PettyJuice: How One Commenter Became The Voice Of A Generation

Recently, I pitched an article to my boss called “Please Stop Trying To Get Me To Watch Game Of Thrones.” She actually was into it and I thought she was joking when she said she wanted me to write it. I’ve never been open about why I choose not to watch it, and I never anticipated that that article would be that controversial.

For the Game of Thrones article, I actually got a lot of positive feedback. But fuck those people because they aren’t PettyJuice.

Who is PettyJuice, you ask? I don’t even know because they’re nameless and faceless. I would ask them to show themselves, but they’re probably just ~too shy~ or have ~better things to do than deal with me.~ But let’s take a glimpse of what PettyJuice had to say:

“I stopped reading when you inserted a long ass quote from your sister. No one knows your sister, and definitely no one cares what your sister’s opinions are in relation to television (or anything else). This article is WAY too long, especially considering you could have just written one sentence: ‘I don’t watch GOT because I don’t have that many hours to focus on a serious TV show when I don’t even like serious shows in the first place.’”

Aristotle once said, “It is the mark of an educated mind to be able to entertain a thought without accepting it.” I usually take that advice to heart.

But you know what? FUCK Aristotle. And FUCK MIT for naming him, his mentor Socrates, and his student Plato in the top ten most influential people in history. The fuck does MIT know? Sure, he’s responsible for creating the education system, the scientific method, the concept of ethics, and a billion other things, including being one of the most influential figures of philosophy, which is what teaches society to think critically and logically. But why learn how to think critically and logically when we should just listen to PettyJuice instead?

Apparently idiocy is genetic because my little sister’s opinions mean Jonathan Squat a.k.a. Jack Shit. Since it dawned on her that no one cares what she has to say about anything in this world according to the voice of our generation, PettyJuice, she’s been desperate to join a cult where someone’s opinion doesn’t matter. She went to the Scientology Center, but couldn’t bring herself to answer a single question on the Dianetics test because those questions are opinion based, and PettyJuice made it explicitly clear that her opinion doesn’t matter. It was the first time in history that Scientology rejected a prospective member because they were an oppressive person because she had such an unyielding devotion to PettyJuice and what she thinks. Westboro Baptist Church was kind of “meh” on my little sister and asked if PettyJuice could join instead because of her ruthlessness and willingness to shove her opinions down everyone’s throat. My sister tried to conduct a seance to see if Charles Manson would let her in, but he left her on read. Maybe he started a finance career in heaven and is busy studying for the CFAs and staying at the office until 2 a.m. Or maybe he just doesn’t want to deal with someone who would rather blindly follow PettyJuice instead.

For what it’s worth, my sister is still waiting on hearing back from SoulCycle.

I don’t blame my sister for having an existential crisis like this. I blame my parents for not raising us to think like PettyJuice. And of course, by think, I mean think basically nothing at all except for, “What would PettyJuice do?” I also blame myself as well because I failed to wake up the day I wrote the article, eager to please PettyJuice in anyway I could.

I was also convinced that that stories are supposed to have a beginning, middle, and end. Hasn’t this been a rule since the human race learned how to communicate? Boy, were we wrong. How awful that I’ve been indoctrinated with this concept since I was old enough to comprehend things. 8 year old Millie could’ve just easily watched a movie trailer on The Little Mermaid and assumed she’d lose her voice once she became a human, and got it back eventually so she could exclusively have good looking sex with Prince Eric. But then again, why have a voice when PettyJuice can just speak for you? Ariel could’ve avoided all that drama had she just let PettyJuice act as her mouthpiece instead. Shakespeare, Hemingway, Homer: take fucking notes, because apparently your books are a waste of time. Even SparkNotes that we all read more than your actual books are way too lengthy of a read. So basically, since the dawn of mankind, our existence has been a disgrace to PettyJuice.

Even this blog itself is just an abomination to everything PettyJuice stands for. When I first started writing on here, I honestly was just doing it for shits and gigs and because people kept clicking on this section! So initially I was like, “Fuck it! It’s my site! I’ll do what I want!” But even my own creative outlet where I have free reign over whatever I create is a giant middle finger to PettyJuice, and for that, I feel so much shame.

TL;DR (like every other written work on the planet should be according to PettyJuice’s expectations, apparently): PettyJuice=Perfect. You=Stupid. Fuck everyone.

Millie Moore