Oh, John and Holly. Holly and John. I know nothing about you. I don’t even know if you know each other, or if you are as much of strangers tethered by circumstance as I am to each of you. Perhaps the only point of intersection in our lives is Amanda, our sole mutual friend — the same girl whose words sealed our fates together in the first place.
Once we’ve mastered the inch high hover, we can move another inch off the ground, then another, and keep raising the hovering car until a child of about eight or nine can walk under it. Oh what a utopia it will be! No longer will potholes and speed bumps impede our driving. No longer will kids chasing balls or dogs chasing kids chasing balls be hit by cars.
“Nerd.” You actually don’t know anything about the things you made fun of the ‘authentic’ nerds for liking in high school, i.e. D&D, coding, Magic, Anime, etc.
Texting me after 10 on a weeknight is a lost cause dude. I’m watching episodes of Seinfeld on my couch, in my sweatpants, eating pizza. I turned off Social Me like an hour ago, and once I turn it off for the night, it doesn’t come back on until tomorrow, midday at the earliest.
Before the onset of the Digital Revolution, how many discretely worded ads in the Personals section of the daily paper included some self-aggrandizing variant of “I enjoy long walks on the beach”? Let me answer: All of them.
“Do you have any ideaaaaaa how stupidddd it makes you lookkkkkk when you writeeee like thisssss? It reads like some feminine combination of Drunk Jeff Goldblum and Parseltongue.”
The meme weather system has once again brought us another piece of viral Adorable Old People In Front Of Webcam gold, this time in the form two seniors earnestly attempting to take a picture of themselves with their laptop.
Here are a few imagined past US presidents’ Twitter musings, had these men been privileged enough to experience the world of microblogging and oversharing culture in their time as presidents of the United States of America. Please forgive any historical innacuracies–this contributor was a psychology major.
Years will pass—centuries even. The sheer volume of videos I’ve produced will flabbergast my descendents in the distant future. In the videos, I will say things like, “In my day, we listened to music on matchbox-sized devices we kept in our pockets. We didn’t have microchips implanted in our brains that spontaneously generated the most neurologically stimulating music for that precise moment.”