You know in my day there were two types of journals, the Wall
Street Journal and your sister’s diary.
What age you were determined which journal you were more interested in
reading. Regardless, both were good
sources for blackmail and an occasional valuable piece of info. During this crazy time of human existence known as America's Golden years (unless you're black or a woman), men would go to
these little comfy places called taverns to discuss topics eye to eye. Sure there was an occasional brawl stabbing and
what not. Yes a brandy snifter can be turned into a lethal weapon. But I’ll take fisticuffs any day to
these internet murder suicide pacts that seem to be the rage with the current
crop of youngsters.
Now a days any limp wristed vigilante with an inflated sense
of self importance can boldly, YES, boldly proclaim his staunch opposition to
any topic. Meanwhile he sits behind a
shell of emboldening anonymity or he rides the pine by calling himself cute
names like socialjusticenowlol27 or rushlimbaugh. Watch
any video of the civil rights marches and guess what won’t be pictured. People sitting on their butts. Because if you really want something to happen
you go make it happen.
If blogging is so great when will I see it in pictures? I can just imagine each thrill soaked
scene. Oh look there he goes grabbing a
soda. Uh oh. looks like he has found an article
unfavorable to his beliefs. Oh man
blast that AC/DC and strap in he just hit Caps Lock. I almost cried as he braved nacho chips clogging his keyboard! Man that's sick how he ducked those negative
comments! Will this screen gem feature some shirtless protagonist screaming catch phrases like, " Comment Deleted MF’r!!" This won’t happen. Because there’s nothing more pitiful than a bunch
of angry people tanning themselves by the glow of a computer screen.
Fortunately for you there are still enough men like myself
who realize that no one ever does anything unless there’s something right in
front of them. And right now you’re in front of the TV. So get out of the way. Don’t like it? Well I am going to move you anyways.
Go cry
to your ones and zeros. Or maybe make a
top ten list. Better yet, why don’t you
go do the dishes for your Mother.