If you don't think print is going the way of the megalodon, it's safe to say that your casual dealings simply haven't crossed one of the many recently axed newspaper writers weeping across our once fair country. Well, look, or rather, read no farther, because your wearisome search is over: lo and behold, I am one of those poor, dastardly, sleazy, repugnant, and haphazardly nearsighted souls. Grasping to my bachelor's degree in writing like a kite string in a lightning storm, I rue the day I ever decided that a shiny house-key would add flair to its wafting and clumsy aerial pirouettes.
Of course, regret is for the imbecile who thinks himself an expert, a thinking man who refuses to think beyond himself. I understand why I'm unemployed, err, partially unemployed, interning at the age of 28 for 10 dollars an hour, corresponding for beans, writing for free, and dishing out whatever cash I scrape up into a bank account that deflates like a kiwi bird every successive semester. I understand, and I'm doing my best to adapt, even if that means I'll be forced to stay behind the financial comfort-line and the techno-trendly times.
Who should I blame? Who's the culprit? Where should my rigid pointer finger point?
Evolution, you dirty son of a bitch.
In a world and realm where nothing is as simple or as efficient or as handy or as sleek or as light or as convenient or as hip or as "epic" as it was just a couple months prior, the ever-rising tide of technology is simply biding its time before it utterly consumes print media, sucking it down in an undertow of Nintendo 64s and flip-phones, drowning it so as to make room for the latest batch of status-defining gadgets.
Kindle, the best of these bitches for its undeniable impact on the logging industry, is also the very same contraption that's suddenly making the idea of reading a book a thing of the recent past. Sooner than later the act of flipping pages will become a detriment to callousless digits the modern world over, prompting smooth-palmed students to deny these archaic piles of print with anxious blasts, "And slice my fingers open? Fuck you!"
There's no harm in accepting a paperless world, but man o' man, is there any way to salvage such an un-eco-friendly tradition?
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