The Wi-Fi Look-at-Me's

Oh, you know who I'm talking about. Hell, you may be one of 'em.

They're the folks who bring their laptop wherever they go. On the train. On the plane. To class, to lunch and brunch and the park and the beach, anywhere within the Wi-Fi reach.


And why? To take notes? To look up stats? Maybe the girl at Starbucks with the summertime scarf is seeking to prevent the inevitable crash? Parting with such hardware, no, please, don't dare ask. I cannot, I will not, complete such an unthinkable task.

When, oh when, did lugging around your Mac become so awesomely cool? How much work can get done on a bumpy train next to an old sleepy fool? And the guy at the coffeehouse, yeah, he's staring you down, mentally undressing and impressing, while you, so clueless, so jaded, get your dainty kicks Facebook fucking around.


That's because you're a Wi-Fi look-at-me, a product of a vain generation. Where your thoughts, no matter how dull, your dreams, so lame, so null, and your evening and weekend plans, so important and oh-so great, take precedence over the concepts of dignity, subtlety, and easy-peasy social cues, concepts generally innate.


So, next time you head out, think twice, then think again, about this metal package held within. It's true, you're no better with or without, and by Lucifer's beard, it'll certainly won't raise your clout, because this thing, this sin, that you unfold and display, why, it's a Wi-Fi smug bomb, so for your own sake, and for the sake of your soul, forget it, reject it, please, just keep it away.