Beating a dead horse, with visual aids

If we were in some dipshit Ricky Gervais movie where idioms didn’t exist, PETA would be pouring red paint all over me because I cannot stop. I’m stuck on a cruise and I’m infecting all my friends with Beating-a-Dead-Horse-itis, and a symptom of it is logging into my burner instagram account that I only keep active so I can spy on people. The links! The screenshots! The screen sharing. I know you’ve all seen ****** Fucking ******’s squarespace before, but who wants to see it again? Do you want to hear about a deeply intense female friendship breakup where we’re both queer but not dating for the nth time? Let me get my laptop open real quick so I can show you something.