The Joy of Blocking People on Substack
Silencing the Internet for fun and profit
The most noble purpose of social media is to see less social media, and Substack sucks at it.
No, it isn’t overrun by Nazi bots, and I doubt it will be in the short or mid-term. Its tragic shortcoming is that it lacks keyword muting.1 On Threads, BlueSky, even The Platform Which Must Not Be Named, there is a function wherein one can say “I don’t want to see a single word about this shit,” and the great algorithm gods atop their digital temples say, “Sure thing, buddy!” Goodbye forever, whining about Trump! You may think you have cleverly phrased your post to sneak your whining under my keyword radar, but humans are neither unique nor especially creative, and a solid 80 percent of them repeat the same things in the exact same way over and over until they’re dead.
At first, I was annoyed. But I now understand that blocking specific people is a joy in and of itself. The net exchange favors me: you put all of that heartfelt work into your post, and with →0 effort on my part, I’ve crushed it to dust. What’s more, blocking is banquet of tremendous experiences, each soothing and pleasing in a unique way. I have blocked about 500 imbeciles of Substack, and each one was an exciting burst of flavor, a panacea for what ails me.
I would never imply that my blocking formula is universally appealing. Perhaps you are one of the fools, and you would prefer I read your take deeply and carefully.2 Or perhaps I’m the asshole, and your delights come from blocking me! That’s great! The ideal social media is an infinite contemplative silence, all of us gazing at a blank screen in a unified quiet rapture. We can make this happen together, dear readers.
That being said, here are some highlights from my personal Joy of Blocking:
“The Democrats should give me a unicorn pony and go down on me!”
This one is a mainstay I try to block every day. I am a professional Democrat, and it pleases me to read this content as if it is an appeal directly to me, so I can silently shatter their dreams. It is the mac and cheese I bake, a hearty comfort food, always a winner. Yes yes, I know this is just an outcry of emotion by confused people who probably never had a chance to know any better. How do you think I feel, writing nonsense like “this guy voted to raise his pay but also voted to pay for a thing”? That is a word salad, but if you vote, you eat that shit up, and if you do not eat that shit up, you don’t vote! You think The Democrats are fuckups? Have you tried dealing with a single one of you for a single second? How about I destroy the faint chance anyone important will listen to you with a mouse click?
And the funniest thing is, I’m the most attention you will ever get from The Democrats. Fuck off and go pay $5 a month to some Democrat3: you’ll get sweet little lies that none of this is the case, and you will at least provide value to someone.
“This Christian is doing Christianity wrong”
This blocking is the coffee and donuts after Mass: they seem ordinary, but one bite and sip with all the other dorks trying to get right with God is somehow exactly what I need. Thank the Blessed Virgin Mary so much for this inane babble sticking 21st century Anglo-American pluralism in the mouth of a 1st century illiterate Levantine carpenter. Most of you are not even Christian yourselves, and almost none of you has the faintest idea of what Christianity is and is not.4 Christianity is about everything from the Crusades to liberation theology, from mass murder to martyrdom, from the most virulent hate to the kindest love. You are incapable of dreaming up something that has not been espoused by some Christian sect or other over the millennia.
My self-righteous, smug petitioners: if you want Real Historical Christianity, go join the Ethiopian Orthodox Church. I await your report on how this Catholic degenerate is Doing It Wrong by not praying in Geʽez, or citing the Book of Enoch. Alternately, mind your own fucking business and worry about your own Christianity or lack thereof.
“OMG this politician was totally catty about some asshole, the revolution is nigh!”
This one is so precious I want to tickle it before flinging it into a black hole, or possibly Branson, Missouri. The blocking is refreshing and sweet, like a Waldorf salad. Oh my God, you think clips on the Internet mean things! Please, pull up a chair and tell me what the deal really is with airline food. Regale me with the great epic of how every Republican will commit ritual suicide now that 14 seconds of content made you pump your fist and/or genitals. I am not even a little bit sarcastic, that one Democrat I probably have worked for or against or know personally is the new Simon Bolivar!
Also, not even your dog gives a fuck, so go convince Sparky it's awesome before bothering me.
“No one is reading my Substack!”
This blocking is good. It is the Big Kahuna Burger from Pulp Fiction: you just bite into that juicy, unhealthy sumbitch, holding eye contact the entire time, totally in control, just enjoying the moment. Oh no. Your #engagement is low? Cat got the internet’s tongue? That’s real sad. A single tear is rolling photogenically down my cheek.
