Tagged: dark humor

Hypothetically Speaking…

I should probably start taking an occasional sedative.  At the very least, sample some anxiety medications.  Because for the love of Bruce Springsteen, if I get asked one more stupid fucking hypothetical question, my brain is gonna explode all over the person asking.  I don’t want that to happen…

Ok. I'll take a stab at it. Were *hippies* the best thing before sliced bread?

Ok. I’ll take a stab at it. Were hippies the best thing before sliced bread?

There’s something about unanswerable questions that make me uneasy.  I don’t like the abstract.  I like definitive answers.  Like for example, if you were to ask me, “Would you like a cookie?”  My answer would be: “Yes, yes I would like a cookie.”  Question asked.  Answer known.  Case closed.

However, if you were to ask me, “What was the best thing before sliced bread?”  My mind would flip to *spin cycle*, and cause my head to violently twist off my body.  I don’t know the answer to that question.  Nobody does.

Hypothetical questions are usually barfed out of people that spend most of their free time sitting in a coffee shop talking about *String Theory* and *Subatomic Particles*.  The other half of the time they’re watching Jeopardy.

I think it’s time to start closing out a few of these trivial debates.  Or at the very least, volley it back over the philosophical net in the form of another stupid question.  I’ll let you ponder it, Einstein.  My skull is starting to feel like a ripe tick.  Time to blow off some steam…

Head explosion beginning in 3…2…1…

Let’s suppose…

If a tree falls in the woods and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?

It seems that “make a sound” would be a drastic understatement.  If a tree comes down in the woods, it’s usually because of a 300 million volt charge of electricity.  The thunder-crack and explosion of branches and squirrels caused by the bolt of lightning would be deafening.  The answer is an enthusiastic “yes”.  If a tree fell in the woods and the closest person to it was on Mars,  it would make a sound.  A *big sound*.  Ok?  Settled.

If you were to choke a Smurf, what color would it turn?

I’d like to volley that question back, and instead, ask a burning question of mine:  if a Smurf fucked an Oompa Loompa, what color would the offspring be?  Trick question.  Smurfs are four inches tall.  And made out of construction paper.

I'll take Questions without an Answer, Alex. Answer: Daily Double.

I’ll take “Questions that can’t be Answered” for 400, Alex. Answer: Daily Double.

Which is the correct way to extract toothpaste, from the top or the bottom of the tube?

Do I care?  Cut the tube in half already and put the power to decide in the hands of the two lunatics debating it.  After you’re both done brushing your teeth, wash your hands.  Then check the lock.  Then wash your hands.  Then check the lock.  Then wash your hands.  Then check the lock…

What hair color do they put on the driver’s license of a bald man?

I’d hate to have that job.  It’s no wonder the DMV is nothing but a bunch of sour-faces.  “I’m sorry sir, but we can’t put “bald” on your license, so we’re going to have to examine your pubic hair in the back room.”

Why did the chicken cross the road?

Because that’s one of the only things a chicken does.  They peck, cluck, and walk.  Why exactly are we so hung up on the idea of a chicken crossing a road?  Did I miss a vital piece of information here?  Ask me something like, “Why did the chicken do the Macarena”, and I’ll tell you that it’s “worthy of further investigation.”

If milk goes bad if not refrigerated, does it go bad if the cow isnt refrigerated?

Yes.  I can’t stress enough the importance of the following:  Make absolutely sure that your grocer is stocking milk in his dairy freezer that was extracted from a refrigerated cow.  Also, make sure that you store your opened Mayonnaise at room temperature.

Why is it that when you’re driving and looking for an address, you turn down the volume on the radio?

Because it’s hard to look for something when you’re head-banging and playing the steering wheel drums.

On Gilligan’s Island, why did Ginger have so many different outfits when they were only going on a 3 hour tour? 

She bought a ticket for the *Love Boat*.  She boarded the wrong ship.  Ditz.

How come Superman could stop bullets with his chest, but always ducked when someone threw a gun at him?

(Part 1)  First off, who throws a gun?  It’s not a Boomerang?

(Part 2)  Clark Kent wasn’t a neurologist – he worked for the Daily Herald.  I’m pretty sure he was making sub-par wages like the rest of us clowns.  Probably had a crappy insurance plan to boot.  A nose-job procedure would be absolutely out of the question.

"Honey, the TV's broke again. Can you bring me some more lard after you call the repair guy?"

