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Monday, March 21, 2005

Petty Habits that Annoy

I'll be brief on this rambling.

I'm sitting in a nameless cafe down one of the myriad alleyways in Melbourne drinking coffee on a table too small to place cups on. This cafe only fits about a dozen people ( including a staff of four) but has a tasty almond chicken roll and crepes. Note- All this has nothing to do with what I have to say whatsoever but I'm just establishing the fact that I'm not a slave to the cathode ray tube and that I do venture out from the house every once in awhile.

There's an article in the paper about a thirteen-year old girl in Adelaide who has developed a case of "texting tendinitis" (as diagnosed by her father). This condition is a result of sending an excessive amount of messages ( the newspaper mentioned 300 messages in one month). Well....duh!

The problem I see with most people is that they do not know the courtesy and 'rules' of texting. A few of my friends are complete and utter fools when it comes to texting. They are precious to me and I love them to bits but if I get another series of messages like the example below I shall have no hesitation to blow them away with a sawn-off shotgun and feed their bodies into a wood chipper.

Idiot A: hi. how r u? (25c)
Idiot B: i'm good. it's bn a while. (25c)
Idiot A: u wanna catch up ltr? (50c)
Idiot B: sure. where? (50c)
Idiot A: let's go to (some place). i'll see u at 8. (75c)
Idiot B: o.k. is ben going to b there? (75 c)
Idiot A: no. ($1)
Idiot A: i mean yes. ($1.25)
Idiot A: i mean which ben? ($1.50) etc. etc.

But seriously would you consider this a 'problem'? Gum-chewing secretaries with their carpal tunnel syndromes, work experience kids drinking 99 bottles of ink for a dare and people having to go to hospitals to remove gerbils lodged in their rectums are 'problems' only in the broadest possible sense.

Our prehistoric ancestor Gug the caveman who lived back in the days when you could wear fur without protesters throwing paint at you had real problems. He would emerge from his crib in the morning after clubbing the previous night (back in the days when clubbing meant hitting a chick over the head with a club) and spend the entire day running away from things that were intent on killing him. 'Aw sh-t it's a Tyrannosaurus Rex! Eep! And several Velociraptors! And what may or may not be a Daspletosaurus Torosus depending on what era I'm in!' Gug yells as he sprints in his Gug-like way through the plains. I'm sure he wishes he was an Adelaide school girl with cramps in her hand rather than a potential snack for the 'Jurassic Park' crewe.

So hot right now,

P.S. As far as I know the dinosaurs mentioned existed. Just ask your local paleontologist. Or one of those weird nephews everyone seems to have who can recall in eidetic detail every species of extinct animal ever to fall prey to a meteor or members of the Essendon football club dating back to the First World War.


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