I wanted to read an article entitled “The Destructive Effects of Capitalism.” It was written by an intellectual who was somewhat right about most everything except practicality. He’s one of those people who writes a lot of those sounds good, won’t work articles.
In his last published opinion he used the term green rape when referring to air pollution, greed and environmental damage. In the comments section I tried to lighten the tone by adding that if you put an “se” in front of rape it becomes a tasseled shawl people wear in Spain, Mexico and gay pride parades.
Some ultra-feminists roasted me for the comment. I demurred immediately by replying that I wasn’t poking fun at what is a horrid act of violence. I was poking fun at me because I’m unsophisticated enough to even think of such a dumb thing in the first place. That got me a “you are worthy of nothing except our spittled contempt.” I wasn’t sure what that meant.
After tracking down “The Destructive Effects of Capitalism” I found it aggravating that only a single paragraph of the article was visible at any one time. And even then it was under constant attack by scurrilous things charging in from all sides overwhelming the very thing I came to read. For a while, I was able to fend them off by clicking on the Xs and No Thankses.
When the second paragraph rolled into view it brought with it more invaders, and the screen became a whirling mess of reminders, requests for email addresses, invitations to subscribe and bizarre news teasers. The Xs and No Thankses worked again; but when the paragraph finally peeked back through, this time it looked frightened.
The third paragraph proved incapable of defending itself. The ad scabs were smothering it. The attack grew more fierce and I wondered if there was some capitalistic Artificial Intelligence guarding the site who figured if I made it this far I would most likely stay to the end no matter what.
This time when I clicked on the Xs and No Thankses the screen blinked, and then showed me a 95 year old woman seated in front of a dressing table. She was caking a thick cream all over her face. I could only assume it was a time reversal beauty product advertisement. To me she looked like the survivor of a retirement home bukkake blitz. I searched for a way back to my article. Nestled into her gobbler waddle disguised as age spots was written, “Return To Article.” I clicked.
I was back and paragraph four was there, but was being shouldered way off to the side by a woman from Thailand dressed in a see-through serape. I don’t think it’s called a serape in Thailand. I believe they call it a sarong there. Well, half a sarong anyway. She wanted me to send her money so she could come over and marry me. I was already married so I looked around for the link to get the hell out of there. I found it between the legs of another girl from Thailand. It was on her undies. She wanted to marry me too.
Paragraph four was back but now cowering below a large add for free dental work. Rushing up from the bottom and pinching my paragraph really tight was an offer to sell me a kite for $500. It was a plain looking kite that I could buy 3 for a buck anywhere else.
If I had known this paragraph was on a timer I would have read faster. Not half way through, without any help from me at all, up came a picture of a beautiful yacht with a waving skipper surrounded by gorgeous women all anxious to fill his long stemmed crystal flute with more champagne. The text in the ad made it seem as if he had become rich and handsome by having a story published in a publication that featured satirical articles. Much like the one you are reading now. I found the Click To Return link underneath the left breast of the gal who looked anxious to let the skipper know she was ready to go below deck.
This got me to paragraph five. No timed abduction this time. I was able to finish the paragraph and wanted to get onto the next but I was afraid to click on anything. It was a standoff. There were scabs coming in from all directions with enticements such as “Feel Me,” Bite Me,” and “Caress Me.” I resisted and just sat there as all sorts of things whizzed to and fro. I had already successfully defended myself against slide shows of the horniest queens in history and famous celebrity merkins. After some frantic searching I was finally able to find Next. I could only hope it meant the next paragraph. I clicked.
Up came a family station wagon wrapped around a tree. A full screen exposé. The mom had plowed through the windshield and reduced the width of her face by half when she smacked the huge tree trunk. The father looked as if he had unsuccessfully tried to eat the steering wheel. A portion of it was visible coming out through his ear. There were two little bodies in what was once the back seat. Now upside down in their little car seats, the poor children were horribly mangled.
In the way back of the wagon was the family pet. A Golden Retriever looking nervous but otherwise unhurt. He was the only thing in the car that wasn’t killed. He was looking out the back window and panting.
Some advertiser paid good money to have this image created. But it did a very poor job of explaining what product or service it was trying to hawk. Since the dog was the only thing not wearing a protective restraint, one could guess it was convincing you of the dangers of wearing a seat belt. Or it could be a breeder of Golden Retrievers wanting to show you their dogs can stand up against anything.
Then again, it may be an advertisement for this type of battery chainsaws wanting to demonstrate what happens when you don’t use the right tool to fell a tree.
Or it could even be an attempt to highlight the sensibility of always carrying the right type of medical coverage for you and your family. Even though none of them had any further need for such a product.
Placed next to the front tire, now in shreds and hanging from a rim that had been bent in half, was a brand new pair of expensive looking deck shoes. They were good looking shoes. If they were supposed to be the ad focus, the message was muddled. If the driver had been wearing these shoes this tragedy would never have happened?
Or that someone was in the shoes and when the car careened off the road he jumped right out of them, thereby convincing you to stay physically fit? Either way, right along the sole in really tiny letters was “Return To Article.”
I didn’t want to. I had just seen firsthand the destructive effects of capitalism. The content was treated as mere fodder. An attractive nuisance at best. That was enough for me.
I was feeling quite smug about my decision until I remembered I wanted to find out more about Tussy Marx, Karl’s favorite daughter. Another intelligent, pretty girl who came to a sad and silly end. The article on capitalism had reminded me.
Off I charged in search of free (except for the outrageous wifi charges) and convenient information forgetting all about the capitalistic aggravations that come with it. It would solve itself anyway because a competitor would figure out a better way of blending revenue and content and everyone else would have to follow suit.
Capitalism at its best.