Night at the internet: The TikTok ban

Natalie McEwan, Opinions and Humor Editor

Being a brain rot connoisseur is not an easy job. It’s not as simple as passively scrolling on the toilet or before bed. It is a way of life — one I take very seriously. I even devised the perfect system for my homework, a system that helps me actually remember my readings. 

First, I ran my reading comprehension textbook through ChatGPT to make it easier to understand. Then, I converted the summary into a Minecraft parkour video. For the unfamiliar, it is where the text shows up one word at a time in front of a Minecraft video where someone jumps around the virtual environment. 

In my hand, a Celsius. On my laptop, the Minecraft textbook video. From my speakers, lofi beats to study and relax to. And, most importantly, on my television, a constant Chromecast stream of TikTok videos. 

It all went beautifully until the clock struck midnight on Jan. 19. I made it through the first third of the summary when my television showed an alarming message, “Sorry, TikTok isn’t available right now.” 

Not available? How was I supposed to do my homework? Eat food? Go to the bathroom? Get to class? 

I immediately opened the next best thing: Instagram Reels. I tried to scroll, but all I saw were videos I had already seen three weeks ago on TikTok. The brain rot was outdated, uninspiring. I couldn’t possibly complete my reading in these conditions.

Next, I went over to YouTube Shorts — only to be greeted with a terrible algorithm that showed me the same stand-up comedian clips and finance podcasters over and over. I tried scrolling, but it was so awful I actually turned off my phone.

I was getting desperate. What was I supposed to do? I drank another Celsius and rested it on my reading comprehension textbook. 

What if my brain rot connoisseur days were over? What if I needed to get a new job? I knew where I could find one. 

I opened LinkedIn and went right past the job search feature to the short-form video section. I was desperate to scroll, but instead, I kept getting advice for b2b sales. LinkedIn members even called my Yapdollar profile picture “unprofessional” in the comments section. I just wanted to show them that I like money too. 

At this point, the sunlight began to creep through my window. I realized it was now Sunday morning. I had made it through the night with no TikTok, but now I faced an even more terrifying fate: work. I spent all this time trying to find something to replace TikTok; I had forgotten to sleep! How could I do my job as a brain rot connoisseur with no decent brain rot?

I drank another Celsius and began the long, agonizing journey to work. Without videos to scroll, each foot felt like a bag full of bricks, each step like I was climbing a treacherous mountain. I had nothing to listen to except for birds. As I crossed the street I actually had to look at the cars who drove by. 

After making it across the street, I made one last effort with Instagram Reels. There I saw the Rizzler. I was so elated that I, no longer aware of my surroundings, tripped over the bottom of a Spin scooter and tumbled head-first into a patch of grass.

I laid there for a moment and felt the sunlight beam onto my face, the soft yet itchy touch of the grass, the fresh outdoor scent. It felt nice? 

That was when I saw another person walking by the sidewalk, avoiding eye contact and scrolling. Their eyes seemed so entranced by their screen. It wasn’t possible, not with any of these algorithms — unless.

I opened TikTok and saw that service had been restored! I leapt out of the grass and onto the sidewalk in one swift motion, where I began speed walking the rest of the way to work, headphones in, videos on. 

Editor’s note: The characters and events depicted in this article are fictitious. Any similarity to real-life persons or events is coincidental. This is a work of satire; The Commonwealth Times does not endorse using AI to make sense of your textbooks or homework. Just do your readings.