It’s a new age of humanity… by pressing one key on my keyboard I can kill you. A new breed of human with a dissociative, trigger-happy mania skims through their Facebook feed and they “hide” you so that you’ll never know that you have vanished. Possibly worse, they kill you and you return to their page to find out that you’re dead to someone; with a stabbing jab of shame you realize that you’ve been unfriended. The new blacklisting mantra (“just unfriend him”) is a dream come true– we get to play virtual God and pull the plug on others in our socially sanctioned setting. NOTICE MY ALLITERATION!! Obey me! I choose who lives or dies in this realm! A loud bellowing echo shakes the virtual kingdom… Of course, like all things in the virtual (material) world, Facebook is destined for demise and God will continue her reign. It’s not because I’m some Seer that I know this, it’s because all Force comes to an end and real Power transforms into something else.
In the meantime, did you unfriend me on Facebook? Thank you. What a relief. Suicide requires so much responsibility and in the Facebook realm, I’d have to kill you and I’d rather not.
The following is a list of recipes being considered for Hugh Hefner’s forthcoming cookbook:
Pepito (A Latin American Dish)
Chorizo (Another Latin American influenced dish)
Frank ‘n’ Beans
Big Italian Salami
Magic Mushroom Tip
Bat and Balls (an English inspired dish similar to Bangers and Mash)
or, the possible alternate, Meat ‘n’ Potatoes
Pig in a Blanket
AND FOR DESSERT….
Ice Cream Machine
I’ve been too busy to write. So I offer you this, in lieu.
Have you ever attended one of these television award shows? I have. They aren’t what they look like on tv. Sometimes you’re literally standing there in your Sunday best, a Valentino suit (for instance), eating nachos and a hot dog from the concession stand. At the events with a sit down dinner, you wait until you’re starving and the food is cold. It’s worse than a wedding. I carry a granola bar, just in case. Pretty people are the most self-conscious and since this is a work event, it’s doubly bad; everyone gets drunk. The poor saps that have to present for the television are trying to keep it together, while the rest of the room, a lot of entertainment executives that the general public doesn’t know, are wasted.
Last year I didn’t go. I dropped some friends off at the event and went home. The only thing worse than going to one of these award shows in person, is watching them on tv on a Sunday night. At home, staring at the tv, you get seduced into a fantasy that The Spectacle is real. It’s not. These award shows are nothing but a parade of dead people. What I mean is: we’re all gonna die. No glittery dress, television appearance, or gold statue is going to protect you from the inevitable. Yes, I’m referring to Death. Capital D. It’s inevitable. George Clooney: A handsome corpse.
Sure, I’ll concede that some people have a real talent for pretending to be another person. Why not do something like pretend to be someone else until you die? These people that have a talent for being someone else, also think that they want to be famous and receive praise. They don’t; they’re merely afraid of death. It’s an unconscious fear, of course. The starlet’s death anxiety is just more garish than the rest of ours.
Who are all these people?