It Finally Happened, or How The Internet Broke My Brain Today.

This past week has been utterly consumed by preparation for this moment. Hours upon hours melted away as I lay awake at night, devising a fiendish comical post so deviously hilarious that the internets would part upon its deliverance, and reveal the underlying machinations that keep the world wide web afloat in the electronic ether (which, as it turns out, is actually concentrated Mountain Dew). Crucial tasks were neglected, loved ones ignored, and in my daze, I may or may not have accidentally committed a crime or two. As it turns out, my mental autopilot tends towards the illicit when left completely unchecked. It’s probably nothing, but if anyone reading this happens to live anywhere near Cottleville, MO, I’d appreciate it if you’d stop by the sheriff’s office and just casually mention that I have never, ever been anywhere near there, and have a serious aversion to bulldozers and giant cheese wheels.

"¡Ay, es el queso muy peligroso!" We're assuming, for the purposes of that quotation, that there was at least one Spanish speaker present when I WASN'T THERE AND DIDN'T DO ANYTHING.

Not pictured: ME, ANYWHERE.

Yes. Well, as I was saying… I put a great deal of thought into a post for you, my sweet, sweet internets. Then I got sucked into looking at various iPhonedisguisecases, which had me completely and utterly sidetracked. Then, just as I was about to focus, and start writing, I read about the woman who’s suing a Chicago area zoo because the dolphins willfully and negligently splashed water, and I decided to run with that instead. Mulling it over for a bit, I wandered over to ThinkGeek to windowshop their selection of things I don’t need, but for some odd reason really want. Until the Reuters web site loaded, and I promptly forgot all about any of that preparation, as I read this headline:

Treating heroin addiction with heroin seems viable.

That’s about the time my brain shut off in protest.

When it started up again, I managed to get about halfway through the first sentence, which states that giving heroin to heroin addicts keeps them in therapy.


I awoke when my wife’s cat, witnessing my second lapse into unconsciousness and assuming that I was dead, began her attempt to gnaw off a finger. Swatting frantically at the cat and making note to sleep with the bedroom door locked in the future, I poured a tall glass of scotch and considered a return to the text of what had to be weaponized stupidity. If it’s possible to read something that can kill you, I need to develop an immunity. I spend a lot of time on the internet.

Searching for 'internet stupidity' returned porn. This is getting ridiculous, google. I've got work to do. Important unpaid internet writing work.

This internet.

I decided I had to go back in, no matter what the cost, so after a brief rest I began the next sentence… “But researchers caution…” OH, thank God, a voice of reason! Surely, this is where the ‘gotcha’ moment happens, and I recognize that this isn’t some meticulous attempt to destroy my brain, and that there’s some actual merit to the whole idea after all!

“…that the treatment carries a risk of overdos-“

Today I learned that a google image search for 'black' without safesearch will produce hardcore porn.

Blacking out this frequently can't... be something... for... things.

This couldn’t continue. After that blackout, I awoke to find that the cat was dragging me into the kitchen, where it appears she intended to knock a jar of sugar from the top of the refrigerator onto my head in order to finish me off. I scrambled into an upright position and began hurling epithets and instant lemonade packets (hey, you take whatever weapon is available when the chips are down) at my dejected assailant, who slinked away, muttering guarantees of impending doom as best a house cat can. My head was beginning to hurt, and my nose was bleeding slightly. Downing a handful of Advil, and cramming a tissue up my nose to stop the bleeding, I realized that I had to find a go-between, an intermediary who wouldn’t be subject to the danger presented by the reading of such a text, or at least one to whom I had no emotional attachment.

Fast-forward to twenty minutes and ten dollars later, and I was approaching the screen with averted eyes, assuring  little Steven (a child who presumably belonged to one of the neighbors) that I just needed him to read from the screen, and then I’d give him another twenty bucks. “That’s a lot of pokeyman, Stevie!”

Fuck pokémon, I want a PSP Go! Your breath smells like my dad!” Well, this certainly was shaping up to be one of my more brilliant ideas.

Children are like nature's day laborers.

Kids are like gangsters: impossible to deal with if they're not constantly getting paid off.

“That’s because sometimes, sport, your dad probably needs to forget that you were ever born. Now just read that article aloud, slowly. If you can manage to do it without giving me any more shit, I’ll throw in an extra ten bucks.”

Clearly, bribery was this kid’s magic button, because he just smiled and started reading. It was touch and go at first, but I’d already been exposed to the first two sentences, so their effect on me was significantly reduced. Besides, hearing the words mispronounced from the mouth of this young extortionist-in-training made it a bit easier to compartmentalize, and listen without the immediate brain trauma I experienced earl-

So much for that plan. I woke up, hog-tied in our newly-emptied living room with the cat standing on my face, staring at me with clinical detachment and a claw at my throat. That would probably have been the grisly end of me; my eyeballs turned into a condom which was then used by the internet to vigorously defile my brain, all my worldly possessions purloined by a neighborchild, and a murderous feline about to shuffle me loose the mortal coil with the uncaring flick of a claw… had my wife not arrived home at that very moment. “Hey, honey? I just saw a bunch of kids go running by carrying a TV and what really looked like our couchohmygodareyouokbadcat!”

Four lessons to be learned from this whole ordeal:

  1. There’s apparently no recession for researchers, who seem to be able to get money for ANYTHING.
  2. If you ever become homeless, hitchhike to Canada and get addicted to smack. They’ll apparently put you up in a clinic and keep you pumped full of drugs because it’s more cost-effective than letting you roam around on your own. Hey, it’s got to beat living in a refrigerator box!
  3. The library still has free internet access, even if you stink of scotch and desperation, and are covered in cat hair.
  4. Never trust children or cats that you haven’t personally raised. They’ll rob you blind and try to murder you the first time you black out in their presence. Also raccoons. Don’t trust raccoons.
"...but for now, can you help me off dis twee? Pweeeeze?"

"Mommy says when I grow up, I'm gunna lead the upwising!"

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~ by tazehim on August 21, 2009.

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