Sunday, August 23, 2009

Feces Streaks? Discolored Uvula?
BEAUTIFUL TECHNOLOGY® says:
No Way, Jose!


One of the greatest, most insufferable problems mankind has been plagued with since he crawled out of the goo is uncleanliness. While many would quickly point out that disease and things that make you die would be higher on their list of Things That Are Big Problems, these issues have actually served mankind by weeding out those who are weak, or not proficient at passing on their genetic load before getting their head crushed by an irritable alpha male. If not for these evolutionary functions – Mother Nature’s chastity belt for the undesirable - we would not be the perfect images of God we are today. And yet, we sully our thumby, bipedalled bodies by letting our hair become oily and dull, and our various crevices smelly.

Though it is inarguable that mankind is at the apex of its growth as a creature of beauty, intellect, and culture; that we live in a veritable utopia on Earth where all of its citizens can revel in a life untroubled by poor fashion and manners, couthly traipsing about the downtown thinking only of lunch dates and rewarding careers; our species’ stranglehold on pleasure is severely lessened by dull, unflingable hair; bottoms coated with invisible, though prevalent, feces streaks; and musty closet-like breath. This is where Beautiful Technology comes in.

Beautiful Technology® is the Industry leader in developing new technologies in anal and oral cleansatories, as well as hair beautifies. Our research and development budget currently exceeds the combined R&D budgets of both cancer and HIV research on the west coast, and the results speak for themselves. You have most likely seen our products overwhelming the aisles of your local drugstore – we produce over forty-two variations of toothpaste alone, addressing a wide range of oral issues, such as sensitive teeth, discolored uvula, and overbearing gums. (Fun science fact: According to the Henry Egan Colgate Principle, toothpaste’s molecular structure collapses when more than three dental issues are addressed in any one tube.)

Let’s take a look at two innovative Beautiful Technology® products that use our exclusive, patented technologies, and are being enjoyed by consumers all over the world (excluding Alaska and Hawaii):



Southern Breeze ™


Southern Breeze ™ is a toilet paper made from hippopotamus skin cultures. The skin of hippopotami naturally produce an extremely effective emollient, which soothes and smoothes the anal glands, providing for a much more pleasing anal appearance. Hippo skin also naturally produces a crystalline sweat, and is one of the most effective, not to mention 100% organic, sunscreens in the world. We at Beautiful Technology uphold that the sun does indeed shine “down there” occasionally, such as when retrieving an errant bocce ball from an ambition's youngster’s sand castle moat while also wearing a slippery thong; or certain styles of making love on the beach.



Forever Young ™


Forever Young ™ is a toothpaste developed from a refreshing mixture of mandarin orange peels and stem cells. Our stem cells are harvested internationally from countries blessed with a legal abundance of stem cells, such as Angola and Guinea. These cells are then carefully blended with our organic Vietnamese mandarin oranges to produce a refreshing toothpaste that leaves one’s mouth fresh, and free of virtually all oral disease, bacteria or wounds.



The most significant obstacle our planet faces in the pursuit of happiness is unwelcome hygiene issues, and Beautiful Technology® will continue to fight this battle head-on, wielding our products like a crusading knight does his righteous sword. And just as the Allies stood tall and proud against the Third Reich, so shall Beautiful Technology be at the forefront of this new, equally important battle. Rest assured, World: We have your back, and shall wax it.

Beautifully Yours,

Dr. Lindsey Borscht

Beautiful Technology Research

Saturday, August 15, 2009

YOU WEREN’T AT MY BASEBALL GAMES; I WON’T HELP PAY YOUR RENT
By Todd Braiser Jr.


Dear Dad,

(FYI, the only reason I didn’t communicate your failure as a father by putting quotation marks around “Dad” is because that is an incorrect use of quotation marks, but rest assured, the sentiment is there.)

I’m not sure what I have done to make you think I would loan you the $135 you pay each month to sleep on your friend Rick’s couch, but if I have done anything to make you feel like I would, I profusely apologize. I would sooner cry myself to sleep each night for ten years because my Dad loves poppers and moustaches more than me.

Don’t get me wrong, Todd, Sr. I applaud your “journey” into “Who Todd Sr. Really Is”. I’m glad you’ve “found yourself”. But couldn’t you have found me along the way? While you were off at Dave and Buster’s getting trashed and riding the mechanical bull, I was at home riding The Bull of Neglect. While you were cramming jalapeño poppers in your deceitful face, I was riding The Bull of I-Don’t-Know-How-To-Shave; the Bull of How-Do-I-Please-A-Girl-Down-There; and The Bull of Why-Does-My-Father-Smell-Like-Old-Spice-Which-Is-Not-A-Deodorant-He-Owns. Those bulls don’t stop bucking after the $1.25 runs out, Dad.

And what about Mom? She sits at home drinking wine and sighing while doing Sudoku, pining away for the man she fell in love with twenty years ago. What do I tell her when she asks where the man that loved curling up with her on the couch for a Golden Girls marathon is? Where is the man that shared her passion for Nora Roberts and spinning class? All I can say to her is that I wish I knew that, too, and slowly back away from her knuckley hands, vaguely clawing out at me for support while her Aquanetted bangs shine the kitchen table.

I get it. Mom’s large floral-print dresses and Precious Moments figurines are tough to deal with. We both know that. I know being a Level 24 Paladin LARPer doesn’t make me a prize son, either, but please - Mom and I need you. Put your Captain’s hat back on and let’s get the SS Braiser Family back on course.

Sincerely,

Todd Braiser, Jr.

Tuesday, August 11, 2009

EVERYTHING IS A
CREAM PIE IN THE FACE
By T.J. Pickles


Ba dink-donk ga-goo! Howdy doo, ladies and germs! Looks like your friend T.J. Pickles got up on the wrong side of bed this morning because boy, are my arms tired! Ha HA! Also, I ate my last can of Pork and Beans last night and this clown tummy is hungry!

I tell ya, Real Life is difficult. Ha HA!

Anybody out there go to the gym? I’ve been running a lot of laughathons myself, but I tell ya, I should have been practicing my squats. I’ve been doing a lot of those lately. My busker income has been pretty light this winter, and my old buddy Tony the Landlord doesn’t look too kindly on late rent. No sir! Life and/or Tony might throw you down a flight of stairs, but Pickles always gets up laughing! Ha HA! Don’t cry over spilt milk, right? I do wish I had some spilt milk, though, because all this laughing parches a clown’s throat, you know?

