Recently the National Evil realized this site lacked a crucial element common—perhaps lifegiving—to most of the ten trillion articles, columns, rants, interviews, YouTube confessionals, and recipes on the web: vitriol!
That’s right: you ain’t writing if you ain’t complaining, preferably about something universal to our society that there is no, I say again no, chance of changing.
Sure, sure, Evil has inveighed against the use of the “sexy” to describe nonsexy things. And about all those song titles that lie to us. But in general, you well know that the National Evil is a constant spuming fountain of optimism and good cheer.
No more! Beginning today, I channel my inner octooctogenarian (that would be the eight-limbed senior citizen festering in my heart) and damn the modern world and all it comprises!
Topic #1: Invitation Frustration. (Damn you, rhyming topics!)
Herewith, I damn thee, world, because . . .
Today, as opposed to even five years ago, inviting people to do things has become an infinite pain in the ass. And, like our universe, its painintheassitude is only expanding. To be absolutely sure you’ve done all you can, you must now email, Facebook, e-vite, and text message the entire list. And even then, there will be people complaining, “I had no idea you were getting married! Why didn’t you twitter me? That’s what I check.”
It gets worse. (But what doesn’t in this damnable modern world? Woe! woe! and woe! again to thee, modern world!) Granted all these modes of communication, people now expect to be invited. Not too long ago, if you missed your phone call or email, you just shrugged it off and said, “Oops, I missed you. No biggie.”
Now? Oh no. People’s precious “feelings”* are hurt if you don’t hire a private investigator to find them and haul them bodily to your party/wedding/bat mitzvah (what, you didn’t know bats are Jewish?) no matter where they are or what they’re doing. Regardless of what you do, someone will feel “left out” because you didn’t stand outside their house throwing rocks at their window to let them know. And if you send more than one invitation, the people who know they’re going to come get annoyed.
You cannot win. So do not play! Hunker down in your hermitage! Forsake all human contact!
Until next time—damn you, modern world!
(*Note that the Octooctogenerain Evil puts things he finds stupid in “quotes.” He’s a pill, that one.)