Why is the Fail Whale so happy?

Not Generation X.

(Please note: This is not about the band Gen X. Billy Idol was cool.)

I am not new to the online world. I’ve been a very active member in several writing groups, and I used to spend as much time on Twitter (it was only Twitter then, hail the Fail Whale) or Facebook and its predecessors as anyone. I had accounts about everywhere, but I removed myself from that whole scene quite a long time ago. Now I find myself driven to leap back in, and I credit that to my recent return to the world of writing. For now, I'll address why I loved Twitter and loathe its new image as X.

There are a lot of complaints about how Twitter is toxic now, that all people do is go there to pick fights and post objectionable content. The stories about how the X platform refuses to be held accountable or take action when their own Terms of Service are violated every nanosecond of every day are accurate.

If you've read my work at all, you'll see that sex, fictional violence, and excessive use of profanity do not send me screaming off to my hidden cabin in the woods. I take an inordinate sense of pride in the fact that (unbeknownst to my family) I had, by far, the worst mouth of any of my classmates in second grade. By that age I'd read a lot of books that included adult storylines and characters, so I was rarely fazed by descriptions of violent or sexual behavior.

One issue that's cropped up since Musk bought Twitter is the relentless "like bombing" of the boobbots. If the unknown woman who liked your post/reply mentions some OnlyFans equivalent in her profile and has never written a single post (retweets don't count), that's a boobbot. The range of skin these "ladies" show varies, anywhere from a mild cleavage shot to full-on p*rn.

A second problem is the nature of the advertising. I understand that Twitter/X is a free service for most, so ads help cover the cost for the company. Maybe the ads aren't enough, because almost everyone I see has paid for a "verified" blue checkmark. I didn't see how the benefits would merit the price. But back to the ads--they used to use an algorithm to determine what you'd be interested in buying by monitoring which topics appealed to you. Now it seems that everyone is interested in cryptocurrency and cheap drop-shipped knockoffs of better brands. Sometimes I even see the "rentable women" have their own advertisements mixed in, all with the approval of X.

Between the ads, the fantasy women and the hostile nature of the average reply, I don't understand why so many people stand by this company. Twitter used to be a chaotic mess, a fun party line where anyone could pop in with something witty or silly and become the recommended account of the day. I spent a lot of time there creating parody artwork and making people laugh. The Fail Whale was one of these things.

The image next to this entry is the real Fail Whale, and anyone who was around when Twitter first started to grow in popularity recognizes the little blue bird's counterpart. Twitter crashed. A lot. You'd try to post your moment of comic genius and up popped the Fail Whale to indicate that Twitter was overloaded by tweets and you'd have to try again later. Whether Twitter was offline for minutes or hours, the users would be irate when they came back. On one of these occasions, I spent my wait-time creating my own version of the Fail Whale. Mine was not smiling as a small flock of birds carried it out of its natural habitat; my poor whale lay on its back on the beach, eyes "Xed" out to indicate it was dead. The friendly helpful birds weren't left out--they perched all over the whale's corpse, pecking out pieces and leaving behind a bloody mess. Sounds a bit gruesome, but I used the simplistic Fail Whale style to show it was only a joke.

Due to restarting my writing career, making a new Twitter account was a necessary evil. I spend most of my time there speaking with fellow writers and avoiding trolls. While I'd still prefer to be Twitter-free, a social media presence is expected by agents, editors and publishers. At first I tried to dodge it with an honest response--I've had bad experiences online with a few people and don't enjoy repeating the same cycle with different players. To my disappointment and dismay, I learned that omitting your social details was not an option. Marketing your work (whether self published or through traditional avenues) is expected of writers. Seeing no way out, I clipped a clothespin on my nose and waded back into the intolerant, aggressive mire that used to be Twitter. After writing this blog, I'm tempted to start calling the company X as Elon Musk wishes. It's certainly no longer the Twitter I once enjoyed.