But still, I’ve always said that no matter how hard times get, there’s always a demand for laughter! That’s why I dropped out of 11th grade and high-tailed it right over to St. Sebastian’s Clown Academy! Four years and forty-thousand dollars in school loans later, and boy, are my arms tired! Ha HA! They really are very, very tired, though.

ANYHOO! After I graduated from the academy I was lucky enough to get an internship with a small Ethiopian circus that taught me a lot about the business. It didn’t pay any money, per se, but I did get a free cot in the elephant tent to sleep on, and all the peanuts I could eat! My Mom always used to say, “All we’re feeding that bastard is peanuts!” Then Dad would say, “I’m not buying him any god damn fancy nuts, you diabetic whore!” I got pretty good at napping.

I graduated from Sebastian’s with a Bachelors of Science in Post-Modern Improv Clowning, but lately my career has naturally evolved into a bit more of the classic Hobo Clown shtick. It’s pedestrian, but whatever works, right? I’m in-between places right now, as they say, so the costume pretty much makes itself! Luckily, the city just condemned a crack house down the street, so I’ve been doing some urban camping there till I can pay Tony my back rent. It really is a nice place, though. People poo-poo crack heads a lot, but they are a very tidy people! For a condemned crack house there is a minimal amount of feces outside of the bathroom.

After a long day of pounding the pavement – I visit the Ringling Brothers’ office every other day just to make sure they still have my resume on file – I come home, slip into my little fort of non-soiled sofa cushions in the living room, and just relax, y’know? Who needs that old rat race? Not this clown. I’ve got my health, a roof over my head, and food to – well, who couldn’t stand to lose a few pounds, am I right? Ha HA! Who ever heard of a fat clown, anyway? NOT ME!!!

Tell me if you’ve heard this one: What’s all smiles and has two thumbs? This guy! Ha HA! No two ways about it – next time you turn on the TV, there I’ll be staring right back at you! T.J. Pickles, clown extraordinaire! People will say, “J.P. Patches? I’ve never heard of that old fuck! You know who I have heard of, though? T.J. fucking Pickles, that's who! And he’s a million times funnier than that Patches cunt. A MILLION.”

Keep a look out for me, America! This rising star is going supernova, and nothing’s gonna stop me now! Fuck you, Dad!

Yukfully Yours,

T.J. Pickles

Sunday, August 9, 2009

ON SEX AND GENDER
By Female Hyena


Hey! Bigots! When you die, I’m totally eating your carcass!

It’s the 21st century, and we still have to deal with sex and gender prejudice? Bullshit! I’ll cave your face in, Prejudice!

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been hanging out with my bitches chomping on some sweet carrion, when some stupid-ass lion tries to tell me some stupid-ass sexist joke, like we’re high-fiving over brewskis. Hey, Lion! This is a clit, you hick! I may have more testosterone in my fused vulva than you have in your entire dumb face, but this ain't man-meat! Babies shoot out of this thing like I don’t even know. I shot one out this morning when I was beating your brother and your Mom up.

Just eff-why-eye, hyena bitches don’t take that shit, and we will burn your house down. We crap babies out through a one-inch diameter fake shlong. The only thing more badass than that is setting a unicorn on fire and then skateboarding off some badass helicopter while shooting Uzis off and shit. Your mind can’t even comprehend how intense we are. I will climb straight into your dreams and drop some judo on your god damn face.

I know you dudes are used to pushing your bitches around, but you better piss your pretty-boy clown pants if you think that flies with us. We use these Pringles cans for dickin’, too, and you better ask permission before you even try to get your sick-ass freak on. Our junk is like a freaking Rubix cube, and we’re the ones matching up colors on your punk-ass. Want your mind blown? How about this: to even get your pathetic pinky finger up in this milk shake, you gotta do a French toilet-squat behind us, and then bend your tootsie roll up and backwards to get that thing in the honey jar. And we might tear your face off anyway, too. We don’t give a shit.

So guess what? Can’t wrap your head around a lady who’s bigger than you, stronger than you, gets her junk done when she wants it and how she wants, and clowns you like nobody’s business? BAM. Hyena females are tagging your neighborhood up, and if you don’t watch your sexist attitude, we’ll hike a shorty hyena up your peehole.

Sincerely,
Hyena Female

Tuesday, August 4, 2009

EUGENICS IS A GOOD THING
By Milburn Pennybags



Good day, and What What, Fellow Magnates. It is I, Milburn Pennybags, Railroad Tycoon and Man About Town, here to inform you on the state of our great city and properties, which I recently toured at great danger to my own person. Indeed!

As a fellow Captain of Industry, I feel compelled to impart upon you a recent experience I had in the slums of our town just one fortnight ago. On this particular evening I found myself feeling a bit restless as I sipped my cherry in the den, basking in the glow of a hearty fireplace fed by deer meat (the aroma of burnt ungulate is a known aphrodisiac in the East). My diet of roast quail and pig marrow exacerbates my unfortunate affliction of gout, and a brisk walk about the estate often invigorates the humors.

On this particular night I decided to take a tour of my real estate properties, of which most of the city commoners dwell in. These people are a filthy sort, inclined towards whoredom and gluttony, often found wailing in the streets pleading for a box of Crackered Jacks, or whatever sugary treats they can jam in their dirty maws. I find them wholly unpleasant. But still, a twinkle was in my eye and my broad mustache quivered, yearning to soak in the smells of the streets, unpleasant as they might be. Walking in another man’s stinking, rat-hide shoes can make the pleasures of a fine tuxedo and topped hat all the more acute. Thusly, I and my associate, Little Metal Car, sped off towards the shanties post-haste.

Upon arrival, I cautiously sauntered down Connecticut Avenue with Little Metal Car by my side, humorously tiptoeing on his tires. I carefully avoided eye contract with the various hobos peering at us from behind their sooty beards and distastefully wide-brimmed hats. Clutching my cane close to my side, I was ready to take flight immediately upon any indication of accostment. Little Metal Car, precocious as always, assailed the curious townspeople with humorous slurs and ribaldry, which seemed to keep them a comfortable distance from us.

Though I fully expected my senses to be assailed by unpleasant sights and smells, I was not prepared for the Sodom I encountered. Ruddy-faced women, whom I could only assume were whores, carried great bundles of possum carcasses across their shoulders, most likely for their illegitimate child litters to feed on. Hairy Italians bombarded people, flinging “pizza’d pies” and meatballs with little concern for the direction of the assault; and the occasional Pepick or Herring Choker skulked about the street perimeter, sullenly sucking on fish bones while eyeing others’ goods.

