I’ll tell you something you already know because it’s pretty much a given fact that everyone in the world already follows me on all the important social media outlets: I got a fucking puppy.
But, before we get too far into this explanation of how I became one of the worst versions of myself, please know that I could be much, much worse. No, I did not simply get her for social media. And no, I have not posted any photos of her to Facebook yet because everyone knows Facebook is reserved for political rants and engagement announcements.
This puppy, though. Let me tell you. She’s cute. And I mean that in the way that parents refuse to believe their baby is weird looking compared to all the other babies. I’m, like, certain she’s cute. No, seriously, people tell me that she’s one of the cutest puppies she’s ever seen. Hell, one Twitter user even said, “I fucking hate you, but that puppy is really cute.” We all know Drake said, “Jealousy is just love and hate at the same time,” so this checks out completely. If I can be the hate to my puppy’s love in the yin-yang of social media insufferability, so be it.
I got Rosie on a Sunday morning. This was a godsend given that Sundays make me feel existential as fuck as it is, but also because it gave me a full day to learn her demeanor, temperament, and clean up everything she’s just going to eventually chew. My plan was to keep her off my social media outlets for as long as possible. After all, posting a photo of her was going to be expected considering that’s what you’re supposed to do when you get a puppy.
But I lasted all of a few hours before I found myself talking in a puppy voice to my phone while running it through VSCO. The end product? Well, yeah, of course, it set my personal record for likes. The puppy effect is real and I now fully understand why “The Puppy Song” is the first song to appear on the You’ve Got Mail soundtrack.
And thus it began.
I didn’t want to be the guy who did this. But that’s, apparently, what the people wanted rather than just photos of myself on vacation. So I did what anyone in their right mind would do: I became The Puppy Guy. The Guy Who Won’t Stop Posting Photos of His Puppy. A Dog Dude.
Posting more than once or twice a week on Instagram is beyond desperate, so I had to take to the only thing I knew where to take it.
Again, it went swimmingly. I don’t understand why seven people would retweet photos of my dog, but I mean, I get it. You know, because I’m now The Puppy Guy. Just look at these responses, people.
To put it modestly, I don’t think it could have gone any better than it possibly fucking went. Rosie? She’s a natural-born star and I’m the only means she has to make people aware of this. Nevermind the fact that I’ve pulled muscles lunging to get her off the furniture or that she chewed on my Adidas Ultra Boosts. Much like your McConaugheys and your Streeps, this being wasn’t put here for anything but to be a star.
So I continued.
Are you serious?
Look at her.
I mean, John Mayer has already written a song on his critically-acclaimed new album about her.
Just look at the person I’ve become. I just posted more photos in a different form and commented on them, “Are you serious?,” “Dying,” “Look at her,” and “OMG.” I’m the fucking worst.
I texted my friend on Wednesday and asked how annoying I was. There was no acceptable answer he could’ve given me outside of, “You’re fine, man, keep posting,” but that’s not what he said. Not what he said at all.
Translation: “Stop posting photos, man. We get it – you got a puppy.”
Once a day, I found it fitting to post an Instagram story of what she was up to. Because even though I’m the worst, she’s the best. People like her more than they like me, so this may be the best rehabilitation for my personal brand. It’s just like those bumper stickers next to the ‘Coexist’ stickers on the back of Subarus say: “Who rescued who?”
“When’s the Instagram feed coming?” people asked me sarcastically because creating an Instagram feed for your dog is the most Things Girls Do After Graduation thing ever.
I favorited it and thought to myself, “Ha, haaaaa, please, I’m not that bad.” But I was that bad. And I did the thing that’s the worst of the worst of the worst of the worst. Something my girlfriend told me not to do under any circumstances. Something I’ve incessantly made fun of other people for doing in the past. Something that I’ll never be able to forgive myself for and will probably delete in a week when she tears through a pair of my Yeezys.
I made her a fucking Instagram account. And I hate myself for it.
Are you serious?
Look at her.
And there we go again. I don’t even know I’m saying these things, guys. I’m just sitting here feeling selfish for seeing how cute she is for hours on end while other people can only see one photo per day.
I’d say I don’t know the man I’ve become. But I do. I’m the most insufferable person on social media ever. .