Look, we all like to text. Let’s just have that out in the open right from the start. And let’s also put it to the record that texting is pretty well the largest single waste of human existence that I can possibly think of. Regrettably, there is no fighting the rising tide of human ignorance. Try as we might, we have all resigned ourselves to squandered moments of otherwise precious time spent semi-dexterously finger blasting a touch screen.
The thing about texting – and I have reams of research to back this up – is that everyone feels that they are just so very clever with it. Smiley faces. LOLs. Hahahahas. Ahahahahas. C U tmrw dawgs. OMG YOU WOULDN’T BELIEVE WHAT WILLY DID IN CLASS TODAY!!!!!!s. Texting and driving. Texting and fucking. Texting when someone is trying to look you in the eye and have a one-on-one conversation. Texting and shitting. Texting and Christmas morning. Texting and just about anything. It’s all fuckin’ offensive and goddamn pointless, for crying out loud.
Texting is nothing short of platitudinous nattering – and we’re all worse off for it. When we start creating online shrines to celebrate our triumphs and lament our missteps (I’m looking at you, Texts From Last Night and Damn You Autocorrect), we’ve pretty well epoxied ourselves to the bottom of the barrel of mammalian existence . We may have survived the wrath of the Mayans, but we are deservedly circling the drain as a result of our obsession with the need to remain in blithe yet constant communication with our all-important amigos.
Yet we persist. Even though we pretend not to enjoy it. Still, I can see it in your face. Yes, you. Your stupid little smile. You just felt your phone vibrate. Don’t think I don’t know. I walk past you on the street and I know that the bulbous, vibrating digital protrusion bursting from your pants pocket (or – heaven forbid – clipped to your belt) contains exactly nothing of any substance. Worse still, there isn’t even a shred of entertainment or humour to be found anywhere. No, the texting app on your phone contains nothing but the inanities of your loathsome, bullshit everyday existence. It’s rather unbecoming, don’t you agree? Contemptible even. And to think you've sent 113 of the pesky little things today. And for what?
But then every once in a while it happens. You catch lightning in a bottle. The weather is balmy. The sun shines brightly by day and the stars are aligned at night. The circumstances surrounding your otherwise banal existence have taken an interesting twist. You have a gift to share, and a friend who is receptive to it. You’ve become one half of a perfect texting duo. It’s a beautiful symbiosis. Your fingers dance across the keypad. Hahahas are limited. LOLs nonexistent. Mindless drivel? Not today. You have created a text conversation worth conversing about.
This happened to me not long ago. It was a divine experience, and I hope that you, avid if inept texter, will one day experience the magic.
Boris (at work, hungover): I am amazed at myself for performing this task.
Yeltsin: Sometimes the human body can do amazing things.
Boris: This is noteworthy. Deserving of a daytime History Channel special.
Yeltsin: Hungover on the Job: The Story of Boris.
Boris: Hahahaha a whole Hungover on the Job series would be terrific.
Yeltsin: This week on the History Channel we delve into the world of drunken miscreants showing up to work hungover. Stay tuned for our new series: Hungover on the Job.
Boris: On the eve of May 22nd, 1942 General MacArthur got blind, steaming drunk. The next morning would prove the most daunting he faced throughout his entire campaign.
Yeltsin: As Gen MacArthur marched his battalion to the frontlines to face a volley of enemy fire he felt a rotten twist in his stomach. The highly decorated General was forced to stop the march on three separate occasions in order to chunder at the side of the road. Undeterred, his men rallied around him, capturing the strategic town of Southam by sunset.
Boris: General MacArthur recalls the events: “I remember it like it was yesterday. The way my head pounded. My hands, oh how they trembled. I vowed that if I made it through the day I would never touch another drink. Thankfully the troops around me carried me and my chunder splattered boots to Southam and the warm Eggs Benedict that awaited."
Yeltsin: Gen MacArthur’s heroic effort at Southam is but one of many acts of hungover valour carried out by everyday men and women in the line of duty. We hope you’ll join us next time for the story of Jason Westman, timekeeper for the OHL’s Erie Otters.
Excuse me, but I think I have something in both my eyes…