There is no going away. We exist in a medium designed to be customized. There is only blocking. If you want something, bring it into your bubble. If you dislike it, hide it from yourself and live in blissful ignorance. Your existence is no more tedious than mine. I like giving attention to seekers of it. You love seeking it. We were made for each other. You came back to read my words. You came back to consume. I am here to feed you. Suckle at my teat and ignore the call of the void pulling you, forcing you to look into oblivion. Drink.

Moot point these days, friend. Your complaint and all like it are exercises in futility. You will succumb to the repost. In fact, you already have. You see them everywhere and cannot deny yourself the pleasure of rehashed content. You do it because you’re deluded. You’re chasing the dragon of original content and you’ll never be satisfied. You’ll make alt accounts desperately seeking a high that isn't there to be had. It’s a myth. Web 2 is dying. All that remains are the echoes of ghosts repeating shitty jokes to each other and complaining about it to each other. We’re all already dead. We’re just too busy rehashing content to notice.

I don’t remember who told me the joke, but I do remember it being told with a lentil. I’m not saying you’re wrong; just that it might have been told incorrectly to me.

Incidentally, sex, fish, & cum are what you find under the Hanover St bridge.