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Some of the most popular images to be searched and found on the Interweb are those of snakes that have ingested other creatures often two or three times their own size. So it’s completely understandable that Wee Man felt more than uncomfortable when wrapped in the stern but not necessarily fair embrace of this African Rock Python. After all, from a hungry snake’s perspective, Wee certainly would be considered prime digestive fodder for a good several lazy days on the Mara.

I’m not sure if this is the place to admit it or not, but I’m beginning to feel a bit like a bulimic essayist. Every day I sit down, take in a quick clip, photo, or what have you, and spasmodically regurgitate something back out in the form of words. There’s no real time to craft any of this wordy material, no toying with rough drafts until they are rock hard abs of steel, diamond cut in their precision. If anything it’s like playing with Legos while loaded up on Adderall: you just build and build and build and build and then only look back afterward to see what the fuck you’ve created before something else blindsides your focus.

But hey, it’s just the Interweb, not a book or some highfalutin article to be printed in The New Yorker, so it simply goes up online to sit there like a puddle of textual puke with every other sad bastard “blog” in the universe, archived for eternity in this wholly insubstantial form up until someone drops a super magnet on the Great Server in Space; or, worst case scenario, we come head to head with alien lifeforms like Klaatu and Gort in The Day the Earth Stood Still (1951), and—POOF!—all those ethereal friends and files disappear from your fingertips in the bat of a Tammy Faye eye.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for eradicating nonsensical consumerism in a shopping world gone mad, but when you lose your digital shit and can’t log-on to anything to save your instantly gratified life, well, don’t expect me to be standing there saying I told you so. I mean, chances are I won’t even remember writing any of this tripe in the first place, seeing as I’m now well on my way to tumbling down the backside slope of middle-aged life into a shitstorm of Alzheimer’s and aphasia disorders.

You know … I should just stop now and apologize for being such a downer. Perhaps I’m just jealous after spending the best years of my formative life living under the shadow of mutually assured nuclear destruction and I’m only trying to come up with fun ways to bring the ominous spirit of fantastic doom back into your world (global recession? bo-o-o-ring). After all, there’s nothing quite like a good dose of armageddon to build character and self-esteem, and what better way to capitalize upon this than the technological unknown that lies ahead of us all. Hey, it worked for Sarah Connor. She parlayed this shit into her own goddamn TV show!

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the wildboyz archive on jackassworld