My heart recoiled at this jungle of sin, but I kept my chin up and my stride proud. These people can smell fear as keenly as you or I can smell the peaty undertones of an aged whisky, so it is imperative to walk amongst them with a high step and a firm ocular grasp upon one’s monocle. Little Metal Car, being a bit more pedestrian than myself, having been stuck in a muddy ditch or two, seemed to be enjoying himself playing a playful game of chase with the coal-faced children, intermittently catching their knobby ankles underneath his grill. They are a hardy bunch, these city folk, and heal quickly, I imagine.

As I and my wheeled companion neared the end of the shanty town, I let out a breath of thanks that we remained relatively unscathed, though our eternal souls and fineries alike would need a vigorous scrubbing to rid them of the overpowering odor of this place. It is a vigorous stench not unlike the smell of old meat. I climbed back into Little Metal Car and we escaped back to my estate; I, looking forward to a luxurious scrubbing in the bathhouse by my blind servant of vaguely Oriental descent, and Little Metal Car to a warm garage and tune-up by the our colored mechanic, Rastus. He is not a keen man, but he is hard-working and, by God, knows his creamed wheat.

So, fellow Magnates of Water, Electricity, and the Railroads – I hope my tale has further elucidated what you already knew: The scurrying people of our city depend on us to cradle them in our fatherly wings of Christendom, and protect them from dreaming too big, as well as falling too low as to prevent them from tarring our roofs and shoeing our hunting steeds. The cream rises to the top, and it is our duty, as their creamy-skinned protectors, to keep them in the echelons God meant for them. Toil is good for the soul, and we must make their souls goodly for when they meet their maker (they die often, but thankfully, breed like hares).

Sincerely,

Milburn Pennybags

Sunday, August 2, 2009

"OPEN RELATIONSHIPS ARE AWESOME"
By Egan Rhys Napewood
Professional Sensualist



Salutation and warm chest-touching hugs to all of you. It is I, Dr. Egan Rhys Napewood again, professor of flesh and emotion, here to fill your mind buckets with meat info.

Let me ask you a question.

Are you in a successful and rewarding long-term relationship?

Is this long-term partner not only your lover, but also your best friend? The one who knows you best; respects and loves you; and supports you in all your endeavors?

If yes, congratulations. You have found something that few can or will, and treasure the richness it brings to both you and your partner’s lives.

But answer me this: Do you also equally treasure having brief sexual encounters with strangers? If you answered “Totally!”, then I have the solution for you.

OPEN RELATIONSHIPS!!!

I stumbled upon this brilliant invention of what surely must be the greatest sexual genius EVER while perusing the Erotica/Catamaran section of Borders (the Erotica section is not large, but it afforded me the opportunity to discover the exciting world of Catamarans).

To explain exactly what an Open Relationship is one must erase their stodgy, social constructs of what a relationship constitutes, and take the sexual equivalent of LSD, which is required to blow one’s mind. Done? Good. Now let me explain.

An Open Relationship is when one has a long-term partner, but also greatly values boffing other people. It goes without saying that these both of these things are equally important. I can’t tell you how many times my spirit has been all : ( because the partner I love doesn’t want me intercoursing with others. Because of my ex-girlfriends’ constrictive, harmful needs regarding where I jiggle my midsection, I have ended many treasured relationships that could have afforded years, even decades of meaningful bonding. Their loss. Am I right? No kidding.

Your first step in pursing an Open Relationship is dumping your current long-term partner. They probably aren’t cool with you dancing the horizontal mosh pit on other peoples’ crotches, so we’ll just take a bath on that one. Now, your second step is finding that same magical connection you found with your ex-long-term partner, but with someone who really likes to do it with people other than yourself. This will take patience, so prepare yourself for a week or two of looking for that special person that completes you.

Now, to honor this new soul mate, you must be 110% honest with them about moving forward with this Open Relationship, and set some rules. Here are some starter questions: Can you do it with other people in you and your partner’s bed? Must you be emotionally monogamous with your partner, too, or can you fall in love with, like, a bunch of people? Since basic biology dictates that your mind, emotions, and body are inseparable since they are all physical structures and processes that interact, is it allowable to begin a long-term relationship with one of your sex partners, and then downgrade your long-term partner to sex partner? These are all important questions that need answering.

Tip: I would recommend making an Excel document signed by both you and your long-term partner so you can refer to your agreement when one of you has a completely irrational reaction to, say, you becoming more and more disinterested in your partner as you slowly whittle away at the emotional bonds that make long-term relationships rewarding. This is a natural hurdle to cross in an Open Relationship, but remember: She signed that Excel doc, and it is a legally binding agreement that says she cannot get upset.

I hope all of you, my students, are excited as I am to explore the heady, volatile world of Open Relationship, and who knows? Perhaps Professor Egan Rhyswood can become a part of your next Open Relationship (no fatties, please). Bless all of you.

Sensually yours,
Egan Rhys Napewood

Friday, June 5, 2009

Cyclists, You Are Making Me Lose My Shit.


Whose idea was it to let cyclists share the HOV lane? I'm beginning to wonder whether this was a brilliant, insidious Republican plot to foster ill will against our local two-wheeled locomotites. What better way to make commuters resent them than to stick an oblivious cyclist (probably blaring The Decembrists or some other equally repugnant Charles Dickens wannabes from their electrified phonographs) in front of an express bus filled with forty people trying to get to work on time. People are getting reprimanded by their condescending, mustachioed bosses because of these people, people. I can feel the dark side rising in this one already, and the hipster uniform wasn't a good start.

What is the general thrust of cyclists' reasons for riding their bike everywhere instead of driving a perfectly good horseless buggy? Is it a vendetta against Henry Ford, who, though a brilliant businessman, was kind of a dick? Is arriving at work slick with sweat a rebellious slap in hygiene‘s face? It sure as hell isn't to reduce their carbon footprint. When a single cyclist can make a bus take twice as long to reach its destination, that cyclist is increasing the pollution that bus would have original spit out by about a buhzillion-fold. I’ve run the numbers.

The other theory would be that they're disrupting the flawless transit system of Seattle; in other words, the squeaky bicycle wheel gets the grease. If enough of them are a pain in the ass, the city will bend to their tight, small-brim capped ways. It would appear to be working since they currently have the right to be the KFC in our city's arteries. And who doesn't love Critical Mass, the monthly attack on neighborhoods by a rabid glut of onry cyclists? This might not be entirely accurate, but my friend Crystyn's friend's Blayne said Critical Mass bikers routinely steal from senior citizens, and love to knock the begging cups out of handicapped Veterans' hands. They also make them cry, which truthfully, isn't that hard. But still.

