Unspeakable
Plague carriers on Walton's Mountain |
Let's face it, who is going to use an Internet café for any serious purpose? To paraphrase Oscar, it's the unspeakable posing in front of the uneatable.
It's a pity to think the rest of us pay taxes to support the unimaginative masses talking to each other on the Internet because they're too lazy and socially inept to go out and make friends of their own. If it's social suicide in civilised society to show the slightest knowledge of computers (let your staff do it; that's what you pay them for), why are these people making a public spectacle of themselves? Don't they know they are the nearest thing this century has to plague carriers? Were John-Boy Walton alive today he'd be in Café Internet e-mailing Grandpa and Grandma with a pathetic story about the wholefood cookies and the pigeon he nearly saved from under the wheels of a black cab. And I'd be the one who'd just told the driver to run the filthy creature over. Whoever had a sexual fantasy about John-Boy? Precisely; a friendless mummy's boy with zero crotch definition in his dungarees. That about sums up the talent at Café Internet and the rest of London's cyber scene. |