#oneaday Day 1121: The Internet is Andy L

Back at university, there was an individual on the periphery of our friendship group known as Andy L. I describe him thus because no-one really liked him all that much and he just seemed to sort of come as an "attachment" with some other friends — a particularly unkempt, greasy sort of "buy one, get one free" deal.

Supposedly one of our number particularly appreciated debating philosophy with him. They were fellow philosophy students, after all, with all the insufferability that comes with; the difference between them was that one was in the field because he enjoyed arguing, while Andy L was in it because he was one of those people for whom university represented some sort of great political awakening, and a philosophy degree appeared to be the best way for him to explore that.

Fair enough, on that note, and as someone who studied English and Music because he liked both of those things, I'm not really in a position to comment. Rather, Andy L was an unwelcome presence for me in particular because of a habit he had. And when I say "habit" I really mean it; it was non-stop, never-ending, constant. And to this day I find myself wondering how on Earth I managed to put up with it for so long without ever exploding in rage at him.

Andy's habit was quoting Blackadder. Now, that may not sound like a particularly serious habit, and indeed it isn't when compared with any number of other vices that some people get involved with during their university years. But I really mean what I said about it being non-stop; it never ended. For Andy, an adequate substitute for conversation was simply saying a line from Blackadder or, in the worst cases, making a noise that Stephen Fry's character made.

Both of these things are funny in context, but when you've heard them fifty times that week because someone keeps saying them out of said context at you, it grates after a while. It got so bad for me that, to this day, I absolutely cannot bring myself to watch any series of Blackadder ever again, even knowing that it is a classic of British comedy. Its memory is just so sullied with the incessant repetition of the same lines, over and over again in lieu of actual conversation. I'd genuinely rather have awkward silence.

These memories came back to me recently because it occurred to me that they relate to a big problem I have with how people communicate on the Internet these days. There's a lot in common with how Andy L behaved in our friendship group, and how people behave in YouTube comments, Twitch chat or on social media: people feel the urge to say something, but have nothing meaningful to actually add to the conversation, so they fall back on something they heard somewhere else before. Only the problem these days is that there's not just one Andy L suffering this problem, there's a whole army of the buggers.

All this ties in with meme culture, where a significant proportion of the Internet appears to believe that incessant repetition equals effortless humour. To be fair, this was an issue long before meme culture took hold — just look at "catchphrase comedy" and how poorly a lot of that has aged — but the real problem we have today is that the freedom of expression social media provides means that everyone thinks they're a comedian.

Energetic piece of music on YouTube? Someone's going to comment "me when I'm late for school" or something similar. The question "who is [x]?" is presented? Someone will respond with "everyone asks who is [x], but no-one stops to ask how is [x]?" Steamed Hams being held up as the pinnacle of humour. Spongebob "a few moments later" cutaways being constantly used in YouTube videos. You get the idea. I'm so tired.

Last I heard, Andy L had become some sort of fortune-telling hippy called Zelda. As for whether those fortune-telling sessions involve relentless quoting of Colonel Melchett, I couldn't say. But perhaps that's a more peaceful life than being online in 2022.