“Honey, the TV’s broke again. Can you bring me some more lard after you call the repair guy?”

How come you press harder on a remote control when you know the battery is dead?

I thought this was common knowledge.  A remote control works like a ketchup bottle.  When the battery is low, more pressure is required to extract and utilize the remaining juice.

Side note:  God forbid you have get up and walk your lazy ass five feet from the couch.  “I guess I’ll just have to settle for another RonCo Informercial…”

If ghosts can walk through walls and glide down stairs, why don’t they fall through the floor?

Because all ghosts are issued a pair of hover boots.

Why does the Easter bunny carry eggs? Rabbits don’t lay eggs.

What do you want it to carry around, placentas?  I’d rather dye eggs than placentas…

Why are there flotation devices under plane seats instead of parachutes?

Most people don’t even know how to work the tray table, and you expect them to figure out a fucking parachute?  Under duress, no less.  “Seeing that we’re in the middle of a 30,000 foot vertical nose-dive, I think I’ll don my parachute now.”  It’s highly unlikely that they’d ever get used.  Plus, having parachutes would tack on an extra 30 minutes for the pre-flight prompt:

Flight Attendant (demonstration):  “Please note that in case of an emergency, you’ll find a very complicated parachute device located under your seat.  To put it on, start by inserting left arm into “loop A”, then ask the person seated next to you to help you insert your right arm into “loop B”.  Pull thigh harness straps over legs, and connect the four loops with a square knot.  Strap yourself to the back of an experienced sky-diver if there is one available on the plane.  The parachute has been packed in accordance with federal regulations; however, please feel free to re-pack yours in the isles after the seat belt light has been turned off, and before the arrival of the lunch cart.”

That doesn’t even take into consideration the added cost.  You want a parachute?  Ok.  No more free peanuts.  Or water.  Or bathroom.

Let’s just keep that cheap floating thingy…

*****

I know you’re dying to have a few more questions answered.  Try me…

To be continued?

-Happy Blogging  \M/

Related articles

Dr. Oz and the Bowel Moving Health Craze

It’s official, America’s favorite celebrity doctor has finally established himself as a successful solo artist.  The certified guru of personal health is now a permanent fixture of the Oprah Winfrey Network, dishing out the latest developments in medicine on a daily basis.  Dr. Oz has become the Elvis Presley of doctors among his predominately female followers, and continues to drive the health craze nail deeper into my eyeball with each passing episode.  Thank you, thank you very much.

The constantly evolving theory of the correct way to diet, exercise, and prevent disease is quickly becoming a bit obsessive-compulsive for my taste.  I think it’s safe to say that we’ve finally reached the summit of mount paranoia when it comes to personal health in this country.  Being that we’re in the midst of yet another mass-craze, as usual, I’m waving at everybody riding by on the band wagon.  Have a nice trip.  Bring me back something nice.

All Aboard the Band Wagon…

At one end of the spectrum are the hypochondriacs.  Like a bunch of wandering vagrants trying to score a dope fix, the crazies flood the internet with queries about their health, hoping to stumble across something to ease their worried minds.  There they sit, pale-faced in front of a computer monitor, digging for info on freckle borders, out-of-place pimples, and dry tongue.  At the other end of the spectrum are the urban soldiers that spend half of their lives in a sweaty warehouse, flipping tractor tires and snacking on raw spinach.  Can we have a meeting of the minds here for a second?

Personally, I take everything with a grain of salt.  I’m naturally skeptical, especially when it comes to things that people do in massive numbers.  No matter what it is, it always seems to have such a Jerry Jones cult feel to it.  I get itchy just thinking about it.  Speaking of skepticism, I have an excellent conspiracy theory to share:

It’s a Conspiracy I tell ya…

Dr. Oz is actually a robot that was created by a Japanese firm, and purchased by Harpo productions to instill fear in the minds of an impressionable audience.  The manufacturer model name is actually “Ozmotron 5000”.  When not in operation, the Ozmotron 5000 doubles as “safety guy”, belted into the front seat of Oprah’s car.  Since its introduction, her pharmaceutical stocks have soared because of the massive uptick in anti-anxiety medications being prescribed to people like me.  The robot is operated by Verne Troyer.

Far-fetched?  Not really.

