05 July 2012

narcissism redux.

Creating a blog is actually a very embarrassing thing to do. You might as well just advertise to the world that you are a needy, attention-whoring narcissist who has nothing better to do with his life than yammer away about the trivial details of his miserable life for an audience of shut-ins, mental defectives, and the socially impaired. Present company excepted.  

Let's face it.  Half the people on the internet at any given moment have one hand on the mouse and the other hand down the front of their pants, pausing their Sisyphean web searches frequently to listen for their mothers coming up the stairs.  Technology, you see, cures diseases, ameliorates suffering, and increases productivity--but this is all just smoke-and-mirrors P.R. bullshit trying to distract you from the real and most essential goal of technology: to improve masturbation practices for the betterment of mankind.  

I remember when I was nineteen.  I was splayed on the hand-me-down recliner, penis out and ready for action whilst pausing and slo-mo-ing About Last Night with the attention and tenacity of a microbiologist, when I heard locks turning and keys jingling. I put away my penis with the speed and urgency of a thrown grenade.  In that slim interval between the key's insertion into the deadbolt and the first appearance of my roommate's suspicious face in the doorway, I was a flurry of activity:

Penis stowed. Pants zipped. Shirt lowered. Movie stopped. Channel changed. Casual look affected. 

I don't know if I succeeded with the 'casual look' look part.  Getting caught masturbating is like farting in a car.  It's a difficult thing to cover up effectively.  Watergate had a better chance of staying on the down-low.  But my roommate and I implicitly agreed to maintain the fiction that (ten seconds before her entry) I did not have my erect phallus in my hand and wasn't open-mouthed and glassy-eyed staring at Demi Moore mimic humping motions while her breasts bobbed enticingly.

With the advent of the internet, laptops, and alt+tab, the danger involved in masturbation has been significantly decreased. We should be thankful. But the young people of today don't understand what we had to go through. We didn't have double-stuff anal available on-demand on our fucking phones; we had to sit in front of broadcast cable with our schlongs in-hand, wading through all these damned Don Henley videos for a chance of some music video sluts showing up on MTV. (Yes, MTV used to show music videos. Don't they teach history anymore?)

The point of this fond reminiscence is a half-assed realization that blogging is like masturbating. It's almost that embarrassing. But the difference is this: you don't put it away when the keys jingle; you actually invite people in to watch you.  

I am inviting you to watch me. I make no promises. It's just another fist-pumping attempt at self-gratification.  

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