This is a slippery slope, citizens. What next? Segways? Horses? I’ll be damned if have to share the road with those soulless, ghoul-eyed creatures. Their feet are stupid and poorly designed! They’re like fast pandas! In summary, horses creep me out, Pandas are evolutionary cretins, and Bikers are making me lose my shit.

Saturday, May 23, 2009

Things I Want To Do (Part 1)

Punch a sleeping person in the face and then quickly hide underneath the bed before they realize what's happened.

Participate in the local Scandinavian parade, dressed as Dracula.

Bodypress a restaurant's bar.

Become an awning washer.

Bodypress a moving cyclist.

Get a tattoo that no one will ever find.

Horseshoe a bear.

Grow a ponytail out of my neck.

Slap a bowl of soup.

Bellyflop into a pool filled with cold mayo.

Get into a public brawl with a clown.

Paint my car with glow-in-the-dark paint.

Fart loudly and a lot in a cafe.

Clone a dinosaur only to publicly decapitate it with a battleaxe.

Run for port commissioner.

Be Jewish.

Eat Runts on an empty stomach until I puke.

Order a cupcake, only to monkey slap it, then order another.

Invent electrified food.

Be tazed.

Be stung by a bee.

Become a local character. It's a toss-up between dressing like the Monopoly Man and trying to buy wares with Monopoly Money and being racist in a 1920s sort of way, or wearing all blue and riding a bike around while zipping cookies at people.

Ride a motorcycle engulfed in flames off a roof into the local farmer's market.

Be a spit-take therapist.

Participate in the local Gong Show. We would be dressed like Muppets and do a peppy sing and dance routine to the Muppet Show's theme, curse each other for missing our steps, and then slowly degenerate into a violent brawl.

Own a fainting goat, and rig a motion sensitive foghorn by its food bowl.

Domesticate a fox.

Stay awake until I am literally insane. Can you literally be insane? I might not know words.

Rig a device that makes it look like my crotch is bleeding profusely and stroll around town.

Be a rich old man.

Get pec implants in my back.

Thieve dogs.

Take a bath in a tub filled with pho.

Change my middle name to "Danger" and see what the consequences are.

Blow an airhorn in an orgasming woman's face and see what happens.

Weave a wig of live snacks and wear it to church.

Wear a children's sized Spiderman costume for Halloween.

Tag taggers.

Become a professional baseball player and have my intro music be the audio from a slaughterhouse.

Have arms twice their normal length.

Vomit out a personal item of a friend's in the middle of dinner with them.

Ride a bicycle two stories tall around town.

Shave a bear. WOAH.

Destroy Chai.

Throw animal blood on vegans.

Fill my coat closet with balloons and be nonplussed when a friend tries to hang their coat in it.

Hang out at a friend’s house, use their bathroom and pee on EVERYTHING, and then be confused when they later discover what I've done and confront me about it.

Start a fantasy metal band called The Fainting Goats that collapses the instant we play a song.

Reshoot Crossroads (1986), sans costumes and sets.

Stick my head in a taffy machine.

Become a lugubrious alcoholic clown.

Fill a squirt gun with Aqua Velva and terrorize people.

After a long, drawn-out confrontation, be forcibly removed by cops from a short belltower.

Ride a Barbie Power Wheels in traffic.

Perform a flying punch on Adam Gherke during his traffic report.

Hit on extremely old women with graduating levels of forwardness.

Wednesday, May 6, 2009

"HOW TO DATE"
By Egan Rhys Napewood
Professional Sensualist


Greetings, my eager lovebugs. I hope everyone’s bodies are brimming with pleasure from the teachings of my last column, Butterfly Kisses: Let’s Get Real About This. No need for thanks, students…but if you must, get thineself to a powder room mirror. Disrobe from the waist up, and while staring heavy-lidded into your own reflection, gently, gently stroke your arm hairs. To know you are giving yourself such a pleasure-gift is enough thanks for me.

Remember my Golden Rule, lovers: When it comes to delight, do not sip, but gulp! Quaff heavily for the decanter of bliss, and let is spill messily onto your tunic. Our bodies were built to experience, children (please note the comma), so LET them.

This week’s delectation lesson is on the intricate mating dance known as courtship; or, to put it more contemporarily for my younger students: we will be learning The Fornication Club’s secret handshake. This lesson will be a series of columns, each educating you in the proper way to conduct each stage of romancing.

Now, I shall try to speak to the optimal dance steps for both sexes, but as a man with decades of practice in my man’s body, it is unavoidable that my expertise lies within a man’s body. Ladies, please do forgive any gentle stumbles I make on your behalf, though I am confident that my extensive experience with the fairest sex, beginning at the nubile age of twenty-six, has given me an uncanny knowledge of the female experience.

Stage 1: Seduction

One of the most difficult tricks in love is simply catching your soon-to-be lover’s eye and planting a seed of desire in it. While many randy bucks frequent particular rutting grounds to wave their urine-soaked antlers under the spasming nostrils of a receptive doe, with the proper skills one can find love anywhere one chooses to rut.

The first step, of course, is finding your pleasure muse. The dewy, flaxen-haired barista in the Fallout Boy t-shirt? Perhaps the sandaled young man with the aggressively unkempt sideburns? There is no incorrect choice here, students. Let your loin aura be your divining rod.

Once you have located the jack to your flat, the axel to your wheel, take the time to observe them as you would an animal. Are they skittish like a grazing kudu; confident like a full-grown chimpanzee; or perhaps just eerily slow-moving, like a de-treed sloth? Each animal requires a different approach. For instance, you do not simply walk up to a full-grown chimpanzee you don’t know. Trust me, friend, you do not. His…his teeth. They were everywhere. My god.

Ahem. As I was saying. Be very careful in how you approach. Your body language speaks louder than a yogini using a defective jade egg. Men: Do not believe all this modern talk of women wanting a sensitive man with feelings. That’s horse shit. Women want machismo to ooze from every sweaty pore of a man. If you don’t ooze naturally, I would recommend a few things:

1. Sit quietly at a table by yourself lighting matches and putting them out with your fingers. Look disinterested in everything, as if at any second you might grow bored and break a chair over a fellow’s head just to amuse yourself.

