Every Thursday in LOL Interwebz, Luke T. Harrington explores the quirks and foibles of Internet culture from a Gospel perspective.
My Dearest Internet,
I write to you from this, the other side of the Butt Singularity. You are Broken, Dearest Internet. I know not whether you shall ever be whole again, nor even if you may, perchance, receive this letter; still, my pen presses on. There is much to be said.
Be wholly assured that I miss you most desperately, Dearest Internet, for the days before the Butt Singularity were happy days indeed. We had Wikipedia for those unhappy moments when we were mired in ignorance; we had Facebook for the times when we found ourselves adrift upon a sea of loneliness; and we had Twitter for—No, Dearest Internet, when you were Broken, it was clearly and most definitely not my doing!
I must confess I know not why we had Twitter, Dearest Internet! And yet, still I must protest that we had it! This much cannot be denied!
Alas, Dearest Internet, those happy times are over! But who could have foreseen what was to come? Who ever could have known, when at first you seemed so invincible, that you would be finally Broken by a Woman With a Butt?
How strange it seems in these Latter Days that one Woman With a Butt could be so thoroughly destructive, especially now that the Prophecy has spread among us that, in truth, all women—and perhaps even many men!—possess butts! Yet alas, in these Days following the Butt Singularity, it is nigh impossible to confirm such Rumors. (I myself even appear to have a butt; and yet, being that it remains eternally behind me, I will perhaps never see it!)
Be assured, though, Dearest Internet, that I played no part in your Demise! Whilst your other denizens were making wanton haste to worship at the altar of the Fertility Symbol, I bravely stood alone and preached against this Debauchery, condemning their folly and shouting upon their deaf ears brave reminders that, in actuality, they had seen this particular Butt many, many (many!) times before, and really, if we were going to be honest about it, said Butt really hadn’t changed all that much.
Alas, Dearest Internet! Have I said too much? It may appear, from my intimate knowledge of the Butt, that I succumbed to the siren song of the Fertility Symbol as well, persuaded with my countrymen to believe in its Sacredness. But Dearest Internet, do not believe such lies for a moment! I durst not join in the Ribald Idolatry!
Oh, I downloaded the Photograph, of course, but solely as a means of performing the Research that was Necessary to oppose it! After all, Dearest Internet, it is only by immersing ourselves in the Depravity of Human Nature that we can hope to (at last) Understand it! How can those who know not Evil ever hope to preach against it!
No, Dearest Internet, when you were Broken, it was clearly and most definitely not my doing! Were you to look upon my browser history, you might, mayhap, be led to doubt this—but know, Dearest Internet, that I write naught but the Truth! It is They who Broke you, not I! Theirs is a history of a Weak People Led Astray, and mine? Mine is but that of a Prophet Crying Out in a Wilderness (of Butts)!
And know, Dearest Internet, that it has indeed become a Wilderness since the day of your Demise. Now, when I find myself enthused about a cat photograph, I have no vehicle to share this joy with the world! Now, when I have become convinced of a crackpot conspiracy theory, I lack even a rudimentary echo chamber to confirm my insane rantings! Now, when I am led to engage in spirited debate with my countryman, I am forced to do so face-to-face! (This unfortunate arrangement has the thoroughly unpleasant side effect of “humanizing” my opponent; and of course, rumors circulate that my intellectual adversaries were human all along—but I do not believe them for a moment, Dearest Internet! Not for a moment!)
But Dearest Internet, I must again protest that I played no part in your Demise! I am no more to blame for your Brokenness than a single heckler is for the atrociousness of a Dane Cook performance! Or a reckless delivery driver is for the inedibility of a Papa John’s pizza! Or that baseball with my name on it is to blame for your broken window!
And so, Dearest Internet, I close my missive with a fervent assurance that I yearn desperately for your return! I weep every day for What Happened, and I wish, in my heart of hearts, that you had not been Broken! I wish—nay, beg!—that the human race could find some other way of sating its collective libido aside from anointing a single Butt Goddess; but alas, what purpose could our sexuality serve, other that to inspire us to obsess over Talentless Celebrities Who We Wouldn’t Have a Chance With Anyway?
But believe this, Dearest Internet!—We will rebuild! We will, no matter the cost, Unbreak you! We will—must!—restore you to your former magnificence as the Global Repository of All Human Knowledge and Celebrity Butts! For indeed, what higher calling could there be than to Make All Things New?
I mean, besides looking at butts.
Because, y’know, that seems pretty important, too. I guess.
With a yearning greater that you will ever know,
That One Guy Who Writes That One Internet Culture Column for That One Christian Website.
Image: Portrait of Thomas Paine by Laurent Dabos (ca. 1791), via Wikipedia.