totally a 3.5-star-round-up before this new chef came in and took the duck pasta off the menu? Who cares if you nom nom nom nom nom'ed all the baconz? Zero fucks given. Where are the buttons to tag a review "useless," "self-indulgent," and "serious case of get-to-the-fucking-point" again?
Sometimes we regale you with stories. Sometimes those stories are made up. Sometimes they're not stories at all. This is one of those stories.