Do you know what I really don’t like? Bragplainers.

I didn’t make up that word. Somebody who also hates bragplainers probably did, and then all their friends were like, “Wow, that is annoying,” and told all their friends, and then it wound up on Urban Dictionary. So for those of you not in the know, just click those colorful words and be transported to a magical Internet land (hint: it’s PORN! Haha just kidding…or am I? Click it and find out).

But seriously. It’s annoying, but worse than that, it’s obvious. Like, only super-stupid people are going to be all, “Oh, you’re bitching about something awesome? I’m so sorry awesome stuff upsets you! Wow, I feel really bad.” And even if a super-stupid person did that, I don’t think that’s the reaction bragplainers want. I think they want people to be like, “Come on, that doesn’t suck, it’s actually great!” And guess what, dickface bragplainers? YOU ALREADY KNOW IT’S GREAT, SO WHY DO YOU NEED PEOPLE TO TELL YOU THAT? Even out-and-out bragging is better than bragplaining.

"Dude, it's really hard to look like this. T-shirts are always too tight, and girls never want me for my intellect."

I mean, don’t get me wrong. Say, for example, you have bitchin’ high-speed Internet and it goes really slow one day. And you’re all, “God, my Internet is so fucking slow, how annoying!” That’s fine. That’s cool. That’s just good, old-fashioned complaining, and everybody needs to vent. Get it all out. Maybe go Office Space on your computer, if you’re so inclined. Plus, fuck technology; it annoys everyone. But if you say, “Ugh, my brand-new Louboutin heels really hurt my feet,” I politely invite you to go suck a bag of dicks. (And give me your fucking Louboutins, if they’re so unbearably painful.)

The thing is, bragplainers, we all see through you. Your fishing-for-compliments-ness is so obvious. And stupid. Because, hello, I am 987 times more likely to compliment you about something you actually show appreciation for, rather than something you bitch about. You know why? Because bragplaining is dumb, S a D, and buy me some shoes, that’s why.

Beauty, Freedom, Truth, Love, & Weird Clothes

Secretly, I kind of consider myself a bohemian. Do I know what that even means? No. But according to Urban Dictionary (which is obviously reliable), it’s someone who is “above all [an] optimist” (and who “like[s] wearing a mixture of weird clothes”). Yeah, that sums me up.

On the real, though, I would never call myself a bohemian. Mostly because it sounds like a really pretentious excuse to smoke weed, and I don’t need any excuses, thankyouverymuch. But I saw Moulin Rouge, and listened to that whole spiel about the bohemian ideals of “beauty, freedom, truth, and love.” And I agree. Also, I enjoy absinthe, even though it tastes way more like licorice than my taste buds expected.

Seriously, though, what’s not to love about wearing feathers in your hair and lying in the sunshine and thinking happy things? What’s something better you could do with your time on earth? I have no idea what the meaning of life is. Probably, it’s like a giant dogfight and people in the sky are betting on us or something. So why spend your useless time being miserable? Instead, you should spend it in fringe-y scarves and moccasins, drinking strange green liquor with your friends and being stoked. It’s the bohemian way–take it from me.