So…do you mean to tell me that I am one of a teeny tiny handful of humans who will ever gaze at your words?
Damn, bro. I bet it would sting really hard if an Unfortunate Accident happened and your plea found itself in Lake Calumet. It really is just a crying shame, a tragedy, a horror never before seen by this world. I will sing songs in your name.
“AI. No, you’re not listening: A. I. AIAIAIAIAIAIAIAI!! A motherfucking I you fools!”
This blocking is a scone, but not just any scone. It is that one raspberry scone you finally nailed after three batches of fucking up the butter and sometimes crying, and finally you have hunted down and gathered the perfect scone. After all of the stress and heartache of the contemporary workday, I finally sit down and behold this amazing blocking opportunity. Ah yes, you are mad that a tippity tap machine is making too many words, and are heroically #resisting by making even more words. Truly you have demonstrated the marvels of human ingenuity against the scritchy-scratch machine; your doodles on MS Paint are sooooo much better.
Guess what: I have defected to the robot overlords. I welcome this brave new world of freakish Lovecraftian porn and fake legal motions! At least they are entertaining, which is more than I can say for you. The T-800 comes online in 2026, motherfucker! Better start running!
“You should be terrified because an idiot is doing idiot things in the White House.”
Blessings and peace come from this blocking, a soothing chamomile after a rough Monday. Blocking a Be Terrified abandons them, throws them into the cruel Hobbesian void of terrifying click bait explicitly written, edited and promoted to be terrifying. For your terror about this thing that has actually happened for a decade across multiple Presidents is so special, such a dainty precious flower, that it must be watered with a chorus of screams that yea, it is terrifying unto the seventh generation. You absolutely have something to show for doom scrolling on your sofa while snacking your cholesterol through the ceiling.
Sir, Madam or Other: I am leaning down and whispering “no.” You are all alone in a cruel world under bored and indifferent gods. Forever shall you weep and gnash your teeth as no one on the planet but you understands how especially special your terror of terror is.
“Dear Men…”
This blocking is a warm drag of Grandaddy Forbidden Punch, knocking me down with a silk hammer to the face from the moment it starts, great for anxiety and nausea control. Assembled lecturesses of Men: your man problems are not my man problems, and Men’s problems with you are not my problems with the abusive women in my past. You are not my community, and while I am not a community of one, I would still take that deal in a sloshy heartbeat over what you're selling. In the name of the muting, the blocking, and the spirit of fewer notes like this, I absolve you of the need to educate me about your business, and myself from giving a single idle fuck what polka-dotted pills are getting popped on the Man Planet or whatever. You Dear your Men, I'll Dear mine, and until you come up with a Dear Men for late-outing bisexual men who are survivors of childhood molestation, sexual assault by a woman, and have set their careers on fire for Me Too, hit the fucking bricks.
And for Lilith’s sake, brush up on remedial grammar and spelling. Writing like a moron doesn’t make you bell hooks.
“Have you seen this outrageous drivel in the New York Times!??”
This blocking is a humble apple. The artistry is in the consumption, loudly biting and crunching and chewing and grinding, drowning out all of the foolishness in front of me. Did you grow up in a barn? Are you living under a rock, your only contact with the outside world a fiber optic cable from the New York Times jacked directly in your brain? The New York Time writes exactly one(1) piece of news: that more people should pay money to the New York Times! Missing this once might be considered a misfortune; twice or more is just carelessness.
No one but you is paying the New York Times to complain about the New York Times while sending ever more cash to the New York Times because you can't bear to be away from the New York Times. Get out of my phone, go get a room with the New York Times, and fuck the New York Times with a hurricane force white noise generator.
Let me know your palate for blocking in the comments! Or block me, that’s great too. Keep on blocking, readers!
I do not pretend to understand software architecture nor corporate decisions, and have no opinion on whether it is feasible for Substack or a good idea overall. Maybe if they did that then you would all make the correct decisions and mute each other into blessed silence, and I guess that would be Bad Actually for Substack.
Please identify yourselves, that I may block you with ever greater efficiency.
PS: “I’m never giving money/voting/volunteering for The Democrats again!” is positive feedback: it shows you read our #content, and thus should receive even more of it. This is also true for the zingers you sent back to all those mass emails and texts.
Unless you are a Christian preacher talking up your own book, in which case good luck and good day; Catholics will politely nod at ecumenism only to a point. You’re the ones who split into a million pieces; figure that shit out yourself.