101 reasons not to be too concerned when your IP
blows up tomorrow
Written by: Alex Sandell
After nearly 30 minutes of busy signals, you finally get connected, and go to check your email, which will invariably be 50% SPAM. You get a message telling you that your email server is not responding. You then head over to Hotmail to see if anything arrived there. After waiting for a bunch of annoying banner ads to download, you see you received nothing but some idiotic Slate newsletter, which you never subscribed to, and a message from an AOL user that wants you to download Instant Messenger, to "chat" with them. Having a few hours to burn, you decide to download the program, and enter the world of mediocrity known as "chatting." Halfway through the download, you get disconnected, and have to begin all over again. Upon reconnection, you see that your email server is back up and running, and find a few letters, a few SPAMS, and an email from GeoCities, who come off as firm believers in censorship, and want various parts of your site taken down. With your head starting to throb, you decide to turn toward a good porno site, to soothe your Internet aggravation. Once there, you see the pictures are no longer free, and that you need the ultimate in lame money-making scams; adultcheck, to get in. Just as you throw your hands up in the air, and decide TV was a far better invention, someone on ICQ decides to page you. You shut down the program, without responding. Three minutes later you get sent a mailbomb from the angry person you just shut down upon. She sends you thousands of letters reading, "what, you couldn't even say 'hi?'" The bomb freezes up your mail program, and Netscape Communicator, so you're either forced to shut down the computer, and reboot, or lower yourself to Microsoft Internet Explorer 4.0. You lower yourself. You begin slowly crawling across the web with Bill Gates' monopolizing brainchild. Each page taking at least twice the time it would with Netscape. About three more emails come in. All three are written in the dreaded HTML format, made popular with the Microsoft Outlook Express mail program. You can hear the hideous Gates laughing louder than an orgasming devil, as you try to respond to this HTML mess. "Plain text!" You scream, "I want plain text!" Radiation from your monitor begins melting your eyes, by the time the first page you went to, downloads on I.E. 4.0. You wonder if a person could sue Microsoft over the bad eyesight caused by the extra hours needed online to surf the 'net, when using their inferior browser. Then again, everyone online is always suing everyone else, so you may as well not contribute to the cyber-insanity. Not to mention, Bill Gates probably has better lawyers. He's got to do something with all that money he has, so why not go to court? Now that he's bought up NBC, and turned it into the dribbling waste of webspace known as MSNBC, he's probably just waiting for people like you to sue him. Another email comes in, this one from some guy claiming to be a hacker. He's "proving" it by printing your home address in his email. "I can find out anything," he writes. Yeah, especially if it's printed clearly on your website. So many dorks. This one's mad because you make fun of Texas on your page. You ignore him. There's still about an hour to spare, before your "real world" plans, so you decide to check up on the people who want their page linked to, at your site. One of the pages contains nothing but ignorant, racist bullshit, and your banner's been on it for the past week! You write to the author of the page, telling him you won't link to that kind of crap, and want your banner down. Within 15 minutes, the lifeless cocksuck writes back telling you that he's leaving your banner up as a punishment, for not linking to his page. You read through some more of the site, and realize he's the hacker from Texas. The one who just emailed you your home address, in a weak attempt to intimidate you. There's just too many Texans online. Sure, there's some fairly intelligent, friendly people, from down South, but why does there have to be so many completely idiotic, foolish people, running around, making them look bad? At least you can find some relief in the annoying guy from the North who just sent an email correcting your grammar. Pretentious, or redneck. Take your pick. At least you haven't gotten another email from someone explaining why killing someone for killing someone is perfectly logical. Do all people with keyboards support the death penalty? Is it just you, or is this Capital Punishment moron mentality running even more rampant online, than it is down at the local saloon? Yee-ha. Suddenly you're disconnected again. You rush to switch lines. It's your Internet Provider giving you a call. Someone just phoned him complaining that you're "harassing" their son through the email. Everyone always thinks they're being harassed. If you took what is considered to be harassment online, into the real world, people would be thrown off the face of the earth for putting a flyer on a flagpole, or saying the "F" word five miles upwind of someone that may be offended. The little tattle-tale who called your IP was upset over a newsletter you sent to his "innocent" boy. I guess it brought up the word "juicy," or something. Sometimes you really hate parents. Why are their kids always the innocent ones? You're guessing the "kid" is out back snorting coke and screwing a whore, as his father wastes time calling to get you in trouble. Whining people who feel they must "report" even the most minor of incidents. Everyone is always telling on everyone else. Grown adults shouting back and forth, through their connections, "I'm telling on you!" This isn't the World Wide Web. It's the World Wide Playground. It's proof that no one has progressed past the 3rd grade. In chatrooms, it's even worse. There's always a few pricky moderators who just lurk. Rancid control-freaks, waiting for someone to break a rule. Then, when someone does, their reason for existence comes into play, and they kick the "offending" person out of the room. You just can't believe what a powertrip some fat fuck with a mouse and a modem can go on. Anyone can just put you on ignore, if they don't like what you're saying. But that fat fuck and his friend, Mr. Mouse just love booting people from their little corner of the playground. And the people in the room just love reporting you to fat fuck, to watch you get booted. You can be booted for doing absolutely nothing. Sometimes they just throw you out of the room for being a "newbie." Insecure little cyber-twerps making up their own words. They never take them past the fifth grade level. "Newbie," "lamer," "lurker," "troll." If you fit into their narrow-minded little