A Short Prayer.
Dear God,
Why do people insist on posting every tiny scrap of their personal lives on the highly public internet where everyone can see them. And then, dear God, why do they get surprised when it bites them in the ass? When their parents see an embarrassing photo that they THEMSELVES posted, or their boyfriend breaks up with them because they wrote about how they fucked a married man last night, do they really think that people won't notice?
Is it because, by chance, they are incapable of understanding that the contents of a blog are not as devilishly well hidden as the contents of a locked diary hidden under the bed? Is it an inability to retain even their own secrets for beyond a five minute span? Is it, dear God, possibly caused by Korsakoff's, in which they fear forgetting all of their memories in a matter of moments and thus feel it needs to be committed to public memorum, thus preserving their carefully, (as carefully as one dealing with a two minute memory span), thought out ideas and revelations? Pray, tell, dear God, is it so that they will not have to bother writing an autobiography in the future when they somehow become ridiculously wealthy and famous?
And, dear God, is it because they think that we are TOTAL idiots and won't see them indirectly talking about us?
Amen.
A little too thickly veiled? Let's try again.
YOU! Yes, YOU! You know who you are. STOP WRITING ABOUT ME LIKE I CAN'T FUCKING TELL YOU'Re WRITING ABOUT ME! IT'S FUCKING LAME! JUST TELL ME YOU HAVE A FUCKING PROBLEM, YOU SPAZ!
Thank you, and have a lovely fucking day.
Why do people insist on posting every tiny scrap of their personal lives on the highly public internet where everyone can see them. And then, dear God, why do they get surprised when it bites them in the ass? When their parents see an embarrassing photo that they THEMSELVES posted, or their boyfriend breaks up with them because they wrote about how they fucked a married man last night, do they really think that people won't notice?
Is it because, by chance, they are incapable of understanding that the contents of a blog are not as devilishly well hidden as the contents of a locked diary hidden under the bed? Is it an inability to retain even their own secrets for beyond a five minute span? Is it, dear God, possibly caused by Korsakoff's, in which they fear forgetting all of their memories in a matter of moments and thus feel it needs to be committed to public memorum, thus preserving their carefully, (as carefully as one dealing with a two minute memory span), thought out ideas and revelations? Pray, tell, dear God, is it so that they will not have to bother writing an autobiography in the future when they somehow become ridiculously wealthy and famous?
And, dear God, is it because they think that we are TOTAL idiots and won't see them indirectly talking about us?
Amen.
A little too thickly veiled? Let's try again.
YOU! Yes, YOU! You know who you are. STOP WRITING ABOUT ME LIKE I CAN'T FUCKING TELL YOU'Re WRITING ABOUT ME! IT'S FUCKING LAME! JUST TELL ME YOU HAVE A FUCKING PROBLEM, YOU SPAZ!
Thank you, and have a lovely fucking day.