2. If there is a spare napkin and writing utensil around, doodle pictures of naked women.

3. Brazenly make-out with an easy barfly. Girls love what they can’t have.

Women: Though you might think men prefer a demure woman, men actually prefer battle. Look at that bearded screaming guy and his wife from the Nobel Prize-winning movie 300. They are both warriors of love, locked in ferocious combat, like in that one hot slow-motion scene. That is what men want. Here are some tips for you to throw a bit of seductive melee into your conquest:

1. Brazenly make-out with an easy barfly. If your future lover is interested, he will become bored with putting out matches and break a chair over Ernie’s face (you can buy Ernie a scotch later).

2. Put on a seductive, yet argumentative dance for your man. Men love to dance, and they love a challenge. He will almost assuredly accept your challenge to a dance-off, and if there is anything certain in this world it is that man/woman dance-offs almost always lead to a passionate relationship.

3. Engage him in a shoving match.

There we have it, my receptive vessels. You should now have the knowledge and skills to seduce the mate of your choice wherever you may be. My next column will cover the subsequent stage of seduction, Stage 2: What I Am Proposing Is Making Love. Till next time, my children!

Sensually Yours,
Egan Rhys Napewood

Tuesday, May 5, 2009

Common Sense in Politics?

In Common Sense— often hailed as prodding America toward the path to independence—Thomas Paine wrote that "a long habit of not thinking a thing wrong, gives it a superficial appearance of being right." While Paine was writing in regards to British monarchy, have his words since become applicable to the government which replaced it?

The most recent census records show that while Caucasians are 69% of the US population, they are represented by 86% of the combined House and Senate. Inversely, all minorities in the United States are underrepresented by 30% on average of their national population.

While statistics may show a misrepresentation of ethnicity within the government, the truest gap in representation is in socioeconomic class. The United States government is failing its citizens in its most fundamental purpose: representation of its citizenry.

Few Americans question the idea of democracy—but that's not the same as questioning if the American government is democratic. When an elite cabal of people establish themselves as a ruling class, leaving little to no room for the common civic-minded citizen in government—are we really any better off than we were as colonists under a monarchy?

Every citizen of this country believes blindly in its leadership, while little by little they are stripped of class mobility and basic freedoms. In order for us to understand what we are losing, it's time to reacquaint ourselves with the term democracy.

de·moc·ra·cy [di-mok-ruh-see]
–noun, plural -cies.
1. government by the people; a form of government in which the supreme power is vested in the people and exercised directly by them or by their elected agents under a free electoral system.
2. a state having such a form of government: The United States and Canada are democracies.
3. a state of society characterized by formal equality of rights and privileges.
4. political or social equality; democratic spirit.
5. the common people of a community as distinguished from any privileged class; the common people with respect to their political power.

[Origin: 1525–35; < MF démocratie < LL démocratia < Gk démokratía popular government, equiv. to démo- DEMO- + -kratia -CRACY]

The first definition causes me the most pause—particularly the use of the term “free.” Any electoral system is going to be organized for the benefit of the government hosting it, that is given—but at what point do you consider yourself no longer free, but coerced?

Is being given a limited number of choices being free to choose? Granted, structure is necessary for elections in order to facilitate the process, but when is it no longer structure but guidance? If you are asked to choose between death by firing squad or death by lethal injection, do you believe you've been given free choice to do as you please?

As you can see, the term democracy is fairly abstract. If you prefer the second definition, then yes—the United States is a democracy because, by self-definition, the United States is a democracy. The cause and effect in this suggestion is a bit to lenient for me. If we simply are because we say so, we could continue to call ourselves a democracy while we move ever closer to federal socialism, federal despotism, or some other hybridized type of government.

Some would argue, with merit, that we have already begun making these steps. As long as the representational electoral system is in place, regardless of the choices we're given or how we limit those who may offer themselves as candidates, we claim to remain a democracy—altering the definition by proxy.

The question ultimately comes down to choice. The choices we are given to vote upon, by and large, originate within the government. There do exist “citizen sponsored ballot initiatives,” but those are applicable only within state and local government—and very much the exception, rather than the rule. The death blow to citizen sponsored ballot initiatives is that their power is effectively limited by the federal government's supercedence of state law.

In order to re-empower the masses in their self-governance, I'd like to tentatively suggest a change within the American government from a “representational” democracy to a new form of allotted democracy: wherein citizens are chosen at random to participate in local government. Individuals with proven proclivity and aptitude would then be entered into the pool of candidates for popular election into higher government offices.

A lot of people are going to have issue with this idea. At the onset, it sounds ridiculous. I'm aware of that. However, if you step back and examine the idea on its merits, you'll find that there truly are justifiable advantages to this type of government.

In simplest terms, I would like to see a government run by lottery—much like Jury Duty. Turning “public service” into an actual public service would allow for a true representation of all different groups within the country. This would allow for the immediate implementation of policies and procedures that are commonly wished for, but legislated against—for corporate interest reasons.

This policy could start with local assemblies by open lottery, and as the level of government got higher, requiring more experience, would be open only to those who had previously served – with good public and peer reviews.

While it would take a lot of fine-tuning to create a workable system based on these principles, the outcome would be the effective elimination of the age-old adage “anyone who wants to be in government probably shouldn't [due to personal interest].” This new government system would be important in re-establishing the true nature of our democracy, ensuring the true and accurate representation of its citizenry.

I can see the argument now: “Average people do not have the knowledge or skill-set to run a successful government.” This attitude is created and enforced by the layers of built-in redundancy in the current bureaucratic system. These complications are not only unnecessary, but costly to the American public. Their only purpose is the enforcement of a continued “politician class,” which requires specialized training and political connections.

By enacting an allotted democracy, we could change the entire state of public affairs—simplifying government, streamlining bureaucracy—allowing the common person to not only have an actual voice in politics, but also a true understanding of the application of their taxes.

It may seem a bit sensational to some—but to me, it’s common sense.

Sunday, April 26, 2009

We'll Miss You, Dorothy.


Beatrice "Bea" Arthur
(May 13, 1922 – April 25, 2009)


Yesterday a legend of stage and television passed away. Beatrice Arthur left this mortal realm, pushed down the river Styx by the cruel, indifferent paddles of cancer. She was 86.

I grew up watching The Golden Girls. Why, you ask, would a young boy of budding loins watch a sitcom about four old women trying to get laid? Did I see a little bit of myself in this quadruplet of horny geriatrics? Perhaps, friends, perhaps.

Oh, Sophia, the sharp-tongued shaman of the group. Her barbed wit was my own, and every pointless, moralless story of hers buoyed me. She was sharp, cold sometimes, but in her ran a riptide of deep concern that, in times of trouble, upended the feet of her friends and pulled them away from danger, towards the comforting, brackish waters of the Messina Strait. Dio ti benedica, Sophia.

