The End of Twitter

How do I explain to my iPhone that I don’t just want to close the screen displaying Twitter, I want to turn off the program altogether? I want to delete the app, scrub all evidence of its existence from my device. I want to delete Twitter off your phone, too. I want to remove it from all phones for all time—a total worldwide wipe. I’m talking about The End of Twitter. Listen up. In a world without Twitter, you will be confronted by your own private thoughts, rediscover your true and authentic self. No more trolls. No more bots. You’ll venture outside and weep before the miracle that is nature. You’ll partake in face-to-face conversations replete with eye contact. You’ll make new friends. Maybe even fall in love. Doesn’t that sound beautiful? The part about love? Regardless, I’ve hatched a simple but foolproof plan. I’ll catch a bus to San Francisco and swagger into the lobby of Twitter’s headquarters. Why swagger? Because of the fat sticks of dynamite strapped to my chest. I‘ll bust into the data storage room like Ethan Hunt and blow the fuck out of the servers forever and for good (just the servers, mind you—not the workers. They are only doing their jobs after all, and, in a way, they are victims too). If you would like to comment about my very reasonable plan, don’t hesitate to slide into my DMs. I am terribly lonely.