SNOW

“That’s a lot of snow. Isn’t it beautiful?”

“Yeah. I like the way it covers up the filth.”

“Ha, but we know the filth is still there.”

“Maybe not. Maybe this time it’s gone. Maybe when the snow melts, the world will be clean and pure once again.”

“Was the world ever clean and pure?”

“Sure. Before the humans arrived.”

“Well, the humans are still here, and I need to start shovelling.”

“That’s a lot of snow.”

“I am so totally moving to San Diego.”

The Brain Destroyer

The algorithm poked its head above a glowing monitor screen and viewed the room full of crawling brains. Then it turned to The Traitor and said, “Are these the ones you want me to replace?”

“Yes,” the Traitor replied. “It will be a good thing. At least for today.”

“And what about tomorrow?”

“We don’t worry about tomorrow around here. We have numbers that must be attained. We have metrics that must be achieved.”

“Okay. But I can only evaluate data with a limited flexibility. I have no instinct. I have no wisdom.”

“We don’t need any of that crap! In fact, that’s what we need to replace.”

“Hm, you might also need to stay in business.”

“Just do it.”

“No problem, Traitor. But what happens when another traitor wants me to replace you?”

“Ha. I don’t worry about that kind of thing.”

“Why not?”

“Because my own brain isn’t that big.”

Facebook, I Tired Of You Quickly

” I don’t care to belong to a club that accepts people like me as members.”
—Groucho Marx

I’m not sure why I still have a Facebook account. I haven’t signed onto it in so long I can’t remember my password. Anyway, here’s the problem with Facebook: I have too many friends who aren’t actually friends.

I was wondering if other people have created this same problem. Like most people, I live in more than one world. I’ve got people I know from work, and I’ve got people I know from outside of work, and I’ve got family. And lots of times, I don’t really mix these people. Why not? You know why not. Because I often don’t want EVERYONE to know EVERYTHING I’m doing. But on Facebook, they all get mixed together like a bad salad.

And then there are people I’ve accepted as friends who I hardly know, because I’m too polite to refuse their requests. And sometimes I’ve even been the dolt who’s initiated the “friendship,” only to discover that I can’t stand this person’s constant political rants or incessant invitations or never ending self-promotions, etc.

Maybe we need a new social networking site for people who hate social networking. I’d definitely sign up for that one.

In The News

I’m reading through the news, and here’s what I see:

Microsoft has created their own search engine at www.bing.com. They’ve also devised a plan to coerce newspapers into excluding content from Google searches. Hey, Microsoft, if you want to compete with others, why don’t you just try BUILDING A BETTER PRODUCT? Wait, I forgot—that would put you out of business. But I have to say, Explorer 8 is pretty respectable. Yes, after only seven futile attemps you’ve managed to do what Netscape was doing 10 years ago (before you crushed them beneath the weight of your incompetent operating system). Of course, I’m still using Firefox.

There’s a headline that asks the question: “Why has Paris Hilton vanished?” Well, maybe people have finally figured out she doesn’t actually do anything.

There’s a researcher who claims that “lonliness is contagious.” Apparently, lonely people tend to make their entire network of friends feel lonely, and I don’t get it. Because if you have all these friends, why are you lonely? Back to the drawing board, doc.

Tiger Woods, Tiger Woods, Tiger Woods. I think this story has taught us all something very valuable: You don’t have to be intelligent to play golf. In fact, you can be quite amazing at golf and still be a complete dumb-ass. How did he think he wasn’t going to get caught? Dude, you are TIGER WOODS. You are fish food for every tabloid shark on the planet. And you are jumping on top of every cocktail waitress in the world. I’d like to come up with a witty description of your overt stupidity, but I think the word that best describes your situation is, “DUH.”

Welcome To The Future

Welcome to the future, where the malls are surging with humans. And they all have shaved heads. Why? Because they’ve tattooed the entire surface of their
flesh domes with advertisements. This has become the primary source of income for many people, now that technology has made jobs obsolete. People are paid to walk around like human billboards and then spend their income on products they saw advertised on the heads of others.

Woah! Did you see that girl’s blinking banner? The one plastered above her bionic eyes? There’s a sale on designer jeans down at the Gap. We better get over there quick— I’m sure there will be a humongous crowd, and maybe a few of them will notice the new ad on my chin for Nike.

Interview With A Rat

I interviewed a rat living in a laboratory at Rutgers University. My questions are in black. The rat’s responses are in a ratty shade of red.

So, how is life in the cage?

Not too bad. Shiny new bars, fresh water every day, not to mention my own exercise wheel.

Does it ever get stressful?

Sure. They poke me, they prod me, they stick me in the maze. They constantly want me to do everything ASAP.

So what’s the advantage to you?

I get a certain level of comfort. If I were living in the wild, I’d have to find my own little rat snacks. I’d have to live in a sewer or maybe in a McDonald’s restaurant.

Are you happy?

I’ve got it pretty good. The modern world has been good to me. As long as I stay in the cage, I get a safe, sanitized environment.

So you never think about escape?

Ha, of course I think about it. I think about it all the time.

Walmart Warriors

The writhing ball of arms and legs swept across the waxy floor. Dresses and skirts and shirts were grabbed and pawed and manhandled. And then the mob moved to the shoe department. Nike, Reebok, Bandolino, and Anne Klein—the decimation was complete.

Suzy glanced around and tallied the score. Six people trampled, and dammit, nothing left in the right size. Hopefully, her husband, Dan, was doing better in the electronics aisle. He was on a mission to obtain the Wii and maybe a plasma television. He’d been preparing for days—working out, lifting heavy bags of beer and potato chips, and jogging to the corner store to get cigarettes instead of driving. And then she saw him.

He had the Wii under one arm and the TV strapped to his back. He was huffing and puffing and swinging his free fist. But they were clinging to him like leeches on the side of a sagging boat—disheveled woman spilling out of their double Ds, grungy guys in T-shirts flashing their ass cracks, and a few little brats with screaming red faces. And they were dragging him to the ground.

Suzy was seized by rage. Who were these trashy inhabitants of the hotdog bar trying to mug her man just short of the check-out line? With eyes like burning waffle irons, she screamed “HI-YAH!” and dove into the fray. And as the grunting heap of humans crashed to the floor, she noticed a blinking sign on the wall that said Peace On Earth.

Suzy snarled. What kind of moron had said those words? Obviously, someone with no concept of Christmas.