An old friend – a Mr Trellis of North Devon – asks, not entirely originally, in an email “Are you short of something to do - you seem to spend all your life on the fucking internet”. I find this a difficult problem with which to wrestle. If I am spending all of my life on the fucking internet, then surely I am not short of something to do, which brings us on to the implication behind the comment, that there is little value in spending time on the fucking internet. The deeply philosophical musings lead one to contemplate what, if anything, are the human activities that have some value. Given that all of us are going to die, then, human emotions and feelings aside, all activities are equally pointless, and at least being on the fucking internet brings all of us able to connect to the fucking internet up or down to the same level. There are web sites where the content is largely the work of professional writers. Those wishing to link to the Independent site to which I provided a link in my previous posting, will now have to pay to access the article. I will not charge people to read my ramblings. From what I can see there is little to chose in quality between the postings of, say, my old friend Watski, than that of the professionals, I make a point of regularly checking his journal, and usually read everything that he writes, whereas there are few professional sites that I visit so regularly. It is my view, and I may be wrong, (although I have never experienced that particular circumstance), but I would suggest that it will benefit a human being more to read Watski’s comparison of his journey to work with that of the round-the-world sailor, than to struggle through the verbose offerings of the national press.
* JET = Jug Eared Twat
* HOT = Horsefaced Old Trout
10 comments:
Evidently your old friend is either in asshat mode or I am lacking in something to do as well. It could be both at least until spring arrives. Tell him to fuck off. He obviously is lacking in something better to do than to spend time on the fucking internet monitoring your activities and emailing you about them. I hope you have a pleasant day, night or whatever as I don't know the time difference between where you are and the Chicago, Illinois, USA area. Here is is 6 p.m.
The one thing I take out of this post is that I can't help but wonder wonder whether Mr Trellis of North Devon and Mrs Trellis from Wisconsin are somehow related.
It seems too much of a coincidence for them to not be.
Are they brother and sister? Or are they man and wife? And since they live so far apart should I have used the past tense?
I have so many questions but I can feel myself losing people so I'll just leave it there.
what else can i do other than spend all my time on the fucking internet ? are there options ?
What I take from all this is that I don't know what an asshat mode is. Do I sit on it or wear it on my head, or both? Maybe I should fucking Google it on teh fucking internet.
Yours in splendour,
Grampaw Trellis.
Welcome back, Boggins.
To attempt to provide an insight to your dilemma, I believe "asshat mode" to be a quaint colonial colloquiallism, indicating that the subject has placed his head in his backside and has therefore a somewhat limited perspective.
Broomhilda was incorrect in ascribing this characteristic to Mr Trellis, whose comment was part of a reply to a particularly unpleasant email I sent to him suggesting that the way he earned his living was not entirely wholesome.
And on the topic of unwholesome, I hope your return to posting on the fucking internet will lead to more distasteful links to my web log from those nice chaps at Google.
moi?
I do apologize to Mr. Trellis for the asshat remark.
It is very gracious of you to apologise, Broomhilda, but your efforts will be wasted. My friend is much too busy to surf the fucking internet.
The asshat.
I am made wise.
this is an asshat's vade mecum.
Now, what's a vade mecum?
Just think, a week ago we didn't have asshats in the UK.
I don't know, Boggins, what is a "vade mecum"? It was not in my reference book.
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