It Happened to Me: I Accidentally Became a Parasocial Hater-Fan
By Someone Who Should Log Off But Won’t
There was a time in my life when strangers stalked me online, screenshotting my existence like I was the finale of a Netflix docuseries. It was terrifying. It was invasive. It was… honestly kind of exhausting to be that interesting.
Which is why it's brave, noble, heroic even, that I now proudly confess:
I have become the stalker.
Specifically, of a certain Internet Personality™ who builds a lifestyle empire out of selling gag books and jokes normally reserved for the “Don’t say that, dude” corner at open mics.
Let’s call him “Brad Go$$e.”
For legal reasons. And comedic ones.
Step 1: Discover the Enemy
I innocently opened Instagram and was visually assaulted by a book titled:
“Turn Your Ex Into Your Stalker.”
The audacity.
The… genius?
The direct theft of my genre of psychologically unstable empowerment satire? Allegedly. Maybe. Could be coincidence. (It’s not.)
At first, I did the mature thing:
Froth with righteous indignation.
But then my curiosity whispered:
“Click his profile, coward.”
Step 2: Fall Face-First Into The Parasocial Abyss
Look. I’m not proud of what happened next.
I hit “Follow.”
Was I supporting him?
No.
I was conducting surveillance like the NSA of Comedy Ethics.
This is hate-following, the most powerful form of attention humans can give.
Every time he posts?
I sprint to my Stories like an Olympic athlete of snark:
“Look at this man making a fortune selling jokes I would get hospitalized for!”
I am learning my enemy’s moves, one unhinged children’s book at a time.
Step 3: Realize Rage-Bait Works Because You Are the Fish
Turns out, I am his algorithmic success story.
He posts something that feels legally actionable.
I get mad.
I talk about it.
People click.
He profits.
I spiral.
Capitalism whispers:
“You’re participating!”
And I whisper back:
“I know… but shut up.”
Step 4: The Ironic Twist Ending
I set out to roast him.
Mock him.
Dismantle his empire brick by brick (metaphorically; don't sue me).
And instead…
I have become the thing I despise.
A fan.
A lurker.
A deeply committed unpaid social media brand ambassador.
Basically? I am stalking him.
Not romantically.
Not threateningly.
Just in the way that makes therapists tilt their head and say
“hmm.”
Step 5: Acceptance
Maybe the real parasocial predator was me…
all along.
Maybe I should go outside.
Touch grass.
Pet my rabbits.
But no.
He just posted again.
And I have shit to say in my Stories.