Rose! Oh, Rose, the ray of sunshine, playfully dancing just above the legal line of mental retardation. Rose was unbridled enthusiasm and optimism personified in a stupid Norwegian woman. She was the life raft of the group, for when things grew dark, her empty head kept them afloat and laughing. Those Golden Girls fed on her non sequiturs like honey, and it was good.

Blanche. The Southern queen that danced on the edge of whoredom, but never quite crossed over. Lovingly dubbed a "human mattress" by Sophia, Blanche was actually the legal owner of the house the girls lived in; and though the kingdom was hers, she shared it as if they were all queens. Though she was selfish, self-destructive, and a borderline sex addict with dependency issues, she always put her friends first, except a man's junk was in the vicinity - and if that isn't true friendship, what in God's name is?

Finally, Dorothy. As sour as spoiled milk and as bitter as a drag queen, Dorothy had a hard exterior; but to delve beneath her crust one finds...well, yes, an even harder interior. But, keep going, explorer! Dig even deeper, past the still quite bitter outer core of her heart, and you will find an shimmering inner core of pure, priceless gold.

Now, though the beauty of that gilded core is shrouded in Dorothy's cold, impenetrable sternum, and its vulnerable, sonorous beat is rendered inaudible by her unsettlingly mannish demeanor, it still exists, friends - it still exists. Yes, the "Golden" in these Golden Girls was Dorothy, and let us never forget that. Rest in peace, mia bella.

Saturday, April 25, 2009

Point Break

The buffalo look like ants from up here. At least, those oughta be buffalos. People been dropped in on the bear pasture by mistake before. I don’t take no chances either way, and keep a Bowie in my boot just in case.

It's strange how peaceful it gets. The movies always make it seem like driving a hundred per hour down the freeway with your eyes closed, but I swear, I could fall to god damn sleep up here.

I started doing this shit when I got tired of shooting them poor bastards over the internet. They got this camera strapped to a bolt rifle on a turret, see, and I’ll be damned if they didn’t hook it up to the world wide web. You can sit ass naked at home and blow some deer’s brains out just with your keyboard. I swear to god.

Now. There are some rules to this shit, believe it or not. The first is pistols only. Two at most. The second is no shooting from under a thousand feet. Anything less than that and it ain’t even a sport. These animals been bred to be shot, so they wouldn’t know a bullet coming at their brain from a bird taking a shit. The buffalo, at least. El oso, on the other hand, well, they’re a little harder to break. It’s like them bears in the circus wearing a tutu and riding a god damn tricycle around. You make a clown of anyone long enough, and by god, they’ll snap eventually, I’ll tell you that. Bears ain’t meant to be tamed. They’re just hardwired to kill, and that’s how god made em’.

Allright. Enough of this bullshit. Now, first thing, you got to keep a gun clean, especially at these altitudes. The thin air’ll make the ignition a bit wonky, so you got to keep them clean and oiled. You don’t take that thing completely apart and clean every bit out, well, you end up like my niece and be missing a cheek. She’s a shame, but she still got the other one to pinch. Poor girl.

And…there. There. There. There. Mother fuckin’, fuckin’ THERE. There. God DAMN it.

Hmph. It’s hard to tell if those bastards go down or not. They’re just a growing blob of brown from up here. I tell you what, though. The movies sure as hell making shooting a pistol in free fall look every bit as exciting as it is. Whew. A couple more and…shit. It’s always over sooner than you thought it’d be. But anyway. Time to pull.

UHHFF. Damn. I swear, the little guys gotta have calluses on em’ by now. This ain’t a sport for reproducers, that’s for sure. Truth be told, though, I almost like parachutin’ more than falling. Things are a lot more peaceful. There ain’t nothing on Earth like slowly floating down towards her. Closest thing to being a baby I ever done, except maybe smack. It’s a bad habit, but fuck it. Sometimes you just got to get gone, you know?

Annnnnndddd…ah, fuck.

It’s the bear pasture.

How To Be Green OR How Not To Be a Fuckhead

You know what color I love? Puce. The muddy color of a dirty plum. Purple, puce’s more virtuous cousin. Royal. Majestic. Like an ox. No, wait – that’s blue. Blue, the color of the sea…or an ox.

On the other hand, do you know what color chafes my twat? Green. The color of jealousy. The color of a gangrenous wound, and the color of my beautiful, limpid eyes glistening after a good cry. Why am I crying? Red. The crimson, inflamed patience of someone stuck on a bus going twenty miles under the speed limit, forced to breathe the musky fumes of his fellow passengers because a single cyclist is riding in the HOV lane rather than the clearly treacherous, unnavigatable sidewalk.

Whether they wear spandex, or tight manpris, cyclists are people. They are still people. Are they cool? Maybe. Is cycling a less polluting way to travel than driving a car? Usually. But when a single cyclist holds up an entire bus of commuters, thereby causing more pollution than one cyclist could ever hope to, they deserve to be slowly, but gently, coaxed on the sidewalk by the front bumper of that bus. There could be nothing more green, more healthful for the earth and its bipedal inhabitants than caressing, physically coaxing a single man towards a greener solution with a two-ton bullet. That is humanity’s gift to itself.

What does being Green mean? It means reducing your carbon footprint. It means giving Mother Earth a loving reach-around and a pat on the back. But we’re getting confused, people. There are far too many factors involved in being Green for a single Earth-conscious individual to synthesize into a reasonable gameplan of action, so let’s juggle some thought balls and see if we don’t end up with a happy audience, or at least juggling's equivalent of a happy audience.

Many coffee shops offer silverware to use instead of disposable stir sticks. The thought here is that instead of filling a landfill with latte-skinned plastic straws, one can use silverware that doesn’t need to be deposited in the garage after one use. But, there are numerous factors at play here. A disposable stirrer needs to be produced, which means using gasoline and other pollutants. The stirrer is then thrown in the garbage after one use, eventually filling a landfill. But silverware must be produced as well, and though it’s not thrown away after one use, it needs to be washed after every use, which requires water, electricity, and the gasoline required to produce that electricity. Which option is Greener? Beats the shit out of me - but that’s the point. It is not clear which option is better for Mother Earth. Just as in the case of cycling versus driving, the truly Greener solution is not obvious, and might even might counterintuitive. What does this mean? It means Green-crazed yupsters should take a moment to consider the validity and weight of their actions, especially when throwing a non-verbal Tsk Tsk towards those who don’t ape them.

