Annoyed Twitter Quotes

Optimism: That effervescent, blindingly- bright, perky, chipper, twittering quality you want to squash out of annoying people.

Noel: A lot of people see friends as something you have on Twitter or Facebook or wherever. If someone wants to read your updates and you want to read their updates, then you’re friends. You don’t ever have to see each other. But that seems like a stupid definition to me. Roo: Yeah. Noel: Although on the other hand, rethink. Maybe a friend is someone who wants your updates. Even if they’re boring. Or sad. Or annoyingly cutesy. A friend says, “Sign me up for your boring crap, yes indeed” – because he likes you anyway. He’ll tolerate your junk. Roo: You have lots of friends. Noel: No, I don’t. Roo: You do. You know everyone at school. You get invited to parties. Noel: I get invited to parties, yeah. And I know people. But I don’t want their updates. Roo: Oh. Noel: And I sincerely doubt they want mine. Roo: I want your updates. Noel: I want your updates. (He looks down, bashfully.) I do. I want all your updates, Ruby.

MarkBaynard: If you start hanging out over here, won't your Facebook Friends miss you? Abby_Donovan: Those people weren't my friends. If they had been, they wouldn't have sent me all those annoying quizzes. MarkBaynard: A true friend never asks you to feed their imaginary fish. Or fertilize their imaginary crops. Abby_Donovan: Although with a little coaxing, I might be persuaded to take home your imaginary kitten. So how is Twitter different from Facebook? MarkBaynard: Twitter is the perpetual cocktail party where everyone is talking at once but nobody is saying anything.

As with all social networks, it takes time to build a following on Twitter. You’ll see followers come and go, but keep at it. This isn’t a race; this is an investment, a marathon.

Sandra, I need one of the IT guys to send me the feeds for all of Everly Jensen’s social media accounts.” Wait. What? “She’s a senior at Penn. Grew up in Ridgefield, Connecticut. You should be able to locate her easily enough.” “What are you doing?” I interrupt, confused and annoyed. “Facebook, Twitter, Instagram,” he rattles off. “And whatever other sites college girls are currently using to post selfies on the internet. That will be all, Sandra.” He ends the call with a tap to a control on the steering wheel. “Hello, I’m sitting right here. Did you want me to friend-request you or something?” I wave the phone in my hand as I talk. “Because that”—I point in the direction of the speakers in the dashboard—“was a little melodramatic.

If you're not an annoyance on the internet, then you're doing something wrong.

My soul sometimes feels like a Twitter feed where I’m following a million of the most annoying people ever, and I can’t find the Unfollow button.

(Back at school) I never realized that if a girl is in-like with she starts right at your Junk, then they look back up and if you turn around, they look at the cute butt. I say walking down the hallway out of the door of the lunchroom- ‘It is February- yeah, what can I say, it's just another freaking- freaked up day, who-and-ray. Oh- Oliva said- all the other girls are too busy doing whatever it is they do to care about me. Where are you going next? She said, ‘I didn’t know I’d be outside.’ I pass the soccer fields on our right as we loop back toward Lower Lot. At this moment in time of year the fields are all tousled up, looking ever so dirty with a few straggly weeds, and a few patches of auburn grass. ‘I feel like I’m having déjà vu,’ I say once more. ‘Flashback Fridays, Throwback Thursday Facebook, Twitter Mondays- I don’t give a flying crap- even back to freshman year- I don’t give a rat’s ass, you know it’s all hitting me like a brick in the red nose.’ Just like all the holidays, I don’t freaking care about what everyone does, I just sit in my room and pet kitty. Ha! Classic punt! ‘I’ve been having déjà vu all morning, afternoon, evening, and all the freaking time.’ I can’t stand it anymore- I feel like it not me doing crap anymore- I feel freaked up and sore, for sure, I- myself am rubbed raw and tour, must you- some more- I hear as I pass one of the windows to the cafeteria from the outside, and I say what the freak- That what I just said. I blurt it out yes, yes, yes- I can stop myself. Instantly I feel better. I feel like it happened, sure that not what this is, yet it feels good to feel good. ‘Let me guess.’ Jenny brings one hand to her temples and frowns, pretending to concentrate. ‘You’re having flashbacks of freaking yourself to the last time Madilyn was this annoying before nine a.m. you're just sick.’ They rush too to the window from the inside knowing my sexy voice. ‘Shut up!’ Madilyn said as she leaned forward and Oliva grabs her ass as she does, her arm flies up and grabs her boob, and we all start to laugh. I smile too, relieved to have spoken the words out loud, and maybe, I am not the only freak-up girl in this school. It makes sense… I hope so- I hope.

I tried not to care about social media, and I really did prefer hanging out in art galleries to hanging out on Twitter. But I wasn't as disconnected as I made myself out to be. Being annoyed by carefully crafted internet personas was a part of my carefully crafted internet persona.

At the street level, Sugar Fair welcomed customers into a bright, child-like fantasy. The architecturally designed enchanted forest was awash in jewel tones, and gorgeous smells, and the waterfall of free-flowing chocolate. But it was the Dark Forest downstairs that had proved an unexpected money-spinner, an income stream that had helped keep them afloat through the precarious first year. Four nights a week, through a haze of purple smoke and bubbling cauldrons, Sylvie taught pre-booked groups how to make concoctions that would tease the senses, delight the mind... and knock people flat on their arse if they weren't careful. High percentage of alcohol. It was a mixology class with a lot of tricks and pyrotechnics. It had been Jay's idea to get a liquor license. "Pleasures of the mouth," he'd said at the time. "The holy trinity--- chocolate, coffee, and booze." With even her weekends completely blocked out, Sylvie had almost made a crack about forfeiting certain other pleasures of the mouth, but Jay had inherited a puritanical streak from his mother. Both their mouths looked like dried cranberries if someone made a sex joke. The sensuous, moody haven in the basement was a counterbalance to the carefully manufactured atmosphere upstairs. There were, after all, reasons to shy away from relentless cheer. Perhaps someone had just been through a breakup, or a family reunion. A really distressing haircut. Maybe they'd logged on to Twitter and realized half the population were a bunch of pricks. Or maybe the'd picked up the Metropolitan News and found Dominic De Vere indirectly thrashing their entire business aesthetic in a major London daily. Whatever the reason--- feeling a little stressed? A bit peeved? Annoyed as fuck? Welcome to the Dark Forest. Through the bakery, turn left, down the stairs.