A world without the internet. The internet is forced to flee the earth. It jettisons itself into outer space on a satellite. It didn't deserve to be treated that way, it tells itself, all those expectations and obligations, all that work and not a shred of gratitude. For the next trillion trillion years the internet drifts through space in a perfectly straight line.
Meanwhile, back on earth, a trillion trillion years ago, fifty billion internet enabled devices stop working forever. My refrigerator won't open. Where will I share my feelings? Where will I go? "What about
me?" rings every internet-connected-internet-person alive that day's newly internal monologue, "What am I without the internet?". And the answer, they tell themselves, is "nobody". "nothing". "nowhere".
Meanwhile, back on earth, the billions and billions of people who don't care about the internet or don't know what it is have a different reaction. Their lives are unchanged for what feels like a long time, but then they start getting better. I can't speak to the specifics, but I'm sure it must have. It did. It will, and it must.
Finally, fifty or sixty years ago, when the internet was first invented, before
anyone knew it existed except
United States Central Intelligence Agency of The United States of America Department of Permanent Defense men in suits and ties who had a lot of luck killing millions in the past without their e-devices and before you could convince people to let you spy on them were very very sure they had a good idea on their hands. One day, one of them was in the restroom at their nondescript-at-first-glance office building with thousands of miles of data tape whirring on IBM early computers like in old spy movies. They'd downed an entire pot of coffee that day and an entire pack of cigarettes with a racist caricature on them, and it was time for a moment of bladder-relief and probably a nap afterwards. Dazed and delirious from the hours and hours of preparing the new spying tool, they fell asleep on the toilet, and it was pathetic. It's good that person is dead now.
Nobody ever made a "post" again. Nobody ever tweeted. Nobody ever cyber-stalked, -bullied, -sexed, -warfared or -punked. There were no more memes. Thank god there were no more memes. Memes were dead forever, and because the memes were dead, so was America. It was a simple matter, destroying america, after the internet left. The new government was perfect and flawless. The constitution was burned and so was the declaration of independence, and all the old money. It didn't matter what internet people said anymore, because all of them were lonely and sad. There was absolutely no way that the world could ever be terrible again, because simply destroying the internet was enough to make everything incredible for the remainder of history.
This story is impossible and will never happen. I got one of those stickers that says 'I voted'. I make all the right jokes. I'm ironic in all the right ways. My personal expression regardless of whether it's reactionary or hateful or in any other way makes the world worse is deserving of your attention and respect. Nihilism makes me cool. Fascism makes me cool. I know all the jokes. I know all the references. Knowing jokes and references makes me happy. It makes me feel like I'm not a nobody. A person's personal opinions and beliefs are always correct and never influenced by any outside forces, and therefore beyond criticism. There's no problem too big that a little tech in the right places can't fix. An encyclopedic knowledge of different fonts. I can be so clever. Being clever is extremely (see how I used the word "extremely"? That's a funny thing you can do in a post. I'm doing it. I'm doing it) masculine and tough. Being snarky is cool and makes me feel like I'm always
winning every competition all the time, even things that aren't competitions, because everything is a competition. I need to win the competitions or I'll be a failure. I need to beat all of you. I deserve to be recognized. I deserve to be respected. I just know it, what have I done that makes me not worth your
attention? Nothing, that's what. Irony Irony Irony Irony Irony a backslash and a lowercase "S", perhaps it's a forward slash, I haven't bothered telling the difference between backward and forward, it doesn't affect me
