NIGHTCAP 03/10/11

Sure Sign of Madness

Contemporary American society leaves the average individual with little direct control. The water is carbonated, the lights turn off when no one is looking, and the giant parrot recites our voicemails with whatever accent is appropriate to the season. The consequences of such a hands-off approach to affairs builds up plenty of slack in a man’s mind. The energy has to go somewhere. Obscene inventions, grand schemes, intense collecting of newspaper coupons are birthed.

One fellow actually rigged up a special room whose walls literally closed in on its occupant. It is said he derived great pleasure from cinching up the walls tighter and tighter around him, until his diaphragm gave out. Another glued feathers to his arms, spent his life savings on lotion and went mad chasing people with, as he put it, too many vowels in their names.

But this is how things must be. The bread will be toasted. The corners, squared. And lo the poor fool who goes against it. The idealist demands to zip his own buttons and sign his name with Real Whale Ink. He believes he is different. That there is an escape. He believes himself a pioneer.

BUT NO ONE EVER GOT A TABLE AT NOBU WEARING A BUFFALO PELT, NOW SIT DOWN!

He’ll wander down a path he’s certain will do the trick and wind up responsible for replacing refrigerator light bulbs in all the downtown office break rooms. Serves him right.

About Chris Weagel

Chris Weagel writes about the intersection of technology and parenting for Wired Magazine. No he doesn’t. He can’t stand that shit.

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