Sometimes It Is Okay to Not Talk About the Awful Things.

I am old enough to remember when the Internet was a largely useless place for most people. My college dormmates would sit patiently, waiting hours for image files to download in large ribboned chunks, in hopes of something salacious appearing. If the image was mislabeled, they could find that they’d waited a good twenty minutes for what they thought was a bikini pic of Kathy Ireland but turned out to be a photo Macho Man Randy Savage. It was like the whole worldwide web was a bit of a silly prank, a place where we spent small swathes of time, where we used PINE to check our email every three days or so.

Over the years, it spread like a creeping ivy. A few innocuous vines at first, and then it was everywhere, so ubiquitous and suffocating that no part of our lives was untouched. Recently, my friend’s kitchen faucet

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