Now this isn’t some kind of blog where you come and ooh and the shiny bullshit that the machine keeps spurting out onto the shocked and adoring faces of the consuming, swollen masses. But… Well, I’ve spent half this goddamn summer completely incoherent, stumbling around the streets gibbering at the bodega men to hydrate me in a desperate attempt to cool down the internal temperature so as to birth a single thought that isn’t half boiled and wrung out of all meaning.
ISN’T THIS WHAT WE WERE PROMISED??? SOME SORTA GEORGE JETSON WAY TO CONQUER THE CLIMATE AND SMILE OUR WAY THROUGH OUR INDIFFERENT SCORCHING OF THE PLANET???
I mean, just look at that chief! He looks happy right? Like some panting dog, cool and safe and digging that breeze those jet engines or whatever are blowing on his meaty all-American neck. Seriously, it’s time we just admit it: our loathsome sweaty bodies have betrayed us for too long and the least stumbling first step we can take towards post humanism is looking like a dork while cooling down the back of your neck.
Yeah, you can find this ungodly awkward bullshit at the Sharpe Image, obviously, but I’ll be damned if I’m gonna link there so HERE YOU GO.