Are We Asking To Be Stalked?

Despite a world in which anything is possible, sometimes I get bored with it all. Sometimes Mythbusters isn’t on the Discovery Channel. Sometimes Top Gear isn’t on Dave. Sometimes over 200 channels of globally available cable television isn’t enough.

It is in these moments that we must turn to the more macabre methods of self-amusement. It is then that we must undertake a solitary hobby. A hobby that requires the participation of two, but only the application and awareness of one.

I am of course talking about – stalking.

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Facebook Thinks I’m Lonely

Time works differently for technological advancement. It’s like dog years. A hundred tech years ago machines were only capable of performing singular demands. Since then our programming capabilities and electrical engineering has become increasingly complex, to the stage where not only can machines perform a selection of separate actions, they can adjust their actions according to input and environment.

Gymnasium equipment and machinery can measure our heartbeat and performance and adjust the difficulty of our training accordingly. My Macbook Pro has sensors that detect light and adjust the brightness of my screen accordingly.

And now, through the wonder of modern technology our computers can diagnose depression. Galactic sophistication has allowed my keyboard to secretly collect minuscule secretions from my fingertips as I type, measure my serotonin levels and calculate my social stimulation. Then, after mere seconds of scientific testing a conclusion is reached. My diagnosis is in. Ladies and gentlemen:

Facebook thinks I’m lonely.

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Why We Need Spoiler Alerts

Ever since entertainment began; since William Shakespeare penned Henry IV in 1589, since Thespis of Icaria was decorated for tragedy in 534 BC, and since Neanderthal Man began retelling epic escapades of pre-chivalrous sexist torment the likes of which Andy Gray and Richard Keys would be proud of, there have been spoilers.

Where there are spoilers there must be, for the sake of all sanity:


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Virtually Documented Popularity

Cameras. Camaraderie.

I hate it. I hate pictures.

I hate smiling. I hate you.

When exactly did social documentation become a legal obligation? Why does every creature with opposable thumbs and access to a camera feel a contractual commitment to chronicle every aspect of every social event in a catalogue of depressing images? Why are there hundreds of pictures of my stupefied face plastered carelessly along the fractured walls of the internet, none of which I endorsed, wanted, or even knew about until I was tagged in them several weeks after said social event took place? Why?! Answer me!

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Must Obey Apple

Hey you. Yes you. I wanna sex you up. DUM? DUSL? IF/IB?

Sorry. That was awfully forward of me wasn’t it? In future, would you like to prevent the distribution of these sickening, sexual slurs?

Fear not fascist parents of the free world – there’s an app for that. Once again it’s Apple to the rescue. For never again shall we be exposed to the toxic indignity of forbidden inflections and the radioactive sickness of sexual syntax. Thanks be to Jobs. Amen.

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