Here are a couple reasons why I’d like to duct tape Ozzie to the ceiling:

1.)     First of all, he’s a spin-off of the Oprah Winfrey show, and I’ll be damned if she gets any royalty cash because of my viewership.  Conservatively, she’s probably worth more than the entire European Continent.  It’s a safe bet that she’ll be the first celebrity goofball to go on a space tour when that whole mess takes off.  I can picture her with her helmet on, waving hysterically from the shuttle window at all the poor people before launching into the stratosphere.  Hopefully she’ll get stuck orbiting the moon.  Transmission from space: “Harpo, we have a problem.”

2.)     Secondly, he makes me feel guilty about everything I do.  Stop it man.  I would much rather eat a burrito than a cup of walnuts and a block of tofu.  I couldn’t imagine being called on stage during one of his tapings.  It would be awfully intimidating to explain that my lunch the day before was comprised of a half a sandwich and four cigarettes.  At least it was wheat bread, dude.

3.)     And lastly, Dr. Oz talks about regularity a little too much for my liking.  Good god, I haven’t heard this much talk about crap since the Two Girls One Cup fiasco.  It seems to me that colon health trumps all other topics, bar none.  Are people really that desperate to go often?   I’m not a doctor by any stretch of the imagination, but if you ask me, crapping more than once a day is a health risk.

If I bought into his regularity diet I’d have to apply for a janitorial job to insure I’d be within five feet of a toilet at all times.  As a matter of fact, I probably wouldn’t leave the toilet without being strapped to an adult diaper.  Give me a break man.  Who the hell can lead a productive life when you’re eating five gallons of cherries a month?  On top of the janitorial position, I’d have to find a source of secondary income (probably a work at home job) in order to afford the mile of toilet paper per week it would require to stay tidy.

I will admit though, there is one thing that impresses me about Dr. Oz — that being his uncanny ability to influence.  Whatever he says goes (no pun intended).  Truthfully, I didn’t even know women farted until I watched his show.  However, call one down to the center stage and she’ll gladly share every detail about her bowel movements in front of the entire U.S.  Frequency, color, girth — it doesn’t matter.  I can picture a desperate fan, sitting on the bathroom floor like a closet alcoholic, chugging prune concentrate while the septic tank guy is banging on the door again — all for the sake of living up to the Doctor Oz regularity diet.   That’s what I call mind control.

A Few Final Thoughts…

The way I see it, it’s an unhealthy addiction whether you’re at one end of the spectrum or the other.  That’s not to say that healthy living shouldn’t be a priority, but it definitely shouldn’t come at the expense of your health.   I think having a balanced disposition might be the best advice I could ever prescribe.  Being consumed by anything to the point of obsession takes away from the whole life experience, doesn’t it?

The health craze is being driven by a number of outside forces, each of them competing for a chunk of your money.  Fear is an excellent motivator.  After all, it’s what’s kept our species alive for tens of thousands of years.  Never underestimate it.  “But that’s impossible, the earth is only 9000 years old?”  We’ll get to that some other day.

Until that day comes, keep your head screwed on tight.

Please share your thoughts!

-Happy Blogging, you Bowel Loving Bitchers!

The Fruitless Pursuit of an Anonymous Hacker

At a time when I’d found myself wallowing in the deepest, darkest depths of writer’s despair, the universe once again delivered.  Unfortunately, my newfound inspiration came with a price tag of a hundred dollars and a few days of lost blog-humping productivity.  One all-too-anxious click of the mouse and I’d contracted a nasty case of cyber-gonorrhea, as well as an attitude toward the stinky prick that was responsible for it all.

It was hard not to feel remorseful about the timing of the matter.  I was just starting to feel centered for once.  The colorful aura that had surrounded my optimistic project faded, forcing me to shelf it for the time being.  Back to the bitch diaries.  I had a more pressing issue at hand.

I spent the next couple of nights by candle light, snapping off tacky one-liners with a quill pen and a head full of trance.  Nothing that I wrote satiated.  I needed more.  I was desperate for reprisal, so I decided to try and track down the bastard.  If I was going to find any closure from the whole ordeal I’d have to do a little police work first.

I figured my best shot at finding the guy would begin with establishing a motive and a detailed profile.  In between slugs of coffee, I paced the room like a nervous cartoon, jotting down notes on a spiral-pad.  I was feeling confident, on to something I thought.  The pencil in my head began to swirl a composite sketch of the perpetrator at large.

