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Maybe you’ve heard, Osama bin Laden was killed yesterday. The People of Twitter told me so. Or at least, told me I should step away from my computer and sit back down in front of my television to watch a press conference. But the press conference didn’t air when they said it would, so I started losing interest and flipping channels, distracted long enough to miss half the President’s address. Though I knew the gist: Jihadist #1 was dead.
My ideal male was small town and scratched off the letters on the back on his Toyota pickup truck so it just said “YO.” But those guys didn’t like me — and this one did. Quick to catch-on to JAP boy talk, I name-dropped the only thing I had (“Rad, I know the Cherry Poppin’ Daddies”) despite feeling embarrassed.
I do agree with this notion that young people are too busy fucking themselves to actually get around to fucking anyone else. With the rise in social media, people feel more connected to each other than ever, but wonder why they’re going home alone each night and ordering delivery food. “I have 3,000 people following me on Twitter. Will one of them just fuck me?”