Instagram is slightly ridiculous. Two months ago, and fifty-one posts later I am convinced the human race is a collective raw desert. They are made with nuts. With a follow to following average of one to four, my new favourite life channel Insta is either going to be deleted and or most probably deleted. My liking and follow strategies are totally hopeless, giving likes away like candy, following at the drop of not the cliché hat, but, something else similar. It’s because the collective nut job is as endearing as it is sickening. Just like the bees adorning the chiropractic suite down the road. Decorative clip art with no relevance to anything spine. Not sickening, just a conundrum exploiting much brain matter.