The Investigation…

I knew that he didn’t work for a reputable company like Microsoft or Apple, because it would contradict his whole philosophy.  It’s difficult to get hired into a company like either of the two when you’re on a bi-monthly bathing schedule.  I could picture him; isolated in some basement hideout, screaming into a headset while touring the World of Warcraft – the smell of some off brand air freshener fighting off the stale pizza rolls and TV dinner trays piled up on his desk.  In between yelling fits and large blocks of anime porn, there he sits, writing malicious code on a highly sophisticated machine.

Reason led me to believe that he probably didn’t leave the house often, so I’d have to track him down outside of his headquarters.  Where would he go?  What would he look like?  My brain was in desperate need of answers.

He had long hair – an anything-but-trendy ponytail, perhaps.  A person of poor hygiene would mean long hair.  I’m sure a hairdresser wouldn’t leave their scissors near a person smelling like a dirty sponge, yet alone volunteer their services.  Facial hair was also a strong possibility.  He’s clearly a non-conformist, which meant rule out anything fashionable or trendy.  Cheap sunglasses, military boots, an old recycled leather jacket even.

A strong supporter of the Unix operating system.  Everything else was inferior computing, fit only for the common caveman like myself.  Maybe I could track him down online.  Start in the forums and look for the arrogant flake.

All I needed now was a motive.  What would drive a human to bully the civilized world with such malicious intentions?  The answer was obvious.  The poor bastard was probably exiled from the rest of his peers at a crucial time during development.  It caught up with him later on – revisiting, lamenting his awkward high school years.  Now he was evil.  Non-conformists are born that way though, no fault of another.

The Fruitless Pursuit…

There was no use wasting anymore time.  Generally speaking, I had a good idea what I was looking for.  In retrospect, it was a bit optimistic of me.  More importantly, I didn’t know what I was going to do with him when I found him.  What sort of punishment would fit the crime?  More questions.  Then it hit me: motherboarding — a method used for dealing with cyber terrorism, which involved tying the perpetrator to his throne, and beating him senselessly with a stack of motherboards.  Half the problem with the prick is that he’s too smart for his own good, so I may as well bring his IQ down a few clicks.

I knew where I’d find him.  The downtown district is full of non-conformist beatniks – lumbering around in large packs like prairie bison.  What if this was all for nothing?  What if I was pursuing the wrong person?  Maybe he was much more refined — off shore bank accounts, suave dresser, expensive car, Rolex — the whole bit.

The once roaring fire of optimism within me was now turning into a smoldering pile of doubt as I watched the markers tick by.  I could feel my foot easing off the accelerator as my reservations intensified.  I decided to pull off for a bit and make sense of everything.

I ordered a coffee – no cream, no sugar.  It was hard to keep myself from pulling napkins out of the dispenser and shredding them on the table.  The smoke was heavy – a thick blanket of it hanging above the greasy diner tables.  My mind was still in overdrive, but my thoughts were halted by an angry woman that stood up and threatened to off the male sitting in front of her. I could sense the tension mounting in the atmosphere after the blow up.  Maybe it was the caffeine.  Either way I decided to leave a tip and exit before I was the recipient of a misguided projectile.

Going back was intolerable.  I’d been beaten this time, but not destroyed.  What sense would it make to continue this pursuit?  Tracking down one anonymous hacker and removing him would be like containing an influenza epidemic with a single can of Lysol.  Let him have his kicks for now, I thought.  The poor bastard has his coming…

-Happy Blogging Private Eye Bitchers…

Related articles

The Top Ten Reasons Why Most Top Ten Lists Suck

Image

What is it nowadays with top ten lists?  Click on any news-based site and you’ll find at least a dozen of them on the front page.  I’m struggling to come up with a reason why.  Why not “Top Nine” or “Top Eleven”?  Are we too spoiled that we refuse to read a meager nine?  Maybe we’re too attention deficit to make it through an extra nomination?  More likely than not it’s just a natural occurrence in a country operating under the base 10 numeral system…

I think it might be one of those things they teach in journalism programs to help writers pump out more crap.

I can see it:

Editor:  “Jones, I want material on my desk by lunch.  Got it?”

Author:  “But sir, it’s 11:50AM — that’s only ten minutes from now?”

Editor:  “I’ve got a job to do.  I don’t care what it is.”

Author:  “Yes sir, consider it done sir.”

