Every so often, 21st Century Technoman is asked why doesn’t he doesn’t venture into the world of social networking. You know, Bookface and Tweedle.
OK, Technoman knows it’s Facebook and Twitter. He’s just being silly.
Anyway, a while back Technoman decided to give this “tweeting” thing a test drive. He spent a morning jotting down hypothetical “tweets” he might send if he really tweeted. So, here is an example of Technoman tweets:
It’s 7:30 a.m. and I’m dragging myself out of bed. I have the Mother of All Sinus Infections and my head is throbbing.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, I blow my nose for the first time, which sets off a mucus flow rivaling an Ol’ Spindletop gusher, and I quickly go through a dozen tissues.
Finally, I put on my robe and go to the kitchen. I open the fridge and pull out the orange juice jug, then I get a glass from the cabinet and fill it.
Semi-staggering across the living room, I reach down to pet Wendy the cat, who rolls over onto her back. This brings my hand in contact with Wendy’s belly, which causes her to start biting and scratching, because that’s what she does when you touch her tummy.
Moving to the den, the other cat, Lou, is lying on a blanket atop a stack of boxes where he spends much of the day. I scratch Lou’s chin — which he likes — and ask, “How you doin’ this mornin’, big fella?”
Lou says, “Murrr.”
The daily pills are lined up on a table, so I wash down a mega-antibiotic, a heartburn medication and some vitamins, as well as St. Joseph’s 81 aspirin, because there’s a history of heart problems in my family.
Sitting down on the couch, I grab the remote and turn on the TV. I go to the Weather Channel to check the forecast. It’s 71 degrees but will reach the low-90s by afternoon.
I grab a tissue and unleash another load. I wonder: Where the heck does all this stuff come from? Do people have a snot gland? If so, where’s it located?
That prompts me to ask Lou, “What is the defining line between being ‘a little snot’ and a ‘juvenile delinquent’?”
Lou says, “Murr! Murr!” Two “murrs” are his way of saying, “Leave me alone, Technodude!”
Switching to CNN to see if the world survived the night, I light the first cigarette of the day. Sure, it’s dumb, because as I mentioned, there’s a history of heart problems in my family. Plus, I do have the Mother of All Sinus Infections. But I also have a nicotine monkey on my back screaming to be fed.
Of course, the smoke further irritates my sinuses, which means I’m reaching for more tissues. I think: Too bad you don’t have stock in Kleenex.
It’s now 8 a.m., so I go to the kitchen for a first cup of coffee, then I sit down at the computer in the living room and check my emails. Turns out to be a bunch of product offers from places I’ve never shopped before and don’t intend to. So, I go on the Internet and read the daily blogs written by my father-in-law and his wife.
There’s a box of tissues next to the computer and — you guessed it — blow, blow, blow.
Back to the kitchen for another cup o’ java and a couple Tylenol, because my head’s about to explode.
It’s now 8:30 a.m., so I give CNN another look, and this time there’s one of those hyperbolic, oh-so-intense political roundtable discussions under way. Not another one, I say to myself.
See, I’m pretty flustered by both major political parties and am just about “politicked out.” The only thing that keeps me interested is watching Mitt Romney run the worst presidential campaign of my lifetime.
Still, I can only handle a couple minutes of gab, then I go to the bathroom for the morning ritual.
After softening my beard with hot water, I lather up and start shaving. But while dragging the razor across my face, I open a gash on my chin and start bleeding like that cow the Montagnards slaughter in Apocalypse Now.
Trying to stem the bloody torrent, I grab a styptic pencil and wipe it across the wound. BIG MISTAKE! It’s like pouring gasoline on an open blister and my eyes start to tear up.
Since there are strategically-placed tissues near by, I snag one, rip off a piece and stick it on the gash. I think: Yeah, that’s gonna look nice at work — people will think I tried to commit suicide through shaving!
Touching a tissue prompts another impulse to blow my nose. I do so, but when I look up and see myself in the mirror, I realize when you’re having the Mother of All Sinus Infections a mustache isn’t practical.
OK, “friends” out in Social Networking Land, have you had enough of these yucky, blow-by-blow tweets on Technoman’s day was going? Makes you think I should get a life, right?
See why Technoman doesn’t social network? And aren’t you glad he doesn’t?
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