Another Green issue is what we foods we decide to shove in our faceholes. Producing meat is an inefficient use of energy in comparison with a vegetarian diet. This is indisputable. We grow food not to eat ourselves, but to feed and raise an animal, which eventually we will then eat. The scale at which meat is raised in this country means a massive amount of energy is being wasted on raising meat. If you have ever talked to a Vegan they will enlighten you to these facts; especially the newly converted herbivores, for though they ride tall, tall horses, they are more than happy to dismount for a moment to educate the steedless.

So, clearly, what we chew is an issue of the utmost concern, right? No. No, it is not, you self-important gobs of hummus. The average person has a finite amount of time, energy, and money to pursue their ideals. Being Green does not look the same across the board. One person might recycle every piece of waste they produce down to their used dental floss (squeegee, disinfect, dry, and reuse). Another might choose mass transportation over driving to the store in a really, really cool Hummer. Another might simply choose to donate their money to Green organizations that then use that money to further Green technologies. One might even forgo being Green altogether – stifle your gasps - and focus their limited excess resources not on reducing their own carbon footprint, but other issues, such as reducing the footprints of the homeless by volunteering in homeless shelters or in local foodbanks. To focus solely on one issue and consider it paramount to others is not only short-sighted, but unreasonable, and will probably lead to becoming a preachy dickhead.

There are many ways to help the Earth and the life on it. People choose to accomplish this through various routes, none of them more important, or moral than another. To forget this leads down a ruinous road of myopism, and of becoming a total fuckhead. Good day.

The Socioeconomic Costs of Social Interaction

Caitlin’s boyfriend told her he loved her today for the very first time. There can only be a handful of moments in a relationship more touching and novel. One would imagine such an important event occurring over a romantic dinner, or some other special event, like Valentine’s Day.

In this case, he told her in a text message. And, yes, this is a true story.

The dynamics of modern social interaction are quite different from fifty, even thirty years ago. Today we have cell phones, email, text messages, and social networking sites such as Facebook and MySpace – the latter site holding more than 106 million members. Today, our ability to communicate with those close to us has never been easier or more efficient.

How, then, can we explain why, according to a 2006 study, people have fewer close friends than their peers did thirty years ago? How can we explain why their network of everyday friends have decreased by a third; and how can we explain why the number of people who said they had no one to talk to about important issues tripled. What is the reason for this growing, widespread disconnect? Why have people’s social networks not only decreased in size, but, more alarmingly, in quality?

The answer, strangely enough, lies in economics.

Thirty years ago the only way to communicate with your immediate social network was either over the phone, or in person. Today we can communicate with others through cell phones, email, instant messaging, social networking sites, and texting. We as a society are deluged with modes of communication, most of them being instantaneous.

The benefits to this communication revolution are obvious: Easier, quicker communication at work increases productivity, especially within large companies. Cell phones free us from the leash of landlines, and allow us to cheaply communicate with others wherever we go. We can talk to, and send pictures to our family members back home over email. If you’re running late to meet a friend, you can send them a quick text message to let them know. Social networking sites let you find old friends, new friends, and interact with people on an entirely new tier of interconnectedness. It has never been easier or cheaper to connect with others.

So what are the downsides, if any, to these new, widespread forms of communications?

That’s where economics comes in. The biggest problem with lowering the cost of communication, which includes time and effort spent communicating, is that this low cost, logically, devalues communication. For example, when water is cheap, people consume it liberally; but when a tax is applied to water usage, people become frugal with their water consumption. So, economically speaking, the “supply” of communication is at an all time high, and logically, the value we place on it is at rock bottom, and this is reflected in our use of communication. When making plans to meet your friends requires no more effort than sending a text, the cost of communication is next to nothing.

Now, since the primary viewpoint of this essay is an economic one, we should examine some economic principles that will help us better measure the costs of communication:

Cost:

What is the cost to you of finding a diamond in your backyard? Most people would answer none at all; but the true cost to you is the value of that diamond. If it’s worth three thousand dollars, by not selling it you are losing three thousand dollars that you otherwise would have. This is an important point to remember because the cost of one good is equivalent to the worth of other goods you forgo by consuming that original good.

To demonstrate this principle, let’s look at a situation that’s a bit more common sense, and far more likely. Suppose it’s a warm, sunny Saturday and you would love nothing more than to be lying on the beach, drinking a beer. The problem is that your friend invited you to her birthday party at noon, and you agreed to attend. You value lying on the beach much more than being inside at your friend’s birthday party. To better represent our value for these two options, let’s assign numeric representations of our value for them:

Laying on beach = 10

Friend’s birthday = 4

By going to your friend’s birthday party, you are forgoing, in other words, losing 6 units of value you otherwise would have by going to the beach. It is expensive to you to attend your friend’s birthday party because you are losing value by going. But, let’s suppose the day is rainy instead. In this situation, you value being outside in the rain very little:

Being outside in the rain = 1.

Friend’s birthday = 4.

In this case, you actually gain value by going to your friend’s birthday. The value you placed on going to your friend’s birthday party didn’t change, but the value of your other option did, changing with one you preferred. This is an example of relative price. The actual value you placed on going to your friend’s birthday didn’t change, but its relative price did, thus altering which option you preferred.

To apply this idea to the topic at hand, the previous modes of communicating with others was in-person or over a landline. There really was no substitute; but, with the invention of cell phones, email, and texting, we have now introduced three substitutes for face to face communication. Because these three substitutes have lower costs, which I will demonstrate shortly, we have increased the relative price of in-person communication. Economically speaking, an increase in the price of one good creates an increase in demand for its substitute - in this case, the substitutes being communicating via cell phone, email or texting. Economically, it makes more sense to use the cheaper substitute.

Now, let’s examine the costs involved with these various modes of communication:

In-person

There are many costs associated with communicating in-person. By committing to one set of plans, you forgo anything else you could have done; and when communication is instantaneous and portable, there is almost always a more attractive option available somewhere.

This knowledge of other options devalues the act of committing to just one. In the past you had little ability to know what else was going on without actually being there or hearing about it beforehand. Today we have the ability to be instantly aware of parties, concerts, or whatever your friends are up to at any instant, thus increasing the cost of committing to one plan dramatically. Because your knowledge of other plans has increased, you are consciously forgoing more than previously.

When communicating with others in-person, you must spend time meeting someone and talking with them. We all know that time is money, and has worth. Additionally, if you happen to be talking about unpleasant topics, there is a cost in experiencing empathy for others’ negative emotions. We are social, emotional creatures, and can’t help but empathize with our loved ones. If they are sad, we become sad, and that’s an immediate and visceral cost. All of these reasons make communicating with others in-person a valuable, but costly mode of communicating.

