The Pin Has No Point

I know this is partly hagitude on my part, but social media seem to be created to fulfill needs that nobody feels, in fact, THAT NOBODY HAS.

I sign up for everything, register for everything, because a friend wants you to see or read something, and  before one can observe the paucity of content, there one is - signed up.
And then I hardly ever return again.
Okay, Twitter is hella funny because the boneheadedness and/or arrogance of some people is oft spread about to the amusement of others, (cf.: Josh Groban's most significant contribution to modern life).
It offers those with Mobius Personality Disorder*, (not to be confused with Mobius syndrome,) an outlet and those who have it not, mirth.
And it can be an efficient way, pretty much all in one place, to see what's new in the topics and ongoing events one then needs to go elsehwere to actually see.
But Vine?
Stupid stupid, stupid. (Says the person who just linked to a video - do and observe all things whatsoever the Pharisees tell you, but do not follow their example.....)
And Facebook allow you to disseminate or gather family and circle news quickly.
Okay.
But Pinterest?
One does a quick search, how do I cook/where can I buy/what's the best way to? and now the first Gazillion links turn out to be nothing but pictures of what you seek. You'll probably have to follow a half dozen more links to find the actual recipe/merchant/instructions.
(I'm sure my problem with Pinterest is a result of my having misunderstood one simple but crucial thing about the process - but I feel like ranting, nonetheless. It's good for the constitution, and ones circulation, and possibly ones collagen production to rant on a regular basis. In fact, my older sister has thereby become my younger sister.)


*The symptoms of Mobius Peronality Disorder being all surface, one-sided, self-referential, no boundaries, and thinking everything begins and ends with ones self. Again, cf.: Josh Groban's most significant contribution to modern life. I have a friend who likes to quote himself. Literally. "Blah, blah, blah, or as I like to say..." and he then repeats a bon mot mediocre we've already heard from him several times, committing that cardinal sin of witty society, as described by Stendahl in Red and the Black, IIRC, of bringing a ready made epigram into the conversation. 

(I think that asterisk may have introduced the most pretentious thing I have ever written.)