Cry Me a River

For the first time in a long, long time, I had a hater on Facebook, which I promptly blocked and deleted their vulgarity. So let's see, lemons and lemonade comes to mind. And so, enjoy:

Cry Me A River

My name is Paul Grant Truesdell, The Elder. Today, I want to introduce a word I invented on August 2, 2025: humeme. And trust me, it is not a compliment.

Now, let me set the stage. Imagine a person so shallow, so disconnected from the real world, that the only ideas they can grasp are bumper stickers, slogans, or memes floating around on social media. These are humemes. A humeme is not just a human with limited bandwidth. It is a creature of habit, hyper-reactionary, incapable of thought beyond a TikTok video, a protest sign, or a hashtag. Attention span? Measured in seconds. Span of control? Only as far as they can reach without getting up.

You know who I am talking about. You have seen them. They shout from the sidewalks, they scream in the comment sections, and they protest everything—except their own ignorance.

We used to have a saying—and I still use it—“Better to keep your mouth shut and let people think you are stupid than to open it and remove all doubt.” The humeme, however, missed that memo. Loud, proud, and usually wrong, they are the type to scream “it’s my right!” while blocking traffic during rush hour—because that really wins hearts and minds, right?

Let me be clear. I am not against protest when it is meaningful, measured, and built on a foundation of ideas. Civil disobedience can be powerful when aimed at injustice and led with clarity. But chaos for chaos’ sake? Breaking windows of small businesses to make a point you cannot articulate? Marching for causes you cannot define? That is humeme behavior.

Now here is the kicker. Every society has a system. Either you learn to navigate it, or you crash into it headfirst like Wile E. Coyote with a law degree from a cereal box. Those who understand their slice of the system tend to do better. Those who understand multiple slices are even stronger. And the rare few who can step back, see the full system, design it, implement it, and teach it? Those are the ones who build nations, save companies, and raise solid families.

The humeme? Not so much. The humeme thinks the system is broken just because they do not know how to use it. It is like watching someone yell at a vending machine because it did not give them free chips. Spoiler alert: the machine was not broken—you just refused to read the directions.

Let us talk about jobs. Remember toll booth attendants? Ticket takers? Full-time fast food cashiers? All being phased out by technology. It is not personal. It is progress. If your only skill is standing still and pressing a button, eventually, the button gets smarter than you.

The humeme never evolved past the button. When automation showed up, they shouted “that’s not fair!” and started filming themselves on their phones, hoping for sympathy from strangers who were too busy using that same technology to move forward.

And let me tell you something else. A humeme is not always born—it can be a choice. We see it in the halls of Congress, in Senate speeches, and in viral videos from wannabe influencers. When you watch a grown adult, with access to the Library of Congress, stand up and defend a position with phrases like “you are a Nazi” or “everyone deserves,” without one shred of evidence, you are watching a masterclass in intentional humemology.

You see, intentional humemes know better. But they play dumb because that is how they connect with their base. And yes, they have a base. There are entire voting blocs who will check a box next to a (D). It's right because of one meme, one phrase, or one tweet that “felt right.” Not was right—just felt right.

The science of humemology is real. It is the reduction of human communication to grunts, slogans, and gifs. It is the rejection of complexity in favor of clicks and claps. We used to call it propaganda. Now we call it “influencing.”

And here is the dangerous part. The humeme, like mold, does not go away on its own. It multiplies in dark, damp places—like comment threads and city council meetings. Humeme modesters take three second joy in molesting the thoughtful, lawful, and obedient taxpaying; all being concepts far, far, far beyond their humeme grasp.

Let me tell you a story. Years ago, I was at a town hall meeting. A local activist grabbed the mic and began a rant—half slogans, half tears, zero facts. She kept repeating the phrase, “This community needs to wake up!” I leaned over to my friend and whispered, “What she means is, the community needs to agree with her.” The crowd clapped anyway. Two council members were swayed by humeme thinking (Wait, thinking? That's a poor choice of words. Let's see....got it: babbling.)

It reminded me of something George Carlin might say—if the dumbest person in the room is doing the most talking, you are probably at a school board meeting.

The truth is, humemes are here. And some of them have been given titles, offices, even television shows. They rant about systems they cannot define and problems they cannot solve. But they never stop complaining. That is their superpower—eternal grievance without end.

And yet, oddly enough, humemes are also survivors. Like cockroaches or plastic straws, they linger. Despite a total lack of adaptability, they somehow hobble through life, surviving on government subsidies, parental patience, and social media validation.

And just like that, a new meme is born. Cry me a river.

Cry me a river about how life is unfair while holding a thousand-dollar phone. Cry me a river about equity while sipping your third Starbucks of the day. Cry me a river about being silenced—on a livestream to ten thousand viewers.

Cry me a river—but do not ask me to swim in it with you.

Because here is the final truth. The world is not slowing down for the humeme. Technology is not going backward. Systems are not going to stop just because a few loud voices refuse to understand how they work. We are moving forward—with or without them.

So to the humemes among us: I see you. I recognize you. And I kindly ask—stay in your lane. Preferably one with soft barriers and no access to a microphone. You're a bowling ball bouncing from bumper to bumper, with rare luck you'll get a strike, but most likely though, you're a one pinner, a true 10!, out of a possible 300. Alas, you're not in the 1% class, you made it to the 0.33% class. Congratulations, "Here's your sign."

As for the rest of us? Learn the system. Master the spans. Think in full sentences. Build, contribute, and frequently—laugh. Because at the end of the day, if you cannot laugh at the absurdity, you are going to cry yourself a river too.

And I am all out of towels. Now excuse me as I wring mine out after hitting this last key.