I’m not sure Jake was looking to get a response from Time Warner Cable, but when he did, it was your bog standard “holy shit, we need to help this potential VIP” response. It’s not exactly clear why they care so much about this one channel, especially when they rank lower than the IRS on the list of people you’d want to talk to on a given day. Especially on the day when “Prince” decided to make a formal complaint about Time Warner Cable.Ĭable companies, despite all their labyrinthine phone customer care, are actually extremely responsive to online complaints. And if the hallmark of great art is that it is where two ideas that don’t naturally go together meet, then certainly qualified. Many did not understand it - but it was art, nonetheless. Unlike every dime a dozen parody account that serves to amass huge follower counts and then monetize through ads, was, like the man himself, an elevation of a form. I asked Jake about this and he cryptically replied, “Prince had his ways of letting you know he was watching you.” Jake said he was even approached at one point by Prince’s people to work together, but nothing further happened. the erotic metamorphosis is complete,” and the unusually political “if u don’t like it call the funk police”.) It was so well-executed, a person close to Prince reportedly once told Jake that the Purple One had seen Jake’s account and liked it.
(Other notable tweets include the short but infinitely delightful “ Chaka Khan is nice,” “the rumors are true i am having a pajama party”, “2 become a sensual butterfly u must first b a funky caterpillar. It came from an absolutely pitch-perfect parody created by comedian and writer Jake Fogelnest. And oh boy, can I never forget this exchange between a fake Prince account and the official Time Warner Cable one. We didn’t have a sassy Dictionary, nor did we have fast-food chains trading barbs. #Brands on Twitter used to not be in on the joke. The brands rightly deserved it, whether it was for their cavalier, pasta-based portrayals of harrowing war experiences, or airlines actively serving porn in lieu of customer care.
We also used to have a hell of a good time harassing Brands. We even hooted and hollered, in unity, over a pair of llamas on the run from the law.
We had Chuck Grassley espousing the magic of “u kno what” and nobody was getting to fuck the flag. ( Random dudes would still tell women and minorities ways they’d wish they’d die, but they didn’t have the White House backing them.)ĭuring this period, we had Crab Rangoon, and things of that nature. It used to be a place where you could meet up with like-minded weirdos and arse off for a few hours in your day, letting off the steam from your “work sucks!” valve. See, back in the Before Times - before Twitter was a daily slog against Nazis telling women and minorities the ways they were going to end them, and Twitter taking the side of the oppressor - the platform looked very different. So it should come as no surprise that one thing I can’t stop thinking about comes from my greatest frenemy:. My brain, perhaps like yours, has been permanently broken by the internet.