Probably the most embarrassing fact about me — and I am a very embarrassing person in general — is that Twitter quite literally changed my life. I have my job because of it, I’ve made many friends there, and it’s basically the reason I moved to New York. Deep down in my most-secret heart I can never really abandon my loyalty to the bad website that has given me so much. Even though it has almost certainly made my opinions dumber and worse, despite the fact that each day it reveals anew untold depths of depravity and stupidity, I just love posting.

Alas, this is now a story of unrequited affection, because I am currently not allowed to post and will not be able to post again for another five days. In fact, on Monday I was informed I could neither post nor retweet nor like any tweets for an entire week. What possible offense could I have committed on the website that allows literal Nazis to remain unperturbed that would warrant a seven-day sentence? Judge my sin for yourselves.

In response to this:

I said this:

And then got this:

This is obviously an absurd situation. Much, much worse has been said and is currently being said on the hellsite. But I am not the first person this has happened to, nor will I be the last. But this is my story, and I realize the irony of my situation: that all I want to do is tweet about how I cannot tweet. I have been rendered impotent and mute, allowed only to lurk among you, chuckling to myself at your jokes but unable to reply “lmao.”

And now that we have established I am the victim of unspeakable injustice, brought low by an unaccountable and inscrutable regime, I would like to speak my truth. To say to you now, the thing that has been welling up from the depths of my soul, which I have been barred from tweeting: What the everloving fuck is up with the premise for this film?

The idea here is that The Beatles are erased from the timeline and this appears to have absolutely no consequences for the rest of music history? Everything else just proceeds apace — minus, one must assume, all songs that reference The Beatles in any way — in an inexorable march toward the existence of Ed Sheeran? What kind of disturbed mind comes up with that?

Not being able to tweet about this batshit movie is giving me an ulcer. It kills me that I cannot say “it would be funny to write a movie about The Velvet Underground never existing and nothing changes because everyone lies about how they started a band after hearing them.”

So I’m saying it here, on the website that actually pays me to write things, like a goddamn rube. I hope you’re happy, Jack.