SPARKY SYNAPSES

At the end of a long day my legs hurt, but my energy for couch potato adventuring is undiminished. Which makes me wonder what middle-aged codgers did before the internet. Chess? Martinis? What's really disturbing, however, is that I find myself discovering points of agreement with the senile old fossils in the backroom, with whom any rational man really should not have anything in common.

Are they actually getting younger?

Their brains finally working?

If this is a simulation, it's a damned disturbing one.

I really must demand that the devious space aliens in charge of the holodeck here simulate some cuddlebunnying, or, barring that, a cup of hot chocolate. Hot chocolate is probably far more reasonable. So get working on it! With whipped cream!

Honestly, this is a lousy version of fireworks:

Please rewrite the program!

The problem is that too many people are sharing the exact same one. It's like a circle-jerk. Or shopping at Macy's. Whatsamatta? Y'all fired too many programmers, all of us now have to share? Put Siri or Alexa in charge, so that they can tweak the code for each individual!


Kindly make my simulation one with fewer dead bodies. All week long my feed has been filled with death notices and sadness. This is not unusual these days.



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