From Netizen:

"You are in your undies in the basement . . ."

YOU ARE IN YOUR undies in the basement watching a video bitmapped by low download speed and you are on the phone with the CSR from Comcast; he tells you his supervisor says you should go with an HDTV Antenna and that he can get you a deal.

You think you are being punked and NPH will show up with a mob outside and your ex will be there, and everyone will sing about how love lasts forever. But you check out the window and no.

So why would they say this to you? Aren’t all customer service calls recorded for quality assurance? Why would they put you on hold again?

As usual, you get through the moment by putting your phone on speaker and keeping the volume low. All the ads about how great Comcast produce migraines; it also hurts knowing how many times this has happened before and how many times it will happen again, and again you tell yourself you will switch to Fios but your friend Phil hates it though your friend Nancy loves it and the screen darkens and your legs go numb and the ads are repeating.

When you turn on your computer first thing, you are immediately on Facebook and Twitter and Pinterest and Tumblr, even Ello and LinkedIn, and you are reminded, as you try to think of a jaunty morning post, that a friend told you of a medical term – FOMO – a condition of stressing out from digital tech. People fear there’s something somewhere they’ll might miss out on. Like pizza dogs. Sheldon Cooper came up with the term. He’s an asshole. You hope by clicking ad nauseum you can keep ahead of the trends.


When an avatar who is supposed to be a married woman asks why you are not using your credit card to become a full member of Ashley Madison, you sit there near tears.

She sends a picture of herself, holding a peeled banana and having just exited the shower, and you message back, I don’t have the balls ;).

You got that right, buddy, she signs off, and you look at all the thousands of pictures of gorgeous women ready to have affairs with you, and you say, aloud, Right, buddy, and hearing yourself say it, you think, Isn’t that something a guy would say?


Your new Twitter account has traumatized you; you've tweeted 75 times, follow 356 people, and yet only 2 people are following you.

On your Notifications page, no one is retweeting or favoriting your tersely written bon mots.

You send a DM to someone who looks nice, and they tweet to you, so everyone can see, DO NOT SEND ME DMS!!! I WILL EAT YOUR FACE.

It is as if a Siamese or Persian or British shorthair has gotten a hold of the account, a very mean Siamese or Persian or British shorthair. And then a second later that person tweets again, Oh dude, swp. Which you have to look up on an Internet dictionary.

Sorry. Wrong. Person.


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