Liberal ha Social ha Media ha Ha HA!
I just thought I was going to say everything that I was going to say through this representation:
And then, I was forced to join Google+ if I wanted to continue to write on blogger. I answered the questions as follows:
First name: Jaded
Last name: Tired
Other e-mail addresses: none
Backup phone number for us to send a text to if your account gets hacked or you forget your password or we needs to sell your stuff for fun and profit or: none
Gender: other or prefer not to say
Birthday: 01/01/1920
People You Might Know: none
Celebrities You Might Want To Follow: none
You didn't add many people. Are you sure you don't want to go back and add some? yes
Okay, here's your new dashboard, Jaded.
Oh, you want to blog? Oh okay, so you'll need to go to the blogger site for that k thx baiiii
Oh, hi, so you want to make a new blog post, k, so anyway, compose, change yr title? Liberal Ha Social Ha Media Ha
... ohhhhkaaaay
Oh, and now you want to upload a pic? Please log-in to one of the following accounts, picassa, snapchat, insta, kim kardashian, or? none
Okay, you can just upload from your cell phone, that's fine, maybe even better even, and that number is? none
Oh. From your pc? You just want to upload a file from your pc? Fine. Here ya go, motherfucker. (Freezes for 6 min and I has to kill the browser.) There was a problem saving your post so so sorry error #32348237490362r54832769 dismiss? yes
Oh, hi, welcome back, Jaded. You want to give this another shot?
Yeah, G+, I do want another shot, and I make my title messier, 'cause I ain't afraid of no ghosts (in the machine.) Except for when I am, but that's all psychology, the original pseudoscience, looking down its nose at sociology. I tried to find a doctor, at a certain clinic, so I reviewed my insurance policy (ha triple ha ha) online, to see if this bastion of orthopedic knowledge would accept my flimsy plastic card and personal triplicate signatures of good faith, and they wanted to know maybe was I searching for an orthopedic specialist because there was maybe a possibility that I maybe needing some kind of back procedure maybe? I guess 'cause that's 'spensive and 'cause analytics says it pays, to do the analytics early and mitigate the risk, 'cause that's what we do, baby. I said, no, no, not back surgery, damn! be easy, blue cross killah! I's just taking one for the gimper, and I thought who the fuck wants to know about, talk about, or think about TV dads? Except for those who had nothing but, but still ... don't we grow out of that after awhile?
'Cause I got peeps to talk down, and careers not to decide on, and vices to throw down on, and they don't say that anymore, do they? They say turnt up upon? Y/N/M/IDK, can you repeat the question but first can you plz sign in w/ yr facebook account? Think just how fucking nefarious the name of that company sounds. Like some kind of futuristic distopian more-Philip K. Dickian-than-Orweillian special, like "...and they were all listed in The Face Book. Everyone was accounted for, except for those hiding in the darkness of the underground cities. They were called 'the faceless,' in the way that we describe people on the street as 'homeless.' It was a dark and stormy night,"
I'm definitely going to take another shot and celebrate my thinly veiled attempts to maintain my privacy and then I'll retreat from the accounts, and the logins, and the screeeeeeeens, and the wires, and the hum, and I'll celebrate my husband's fatherhood with "ohh, daddy!" and then I will def. have a nap.
Bo Buggeritdahl ... id k or c if he had it coming or not, but I will say that two years in a 6x6 cell and never seeing a human face in that time and being yourself a human and forgetting how to fucking speak your native tongue, that is what it means to be faceless, as far as I'm concerned. 'Cause images disappear so quickly from my memory, like ghostships on approach, and all I got was this lousy metaphor or other words, guess they're easier to compress than jpgs. So, I tried to memorize some pretty clouds today but my vision is not too good for too long, guess that part of my brain atrophied, and my oldest and best memories are tactile:
And then, I was forced to join Google+ if I wanted to continue to write on blogger. I answered the questions as follows:
First name: Jaded
Last name: Tired
Other e-mail addresses: none
Backup phone number for us to send a text to if your account gets hacked or you forget your password or we needs to sell your stuff for fun and profit or: none
Gender: other or prefer not to say
Birthday: 01/01/1920
People You Might Know: none
Celebrities You Might Want To Follow: none
You didn't add many people. Are you sure you don't want to go back and add some? yes
Okay, here's your new dashboard, Jaded.
Oh, you want to blog? Oh okay, so you'll need to go to the blogger site for that k thx baiiii
Oh, hi, so you want to make a new blog post, k, so anyway, compose, change yr title? Liberal Ha Social Ha Media Ha
... ohhhhkaaaay
Oh, and now you want to upload a pic? Please log-in to one of the following accounts, picassa, snapchat, insta, kim kardashian, or? none
Okay, you can just upload from your cell phone, that's fine, maybe even better even, and that number is? none
Oh. From your pc? You just want to upload a file from your pc? Fine. Here ya go, motherfucker. (Freezes for 6 min and I has to kill the browser.) There was a problem saving your post so so sorry error #32348237490362r54832769 dismiss? yes
Oh, hi, welcome back, Jaded. You want to give this another shot?
Yeah, G+, I do want another shot, and I make my title messier, 'cause I ain't afraid of no ghosts (in the machine.) Except for when I am, but that's all psychology, the original pseudoscience, looking down its nose at sociology. I tried to find a doctor, at a certain clinic, so I reviewed my insurance policy (ha triple ha ha) online, to see if this bastion of orthopedic knowledge would accept my flimsy plastic card and personal triplicate signatures of good faith, and they wanted to know maybe was I searching for an orthopedic specialist because there was maybe a possibility that I maybe needing some kind of back procedure maybe? I guess 'cause that's 'spensive and 'cause analytics says it pays, to do the analytics early and mitigate the risk, 'cause that's what we do, baby. I said, no, no, not back surgery, damn! be easy, blue cross killah! I's just taking one for the gimper, and I thought who the fuck wants to know about, talk about, or think about TV dads? Except for those who had nothing but, but still ... don't we grow out of that after awhile?
'Cause I got peeps to talk down, and careers not to decide on, and vices to throw down on, and they don't say that anymore, do they? They say turnt up upon? Y/N/M/IDK, can you repeat the question but first can you plz sign in w/ yr facebook account? Think just how fucking nefarious the name of that company sounds. Like some kind of futuristic distopian more-Philip K. Dickian-than-Orweillian special, like "...and they were all listed in The Face Book. Everyone was accounted for, except for those hiding in the darkness of the underground cities. They were called 'the faceless,' in the way that we describe people on the street as 'homeless.' It was a dark and stormy night,"
I'm definitely going to take another shot and celebrate my thinly veiled attempts to maintain my privacy and then I'll retreat from the accounts, and the logins, and the screeeeeeeens, and the wires, and the hum, and I'll celebrate my husband's fatherhood with "ohh, daddy!" and then I will def. have a nap.
Bo Buggeritdahl ... id k or c if he had it coming or not, but I will say that two years in a 6x6 cell and never seeing a human face in that time and being yourself a human and forgetting how to fucking speak your native tongue, that is what it means to be faceless, as far as I'm concerned. 'Cause images disappear so quickly from my memory, like ghostships on approach, and all I got was this lousy metaphor or other words, guess they're easier to compress than jpgs. So, I tried to memorize some pretty clouds today but my vision is not too good for too long, guess that part of my brain atrophied, and my oldest and best memories are tactile:
itchy
icky
sour
burn
scrape
pinch
soft
wet
soaking
sticky
swollen
tingly
warm
Oh, C. Clinton, go suck a dick. And everyone at the Huff P. And everyone else.
posted by martyr in moderation at 9:36 PM
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