Yesterday i overheard a guy who looked really upset tell someone over the phone, “She keeps snapchatting all these random dudes.” He was shaking his head. He looked so distraught.
"i’m insecure that a girl i’m seeing is sending single-view photos and videos to several other men" is what he was saying. "She is mass-distributing temporary content to other suitors," he basically lamented.
We live in the weirdest future.
And flirting in the future now involves sending very fleeting messages. They self-destruct, like Mission Impossible assignments, only the mission is flirting. “Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to totally like this cute selfie i just sent you ;-)”
The photo’s recipients don’t know who else got them, too. Like who else got that leggy photo of you in the dark? Just one person, or “all these random dudes” too? They don’t know. They’ll never know. Because it’s the future and everything is worse-defined than ever before. Like yeah you’re Facebook friends but are you real friends? Was that a real date or just a hangout? Why doesn’t anyone respond to my texts? i know you got the fucking text, debra. turn read receipts off if you didn’t want me to know, for fuck’s sake
I never fully understood the need for that extra line on a popular post. Like, you should know a post is funny without that last line of someone going “adsfa;dslfjadfsl i’m dying right now i can’t even!!!!” And yet I’m sure those lines are helping the post’s popularity because it’s a strong indication that someone really enjoyed it and you might want to give it a little more attention.
him: how come the google.com image today is just a different drawing of a penis every time??? me: Are you crazy? That is definitely a vag. him: are you sure? i keep refreshing and it’s just dicks dicks dicks me: Or maybe it’s… my father…? him: here’s a reply to your comment I refuse to post “I see my mom… made out of dicks? and she’s looking hot!!!!!” me: I mean, if you posted that, I’d probably stab my own eyes out…
(Btw the Google homepage today gives you a random Rorschach test.)
Did you know that whenever the President poops outside the White House, someone has to collect his poop so our enemies can't analyze it to find out his medications, weaknesses, etc.?
You think the White House makes an intern do it? Like, an intern with a plastic baggy follows the President around like he’s a dog walker? As in, the President makes a little poopie and then the intern goes into the Wendy’s men’s room or whatever and picks up the poop so the Taliban can’t have it.
And then after the poop is collected, maybe the poop goes into a lil’ scrap book or something. A scrap book of presidential poop secrets.
Just realized, to my horror, that I had multiple browser windows open in the background
Like my “main” Chrome window - the one I was actively using - they each had Gmail, Facebook, and Tumblr open (among other miscellaneous tabs).
How long ago did I abandon those browser windows? Why would I open a new browser window and start over?
In one college psych class, I learned about fugue state amnesia. With it, people suddenly forget everything about their lives, so one day they just up and move away from their jobs and loved ones, and they go someplace else and assume a new identity. They can go off and start a new family without having any idea they already had one.
I know it was just a few stray browser windows, but it made me feel like one of those people.
There's a dude in a Captain Hook costume walking around the Loop posing with tourists
Because obviously Peter Pan is on everyone’s minds all the time so it’s perfectly reasonable to put on the ol’ homemade Captain Hook costume and get photographed with children next to zero boats or beaches.
Nope, nothing weird about it. I think we all have fond memories of putting on our Captain Hook costumes and walking around downtown Chicago by ourselves on a warm summer day.
A very normal thing we can all understand and relate to.
I’m fascinated with the idea that the best Mexican food is going to come from the most unassuming places. For example, the best tacos al pastor I’ve ever had came from a taqueria in the back of a Mexican grocery store I never would’ve noticed had the Internet not told me about it. So, now I assume that the worse a Mexican restaurant’s logo is, the better the food is going to be. As in, the owners don’t obsess about color choices or fonts; they’re too busy making great food.
So now whenever I’m walking around town and I see a modest-looking Mexican restaurant, and the sign’s got, like, a drawing of a dude in a sombrero chasing after a burrito like it’s a pretty lady in a Looney Tunes short - with his eyes bugging out and little speed lines behind him - and his feet are big and blocky, and his mustache is all crooked, I’ll think things like, “Wow, that guy’s drawn super fucked up. These tacos must be incredible.”