And thus, another list is born… 

Ok, I’ll admit it.  I’m addicted to them.  Give me anything condensed to a list and I’ll read it.  It’s kind of like the cliff notes version of something that I otherwise wouldn’t read.  There’s a real sense of gratification in it for me personally, because I can read so many in such a short amount of time.  It tricks the mind.  It makes me feel like I’m being productive when I’m really not.  To add, it’s a lot easier than reading a book.  My thoughts on books?  [CENSORED] books.  Books suck.  Give me a top ten list instead.

Even though I’m a slappy for anything in a bulleted format, these compact-compilations aren’t without their flaws.  After all, I wouldn’t be writing if I didn’t have something to bitch about.  So without further ado, let me take a minute to set down my pom-pom’s and share with you the Top Ten Reasons Why Most Top Ten Lists Suck.

10.  They Always Save the Best for First

On every list, the first mention is always the entry with the most bang.  Most of the time you can just skip everything else after you read it.  If you’re like me, you’re already beginning to pick up on the writer’s bias at this point, and have begun formulating a smart-ass comment for the forum in your head.  This rule applies to all top ten lists except for this one.

9.  They Never Appeal to the Cynics

Most people get pissed off at the title and click on the article for the sole purpose of bashing the writer’s mom, or posting something about Ron Paul for President in 2012.  Start calling the bastards out.  Either you start posting stuff with some substance or we start bashing.  Make a choice.

8.  People Don’t Care About the Topics

50% of these lists are wasted on topics like “ways to find a job” or “ways to get active”.  Yeah right, like anybody actually wants to work these days with all of the public assistance programs out there.  As far as getting fit goes, people that want to get fit are out getting fit right now, not sitting around formulating a plan for it.

7.  The “Experts” are Always Wrong

Most of the time, the list is littered with a bunch of expert opinions.  Who the [CENSORED] cares about experts?  Everyone’s an expert these days.  I think what they actually mean when they use the word “expert” is “some guy I talked to at the urinal next to me when I was on lunch”.   First they tell me I’m supposed to eat more blueberries and cheese, the next week I’m going to develop impotence because of all the cheese and blueberries I ate the week before.  Make up your minds.  Adding the word expert to your piece doesn’t add to your credibility, dumb ass.

6.  They Discriminate 

As mentioned in the beginning of the article, it’s likely that not every reader originated from a country that utilizes the base 10 number system.  Being the big salad bowl that we are, or whatever other PC term they use now to describe the ethic mix, I’d say we’re being kind of insensitive.  Lawyers, take notes.  It’s time to make some serious changes…

5.  They’re Harmful to Our Youth 

After conducting a formal investigation of the matter (on Wikipedia), I’ve concluded that people stopped reading around the time that computers were invented.  This is an alarming trend.  People need to read more, not less (like I should talk).  Consequently, the majority of people you interview could name more social networking sites than congressional members — I’m one of them.

4.  They Don’t Attract Male Readers, Duh 

Authors are going to have to do a better job of connecting with their male audience.  Whatever happened to market research?  It’s common knowledge that guys don’t go on the internet to read top ten lists, or anything else for that matter; they go online for the sole purpose of expanding their porn libraries – I am one of those too.

3.  They’re Not as Effective as YouTube 

As effortless as it is to blow through 10 Easy Ways to Get Rich Quick, it’s even easier to go on YouTube and watch the video version of it.  Of course if you’re like me, you just end up getting side-tracked watching videos of people draining baseball-sized cysts.  If you’re not hip to the jive, this is what we in the community refer to as “The Weird Part of YouTube” – don’t end up there, trust me.

2.  They Employ Guerilla-Ad Tactics  

Sometimes authors reel us in with a catchy title then slap us in the face with a corny video instead.  You know what that means:  “You can skip this ad in 9:59 minutes.”  You’d have to tie me to a chair and duct tape my eyelids open to get me to sit through an online advertisement.  Everyone wants to either sell me something, or change my opinion on an issue that I’ve already made up my mind about.  Back off you scaly bastards.  I’ll shop when I need to.  I don’t need to change my mind.

1.   There’s Never Enough Material to Complete the List

By the time the author gets to #1 he/she is usually out of material — really stretching it at this point.  That’s the case here…today.  I’m struggling mightily to at least come up with a couple of sentences to make it look halfway decent.  Awfully anti-climactic, I know.  I’m sorry to end on this note…

Oh well, lesson learned.  Why stretch it to ten when you only got enough material for nine?