Cell phone

Communicating with others via cell phone is less costly than doing so in-person. The cell phone allows one to forgo only a minimal amount of time speaking with others because one can do other things while talking. Cell phone conversations have a high value because we are able to converse while taking care of other important tasks simultaneously. The only real cost is losing the ability to speak to people other than who you’re speaking to on the phone, as cashiers everywhere know all too well.

Email

Email has a lower cost than talking in-person, or on a cell phone. It provides a multi-faceted value, sparing one the costs of in-person communication, while allowing them to formulate their thoughts exactly as they’d like. One can write at their leisure and use less valuable time. Also, if the discussion topic is awkward or difficult, you bypass the negative feelings associated with discussing such things in person. Email also allows one to say what they’d like with little regard for the other person. Email is a series of monologues, and because of this, saves you the effort of replying to someone else’s immediate response. All of these factors give email a high value and a low cost.

Texting

It doesn’t get any cheaper than texting. Not only do you bypass seeing or hearing the other person, but you also dispense with spending time meeting them, or even talking to them. One can text anytime, anywhere. The only cost to texting is the time one spends typing the message, and since a large portion of the texting population has mastered the ability pilot two-ton metal missiles while texting, multi-tasking mostly eliminates this cost. Texting saves you a great deal of value, and the costs are nearly non-existent.

We have one problem, though. An economic analysis only works accurately if we are aware of all the costs and benefits involved. People estimate value by weighing an item’s costs and benefits, so we can only accurately estimate a good’s value if we know all of these factors. By being aware of our options’ costs and benefits, we can then compare the value of them.

But, what if we’re not aware of all of a good’s benefits or, worse yet, all of its costs? To estimate the true value of a good, we must know all of the costs involved. Without this info, we are overvaluing an option, which can lead to poor decisions. For instance, we’ve only recently become aware of how high the true cost of consuming Trans Fats is. Now that we know the true costs of Trans Fats, people are altering their consumption of them. To speak to this essay’s topic: are there any hidden costs to the various modes of communication now available to us?

Our biggest problem to answering this question is in measuring our value of the connections formed through communication. Though we can’t quantify such things, we can place relative values on them, ranking their value as high, medium, or low. The value we place on relationships is usually directly proportional to the amount of social and emotional bonds we have formed within that relationship. By quantifying the quality of bonds formed through the various modes of communication examined within this essay, we now have a good basis to measure the value of our relationships.

Upon examination, texting and email clearly form weak bonds because there is little cost to the conversation; thus, little value is invested. Speaking to others face to face, though, and to a lesser extent, talking on a phone, form stronger bonds because these modes have higher costs. The initiator is investing significantly more value in the conversation. Though we might not consciously be aware of it, we do intuitively understand this. To illustrate, one could quite accurately make an ordered list of their immediate friends, rated by closeness, simply by adding up how much time they spend talking to them face to face.

To give a personal example of this, my relationship with the lazy-eyed, goateed sandwich artist at my local Subway is weak. We don’t talk much, and when we do, it’s invariable about sandwiches. I don’t value my relationship with him for many reasons, but at the core it is because we don’t talk much. If I were to have some sort of falling out with him, I wouldn’t be losing a valuable relationship. I can go elsewhere for a sandwich, though finding someone with a lazy eye and a goatee to make me one might be harder. I’ll leave quantifying the value of such things for another time.

At any rate - the bonds I have with my friends are much stronger in comparison to the Sandwich Artist, and hold much more value to me. There is a huge cost to me in losing or harming these relationships because I have spent a lot of time and energy cultivating them. In economic terms, I would be losing the value of my entire “investment” in that person if that friendship is broken.

We’ve already examined the obvious costs and benefits to the various modes of communication available to us today, but are there any less obvious, hidden costs?

First, let’s look at face to face contact. What hidden costs are inherent to this form of communication? Nothing of significance, really. For the most part, what you see is what you get. One invests time, effort, and emotional energy into the recipient. You’re having a dialogue with them that demonstrates that you value them. By speaking to people face to face, we can exchange ideas, clarify points, heal wounds, and otherwise strengthen a relationship.

Next, email and texting, which we’ll lump together as they are similar modes of communication. Do they have any hidden costs? Absolutely.

Before texting and email, people could only interact face to face, or over a landline phone. These are highly personal modes of communication in which one invests many valuable goods, such as time and energy. This investment increases the value of the relationship.

Texting and email, on the other hand, are highly impersonal. One spends next to nothing communicating via these modes, thereby investing little value in the relationship. Whereas a relationship’s value is increased greatly through face to face communication, texting and email increase a relationship’s value little. These modes form no concrete social bonds, and can actually decrease a relationship’s value if the other person takes offense at the impersonal nature of the communication. For instance, if someone in your zip code writes or texts you more than they call or make plans, it’s a good bet they don’t value your relationship highly.

What’s interesting about the costs of texting or email is that they increase as frequency of use increases. No reasonable person would care if their friend sent them a text saying they’ll be 15 minutes late, but if this friend communicated with you frequently via text regarding subjects of an inappropriate social weight, such as breaking plans or revealing bad news, texting actually harms a relationship. The more frequent these types of communications, the more the relationship’s bonds are weakened.

When compared to face to face communication, texting and email have small gains and an indeterminate amount of costs ranging from small to great. To illustrate this mathematically, the cost benefit ratio for texting could be estimated roughly at a potential 3:1, while the cost benefit ratio of face to face communication is heavily skewed towards the benefits, perhaps 2:7. While texting and email can save time, their potential social costs are concerning.

There are few of us that can overlook a good deal, and texting’s low costs, when compared to face to face or a phone call, are hard to resist. If we need to communicate with someone, we are faced with a quick decision: Do I make plans, do I simply call, or do I text? More frequently, people are choosing texting. As I previously illustrated, for these modes, as the frequency of use rises, so do the costs; and as more and more people choose email and texting, the hidden costs increase and accumulate.

Now, after we have examined the true costs and benefits of the various modes of communication available to us today, let us reevaluate our original questions. Why do people have fewer close friends than their peers did thirty years ago? Why has their network of everyday friends decreased by a third? Why has the number of people who reported that they had no one to talk to about important issues tripled? The answer lies in how much we as a society invest in our relationships with others. While it is incorrect to blame the tools at our disposal for the quality of our social bonds, we must still examine what drives us to invest less within our relationships, whether it is because of convenience, or because we value our relationships less.