name game, you might even be "flamed." If you do decide to draw between the lines, and stick to the rules of the playground, you'll enter the most trivial, boring "conversation" you've ever been engaged in. People who wouldn't know a social life from an episode of "Mr. Ed", flirting back and forth, writing "lol" a thousand times over, and sending one-another "cyber-flowers." A lot of them talk of how drunk they are. Sometimes you're surrounded by a roomful of drunks. It's a bit like being at a sleazy bar, where you'll get thrown out the door if you don't fit in perfectly, laugh a lot, and bring tons of roses. A bar where there's no human contact, and everyone wears bags over their heads. Nearly everyone online is wearing a mask. The sluts in high school are playing the shy girl. The shy girl is playing the slut. The whole twisted group are all getting off over the 3 million lies that they're spreading. Playing with themselves. The World Wide Playground. It started out as the "Information Super-Highway." I think the information was ran over by gas-guzzling pickups, and drunk drivers with blinders wrapped around their eyes. Now it's just a way for losers to get laid. Then again, it was you who was going to the porno sites. Too bad they've all turned into paysites, and your dick is still hard. 20 minutes to go. Instant Messenger should finish up in about 15. Looks like you'll have no time to chat. It seems like you spend all your time downloading. The longer you stay online, the less of a life you seem to have. Pretty soon, you're addicted. The 'net is like a drug. You forgot what you initially liked about it, but you keep wanting more and more. Unlimited hours quenched your thirst, but now too many users are slowing it down, and it's making you thirsty again. You decide to bring that point up in the chatroom. Fat fuck kicks you out, with the power of his mouse. You started drawing outside of the lines. Criticizing the little world that your "roommates" chose to worship. Remember, you can't do more than flirt. Oh well, you woulda got kicked in a minute or two, for "lurking," anyway. Alright, this thing isn't all bad. You decide to head to some political sites, and do a little research. Most of them have been removed by Walt Disney or McDonald's. Mickey and Ronald are watching. Don't forget GeoCities. They're the ones coming after you. The corporations want to squelch the message. They feel they're the only ones with a worthy message to give. It's all about money. The site you loved yesterday turned into a "file not found" message, today. Your site could disappear tomorrow. Mickey Mouse might decide that it's a small world wide web, after-all, and Mickey doesn't like the truth to be told to too many people. At least you ordered that "McMurder" button last month, through the 'net. That's a good thing. Too bad the order was never processed, and your credit card number is now in the hands of a criminal hacker. He plans on using it to purchase a lot more than a button. "Secure servers" are nothing more than two words typed out, to help you feel secure. They don't actually do anything. The World Wide Playground is a criminal's Heaven. Anything is his, for the taking, if he has the right set of tools, and a small enough heart. The small heart shouldn't be a problem. Morals don't count on the Internet. There's no use for them anymore. It's better to badger, sue and steal from faceless humans half a country away. You know it, but you use your credit card, anyway. It's just so "convenient" to shop from home. Never mind the people being put out of work, by all these online purchases. Hey, it's the age of the "skilled" worker. To hell with all those people who actually work for a living. The working man will go obsolete. Bill Gates will buy a bigger castle. But the messenger will say it's okay. Because this is the Internet. Only 10 more minutes, and you're out of here. You actually never wanted to be "here" in the first place. You were just checking your mail. Once you're on, you can never sign off. Like an alien, this Internet attaches to you. Now you wonder if you'll get sued by 20th Century Fox. Why won't this fucking thing ever finish downloading? You're actually resorting down to using the wonderful "channels" Microsoft I.E. 4.0 provides you with. What a bunch of useless garbage they are. How did these cyber jerk-offs succeed in turning their shit into gold? It's almost as though anyone could just put something online, and back it up with a lot of money, and people will instantly think they're having the time of their life. Everyone's too lazy to check out the little sites. They just follow the banners to corporate bliss. Follow the chatrooms to a dazed ecstasy. Follow Microsoft as it leads them off a gigantic cliff. Yet, it's not as if the little sites are trying any harder. Most of them are just a bunch of pictures of the author, and a self-congratulatory description of said author's redundant, boring, mundane life. Their favorite food. What toothpaste they use. It's small-talk frozen in time. Everyone's asking you to sign their fucking guestbook. It's like high school, all over again. The sites aren't there for a reason. The sites are only there because the author wants his or her picture shoved in your face. Most likely because someone in "chat" wanted to see it. The author wants a big guestbook. There's no message. No semblance of intelligence. Maybe, just maybe, if you're lucky, you might see a few crappy poems tacked on. Maybe a link page which will lead you to all the author's friends' boring sites. They all have guestbooks and pictures, too. You could spend all day looking at pictures of people you'll never meet, and then on the next day, look at all the pages those pages link to, and find even more people you would never want to know. Once in a while you might find a diamond in the rough. A page written for a reason, by someone who cares. But it isn't easy. Inevitably, all good pages will be pulled, to make room for more people's pictures. Maybe you'll even get to see a few pics of their pets! Just remember, they never update their page. It's the same boring pictures and "writing," month after month. You can't take it anymore. It drives you to the corporate pages. 1 minute to download completion. Soon, you'll own yet another useless chat program. You'll be able to send messages to your friends on AOL, instantly! 30 seconds to completion . . .
You shut the thing down, and take a walk outside. You scream for 5 minutes. Then, you suddenly smile. The drug has worn off. It looks like it's going to be a nice day.
©1998 Alex Sandell [All Rights Reserved] If you copy this, I'll use even more eye-straining colors in my next update.
Back to the table of brains 1998
Back to the mind-map.