-Happy Blogging You Base-Ten-Loving Bitchers!    

Smartphones and the Dumb Things People Do with Them

Let me preface by first giving props to the late Steve Jobs for being such a dedicated innovator.  I’m not one of those groupies that ran out and bought his book, nor did I attend any seminars of his or anything like that.  For that matter, I don’t even own an iPhone, iPad, Mac computer, or any other smart device.  But, I do deeply admire the ability that he possessed to think outside the box — something that not many people can do.

I’m dumbing it down a bit I know, but the point is that it takes a special (and slightly manic) personality to do what he did, which ultimately changed the way that we live our lives for the forseeable future.  Navigation, business conferencing, social networking, banking on-the go– virtually anything that used to require a desktop computer can now be done using a pocket-sized phone.  Nice job…uh, Jobs.

Ok, let’s step down from the Steve Jobs memorial for a second and analyze this more closely.  What exactly have we inherited by buying into this kind of technology?  What are the deeper consequences of being connected to anything and everything at all times?

No rational person will ever convince me that this technology hasn’t made life more intriguing.  However, that aside, what are the real costs to the user?  Anyone, anyone?  If you said privacy, we’re on the same page.  Privacy is a huge cost of being connected.  As a matter of fact, the word privacy is fading from the pages of Webster’s  — I mean dictionary.com — as we speak.  All this great technology that links us to everything and everyone has invaded our lives.  Actually, it didn’t invade our lives, it simply knocked on the door and someone let the bastards in.

It’s amusing how willing people are to cough up every bit of information about themselves online.  I’ve been guilty at times, myself.  News Flash:  You and I are now very detailed public records.  To add, that record ain’t going anywhere anytime soon.  Anyone who wishes can find out anything they want about you.  Marketers are getting fat off of your information, which identifies exactly what type of buyer you are (thank you facebook).

We all know where you’ve been, where you’re going next, who you were there with, what you ate, drank, bought, what and who you don’t like, what your political, religious, and economic views are, what kind of car you drive, your address, where you work, who your friends are, who you are dating, who you’ll marry, your kids!  For god sake, you even put your kids online!  (Imagine the future law suits that will come out of that one)   See where I’m going with this?

You didn’t lose your privacy, you eagerly handed it over to anyone and everyone.  Not that all of this wasn’t going on before smartphones, they’ve only made it easier for you to give up a larger amount of even more specific information.

I understand the “but I need it for work” reasoning, and I can understand feeling uneasy about driving without a phone – but, do you really need it while you’re sitting on the toilet in a public bathroom – followed by a public restaurant booth?  Do you need to inform your facebook or twitter friends and followers of your exact location at all times – followed by a real time picture update?

I don’t give a flying fart what you’re going to eat for dinner, I don’t care about your dog’s traumatic day at the dentist, and I don’t care to see a picture of you with the same stupid grin, posing in front of every single monument or bar you’ve ever visited.  It’s all a bit redundant.

Here’s a true story.  A group of 20 or so friends and I got together for a going away party one night.  Being that we were a sizable group we were seated at a large table.  As we all settled in I sat and talked with a buddy of mine for some time and then it hit me:  I came to the sudden realization that the only two people talking at the entire table were myself and the guy sitting next to me.  Ironically, we were the only two dummies that chose not to invest in a smartphone.

The rest of the group — like a mobile arcade hall — were all on their phones.  It wasn’t coincidental, it was intentional.  All withering away, moving quickly toward social retardation.  It was the beginning of the end as far as socializing in public is concerned.  The worst part is that it’s happening everywhere.  Try this: go out to a bar one night and count how many times you see someone texting, talking, or diddling around on a phone.  It’s staggering.  Why not make a drinking game out of it?  (I’m not advocating drinking, especially not drinking and driving – use your head)

So, what are we getting out of this?  Well, the short answer as I see it is not much.  The long answer:  diminishing attention spans and public social skills, inconsiderate behavior around the people that you’ve chosen to be around, lack of respect for people that don’t want to be bothered by your public conversations, dependency on a piece of technology to do everything for you (including reading a basic map), loss of spontaneity,  irritability anytime we have to wait for anything, and of course privacy – the list is endless.  All of this for the sake of convenience.

Doesn’t sound very smart to me…

-Happy Blogging Bitchers