y this point, I had begun pontificating at such a volume, flailing my arms about, that the other patrons of the Cyber A Cafe had begun to regard me with visible discomfort.

“Dirk," I proclaimed, "if there is anything I detest so much as Southern California—its choking traffic, luxury-encrusted boutique and condominium-denigrated coastline, its vacuous glassy-eyed and repellent denizens and the neurotic hypocrisy of their restrained suburban violence—it is computers. Computers, Dirk, are the most outrageous travesty of the twentieth century. Nothing has more thoroughly sucked the humanity from the human world than computers. Computers have substituted for human interaction, intelligent conversation, and the free play of body and intellect an abhorrent pixilated grid. Thanks to computers, Dirk, thinkers, poets, and composers have been supplanted by a despicable digerati of sexually malnourished, emotionally stunted, video blinded, keyboard numbed petit bourgeoisie.”

Dirk opened his mouth to pose an interjection, but, although my tirade was rapidly becoming intolerable even to myself, I relentlessly continued with my philosophizing disquisition. “The person who invented the blog, Dirk, is guilty of the most egregious crime against language one could possibly commit, the most heinous, unforgivable, malevolent, stupid, noxious, unremittingly vicious, sociopathic, brutal, insipid, flagrant, odious, astringent, barbaric, puerile, inhumane, chauvinistic, Medieval, unsympathetic, tortuous, torturous, alienating, spiritually carcinogenic...”

At this point I lost consciousness.