A Documentary of a Documentary of a Documentary of a White Girl.

Posted by Kyle Jacobson , Wednesday, December 1, 2010 7:04 PM

"No we are not outsourced! Pervert!"

             Trying to re-build a social network out of the vague impression that I had one before is, in almost every aspect save the literal one, like applying for a job at a grocery store that has no tellers, a memory of electricity, and a small doll-like object that may or may not have been a mango.  The phrases that correlate the two situations include: "off-putting that is on the verge of being put off again", "a crime scene that is struggling with self-identity", "how did I end up here in the first place?", and "Do you feel lucky? Well do ya? Punk?" But, worst of all, it requires one to care enough about their self-aware disconnection from the network* to do something about it (a phrase that implies everything but means nothing), which in turn causes oneself to care about the consequential outcomes.

I am a personality!
* Disconnecting yourself from the network is one of the most detrimental decisions any noun-like concept and/or existence could possibly make. It is a massive 1950's style telephone switchboard with thirty million holes and eight-hundred and seventy-two million wires coming out of them. If that same person who unplugged themselves attempted to re-insert they would be left in confusion to find that the switchboard model had been updated, now with smaller holes and they no longer fit like they used to. To advise the advisable and make a long noise of incoherent blabber to those who are inadvisable, I conclude with you: the doll wasn't a doll, or a mango, it was a molded squash and please watch your step when exiting the social experience; the motion sensor doors have moved on to sensing the far more arbitrary clauses in the social contract of life. Now, please sign on the dotted line. Your "friends" await.

                    Author's note: Me writing this doesn't necessarily mean that I believe it's true, but allows for enough of a doubt that you cannot label me false.

                                      Livingly,
                                                          Kyle