Dylan Alexander

So, I’m supposed to write another one of these. I could write about how Mitt Romney’s going to be President next, or how Chris Christie should be running but chose not to because of a promise he made to his state. I could write about how phone books are obsolete and how televisions are on their way to becoming archaic relics of the past. I could write about aliens influencing the evolution of human technology, or Michael Bay’s sick need to blow everything up. I could write about Libya, Syria, Afghanistan, North Korea, or the Jetsons. I could write about Native Americans, the Amazon Forrest, Korean pop music that’s getting way more popular than I expected it might. I could write about Pulp Fiction, or Shane Acker’s 9. But most of all, I could write about modern plumbing.

Now I already know what you’re asking, “Why in the hell would anyone want to talk about modern plumbing?” Well, I’m glad I asked. See, there’s a vast, intricate interconnection of pipes beneath our feet that we constantly take for granted, that we constantly think of and go, “Oh, there it is. That’s where all our bodily waste goes.” But think about it, where would we be without all those pipes? Where would we be without running water, or working toilets? Where would we be without washing machines and dishwashers? We never think about how civilized we’ve become thanks to plumbing. We used to drop our poop out windows and into dirt holes. We used to wash each pair of clothes we had by hand, and we’d end up spreading a lot more disease due to unclean hands.

Modern plumbing has saved us decades of pain, misery, and death.

So there, I wrote about pipes for a bit. Now, it’s time for you all to watch an episode of The Newsroom on HBO Go. Seriously, go watch it. It’s amazing.

I’m supposed to put things on here, but it’s funny, writing blog posts on WordPress is like throwing a message in a bottle into a sea of messages in bottles. (Yes, I stole that line. Deal.) You have no idea who’s reading, if they even care, if they even exist. Well, actually, I know they exist because the dashboard back here keep telling me they exist. Ah, excuse me, that you exist. Who are you anyway? A car salesman? Well, I’ve got news for you Mr. Car Salesman, we will never meet. You and I will never come into contact with each other. We’ll never even exchange a glance as we coincidentally dine on our filet mignons in the exact same cafe in Florence where Alfred kept going hoping to smile and nod at Bruce.

Now you think I’m going to preach about something Fight Club style, but I’m not. I’m not going to preach anything. I mean, why should I? You haven’t even read this far by now. And if you have, what the hell are you doing? Go outside. Go fishing. Go play rugby or whatever it is you kids play across the Pond these days. Go sell cars.

What am I going to do? Why, I’m glad I asked. I’m going to go write another book. I’m not telling you the secret location of the others. You’ll have to find it yourself. Nyeh, nyeh, nyeh.