It's wicked to mock the afflicted

Dear Computer,

I hate your stupid face. You know your little friend internet. I hate his face too. I am going to start a neo-luddite group. One sec. Let me check google to see if someone already has; yep! Luckily, the pages are populated by post-modern ironic wankers. What I am looking for is a good ole' fashion technology-smashing riot. It won't be wool frames this time. It'll be these devil spawned contraptions that allow any early twenty-something to broadcast his angst to the world. A generation ago it was safely restricted to coffee stained notebooks and the occasional poetry meeting. I used to have the illusion there was hope for humanity. I was sure that our generation would come along and mend what the previous let go to waste. Here's that hope dashed. These were found reading another's online journal. They were consecutive entries.

Exhibit A
I've cried myself to sleep three times in the past five days
Exhibit B
Had a lot of fun last night, but I did get heavy with drink, and probably got a little out of control. I need to stop drinking. I can have fun while not being wasted. I've done it many times before. The boy of my dreams stayed with me last night. Very awesome.

For fuck's sake. Now if you'll excuse me I have to check my email and post this entry.