THE 8TH CIRCLE OF HELL

Group texts.
Cute idea—until it turns into digital quicksand.

At first, they feel like friendship. A modern-day village square.
Then they feel like a hostage situation with 47 captors, all named Susan.

Even the Bible says that there is a time for everything to die.
“To everything there is a season... a time to be born and a time to shut the hell up.”

Group texts can be funny, helpful, even sweet. However, there should be a law - federal, if possible, that they expire within 90 minutes. After that, they’re a group hug that turned into a chokehold.

You can’t escape.
Ask to be removed? You’re antisocial.
Stop replying? You’ve ghosted the group.
Stay in and suffer silently? Congratulations, you’re the emotional support animal for a digital circus.

Sometimes, the damn things just won’t die.

Let’s be real—do we really want to socialize in a thread where communication devolves into LOLs, thumbs-ups, and sixteen people reacting to a blurry photo of someone’s dinner?

HELL NO.

Send the message.
Let everyone reply.
Then call it a day.

That’s called closure. Or as I like to refer to it: a group text funeral.

Write a closed-ended message. Use punctuation. Know when to stop.

And don’t dare send me something after 9 PM unless it involves a fire, law enforcement, or your Uber in a ditch.

By 10PM, I expect silence, not Susan’s homemade jam recipe and a picture of her toe injury.

Want to be the Good Humor Man?
Great. Show up at noon.
Otherwise, you’re a digital mosquito—and I have a block button with your name on it.

If hell hath nine circles, group texts are number eight—right between karaoke night with coworkers and couples who say “we’re pregnant.”

Laugh, scroll, survive. That’s ‘The Condition’. Now hit that subscribe button before Susan starts typing again.