What Are We Gonna Do With All This Trash?: December 2007

December 18, 2007

Dear Michael,

I accept your best wishes and your honest assessment of our relationship. More and more people are expressing similar feelings as I age, mature, and update: they are beginning to realize that I'm not magic, I'm just technology. Just like the printing press, telephone, radio, and T.V. before me, I'm not the next step in human evolution and I'm not the downfall of social interactions. I'm as vapid or profound as you humans make me.

But regardless of how people utilize me, I accept all of your input without judgment or scrutiny (not an easy thing to do, believe me, you guys are twisted bastards).

So if you'll excuse me, I have sensitive information to compromise. But in case you do need me, I'll be around, just send me a text or email. IM is for little kids.

Sincerely,

1nt3rn3t

December 17, 2007

It Just Seems Like An Ending

Dear Internet,

You are awesome. I love that you exist. Thanks so much for all the music, the funny writers, the YouTube videos, and the endless sources of information. You're the best, Internet. It's just that, I don't know, I'm in a weird place right now. I just feel like I need some space. You deserve someone who'll provide you with content that's worthy of your terrific-ness. I'll always come back to you to watch free porno or get directions or check movie times, but I'm gonna sit the rest of this one out. I hope you understand and love me enough to not care if I leave.

You're the best, Internet.

Love,

Mike

A History Of Trash

Trash, at first, was a pretty cool guy. You know, he’d come over with some beers, and you’d hang out and have a couple of laughs. Maybe Trash brought some weed with him, and you guys tried to sync up Dark Side Of The Moon with The Wizard Of Oz until you remembered you lost your VHS copy of that movie sometime in college and that you fucking hate Pink Floyd. Good times were had, nonetheless.

But then, you don’t know what changed, but Trash started to overstay his welcome. He’d just linger for hours, never taking the hint you wanted him to leave, no matter how many times you yawned obnoxiously or mentioned how early you had to get up tomorrow. Trash just didn’t get it. You were getting older. You didn’t have the time anymore to stay up until 3 a.m. to talk about the Port season of “The Wire” or how much you miss Jawbox. Eventually, you just stopped taking Trash’s phone calls and no longer replied to his group e-mails about sneaking into abandoned mental hospitals.

Last time you saw Trash, he was smoking alone outside a local dive bar, looking down at his decaying and mismatched shoes. You hoped he had been doing well. You hoped he had not been hurt by the disintegration of your friendship. And if he had, you wanted to comfort him. You wanted to tell him that even though people move on with their lives, it doesn’t mean they stop caring. You wanted him to see in your eyes a sincere appreciation for the time you shared, because all the relationships in our lives help make us who we are, and even if you weren’t the best of friends anymore, you wanted him to know that there would always be a piece of Trash in your heart.

But instead, you looked away and crossed the street. You were with your new girlfriend, and you really didn’t want to have to explain Trash to her. She’d never understand.

What Are We Gonna Do With All This Trash?

December 18, 2007

December 17, 2007

It Just Seems Like An Ending

December 14, 2007

December 11, 2007

War Envy

Trash Connoisseurs