It was Sunday morning. I was sitting on the sofa with my wife. She was trying to open an “eCard” and watching a spinning animation instead. I was trying to access a website and getting a spinning animation, too.
It wasn’t the internet connection. It was that technology is shitty.
How sad is this? I thought as we sat there clicking refresh umpteen times. This is the world that technology has promised.
Futuristic togetherness. Watching. Waiting. Together. Forever.
Do you have happy memories of Halloween nights when you were a kid? Counting and sorting your loot? Secretly getting away with eating too much until you got sick?
If yes, then congratulations. You lived through the experience.
I know of at least four young people from Halloween 2014 that will never get the same chance.
As I walk through this world
Nothing can stop the Puke of Hurl
And you, the trap you unfurled
And you can so hurt me, oh yes
TWO DAYS EARLIER
I love leftovers. There I was at the fast food restaurant picking up dinner when I had my aha moment. I’ll get extra deep fried things on purpose so I’ll have enough for leftovers in the future.
It would be something, a small thing, that I was actually looking forward to.
Meanwhile, deep in the Pacific Ocean, somewhere over the Great Pacific garbage patch, ominous dark swirling clouds began to form.
It was almost lunch time. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I was in a good mood. I was on the way to the kitchen to prep my lunch. The lunch I had been looking forward to for two whole days. There was a bounce in my step as I walked down the hall. I hummed a little song to myself. I paused in the living room and played a game of peek-a-boo with the cat.
In less than five minutes I would be dead.
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Everyone has a right to my opinion and I carry a toilet plunger to make sure it’s forced as deep as possible down your throat.
I’m talking about, of course, everyone on the internet. That’s pretty much what it has come down to, right?
Take, for example, a video posted two days ago on YouTube of a road rage incident described as “Redneck Road Rage” and “Instant Karma.” The video quickly went viral. As I write this post it already has over 5 million views. Wow.
Click here to be transported to a dream world of YouTube magic: Redneck Road Rage / Instant Karma
According to the description on the video, the woman was forced to disable comments after she was issued “umpteenth” death threats and called “a b!#$h/c$%t/whore/slut” a “billion” times.
“You asked,” I replied. “So I’ll tell you…”
Imagine being born into a society. Congratulations! You were the sperm that won. (Unless the fertilization process was technologically interfered with and/or took place inside of a test tube. In that case, here’s your “participant” ribbon.)
For most of thus that’s exactly what happened. We came into existence and then, presumably sometime later, we attained some sort of consciousness. And without knowing what we were doing we began to absorb. Mostly from the idiots who surrounded us.
Nice plan. Now you’re totally fucked.
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Oh, and the good news? My memory ain’t what it used to be. So I’ve forgotten about 99.99% of the laments I wished to document in this post. That’s good news for you, the loyal reader.
These are the facts as we know them right now. On or about Thursday, June 13th, a 26′ foot U-Haul truck rolled over my existence. The next four days of my life were consumed by dreams of said truck, with visions of boxes filling my head. Morning, noon and nights whiled away whilst moving boxes in and out of The Great Truck.
That’s about all I remember, really. The Tom B. Taker y’all knew is dead. He’s been replaced by this empty nutshell.
Oh, one other thing. The process of unloading our precious possessions (my precious!) into our new home necessitated the reality that doors remained open for convenience. The doors gaped wide open for two days straight. During this time, the local flora and fauna made use of the opportunity to move in with us. They made themselves right at home. Really, though, it was mainly flies with a few spider mascots thrown in for good measure.
Sunday, after returning the abomination of a U-Haul truck, I dragged my broken body through that portal into the new dimension. As the portal closed behind me, I gravely regarded the gathered throng of flies.
I collapsed into the assembled legions of my follows and they caught me and I was lifted up by millions of furiously beating little wings. “Daddy’s home,” I bellowed. “What the fuck is this? Amityville?” The flies parted and the walls began to gushing blood and they bowed to their new Lord…
Oh, beloved Musca Domestica! At least when humans are forced to turn to insects for survival I’ll already have my very own ready-to-go meal.
Luckily, like I indicated earlier, that’s about all I remember, so the story ends here. Hallelujah!
Did you notice? Yesterday I didn’t try to pull any of that April Fool’s Day crap on you. I respected you as a person. That simple act of mature restraint elevated me above the likes of Google and the makers of Minecraft. For hate’s sake I claim the higher ground.
The higher ground is mine! Neener, neener, neener. In yo face!
And now I’ve lost it again. Excuse me a moment while I crawl back under the bottom of this barrel here. Ah, there’s no place like home.
Feather Flags: Empirical proof that capitalistic greed grabs take far more precedence than the visual appearance of a community.
–Tom B. Taker
Why not make an entire community look like the inner ring of a toilet when it can make a few assholes a few extra bucks, right?
I give you the humble feather flag (genus flapus fuckus).
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