March 17, 2004
NOT PC
All inventions are not equal, of course. Some are good, some are bad.
In the "good" category I include the windshield wiper, peanut butter, the drive through liquor store. Perhaps even the light bulb, given my expansive good humor today.
I often lump the personal computer in the "bad" realm, for the simple reason it has deprived me of the opportunity to have a secretary to take dictation, something I assumed would be my God Given growing up. The previous generations had a sweet thing there. Hell, my father always had two legal secretaries. An ugly one to do all the work, a good-looking one for fucking. The scoundrel. I'm jealous. Of course, Mother set that shit to rights eventually, assuming both roles (of course, I believe she had already been fulfilling one of those roles, on what you and I would call a continuous and reiterative basis).
But the upshot is: now we must perform our own administrative functions.
How I long to have a leggy sylph glide into my office at the command "Honey, take a letter". I could then render a missive of eloquence and persuasion, intended not only to force the recipient into spasms of fear, but to convince my secretary that that reach-around I intended to receive from her that night was not energy, wasted. Oh, to dicate something along the lines of:
To the Editor:
In Re: your Editorial of Friday Last
Sir: I was shocked and repelled by your editorial endorsing the mayor's Beautification Initiative. Trees and Flowering Shrubs, indeed. Crape myrtles and oleander lining the boulevards of our city. Oak and maple consorting together on the off-ramps of the socialist interstate highway system, you favored.
Balls, sir.
A city does not prosper by the application of botanical harlotry. The peoples look at a city for its prosperity, not its garish cosmetics. Industry seeks the tell-tales of growth to be induced to locate here. The slag-heap, the carefully cordoned waste site, the eternal flame of refuse fires. These visions bring with them jobs, and dollars, not the insipid sweetsmell of azalea and gardenia.
Do not let me catch you endorsing such nonsense in the future, sir, or I will be compelled to bring you to rights, and burn your fucking house down, if necessary.
Sincerely,
X
This display of language prowess, and ideological vehemence would of course have the young filly's appetite whetted. Perhaps we could even partially disrobe for some actual work-related dictation later.
Rot the PC. It has deprived the Modern Man of some potentially beautiful relationships. Posted by Velociman at March 17, 2004 9:05 PM