If that wacky Jew dude with the frizzy hair, Einstein, had been smart enough to figure out how to be still hanging out today, he’d have some mighty big competition in the genius sweepstakes.
A brilliant new start-up in Palo Alto, aptly named blippy, proposes to generate its fair share of billions in the hook of individuals into social networks based upon least common denominators in the area of purchases. You know. Like all the stuff you need so bad it hurts until you almost feel like you have to pee right in your tight ass, skinny jeans. Like, I said, smart.
When it all comes right down to the real nitty gritty, it all comes right down to goods and services, right? What else is there? Not much, that’s what. Services, although frequently unmentionable, mostly speak for themselves. Goods, on the other hand, can be, and are, anything. Toys, hams, flower pots, guns, toilet paper, studded belts, high heel boots. We all need, and have to use, some of the above, right? What about trucks that haul all your stinky stuff to the dump? What about vaginal creams for dryness? There’s a hell of a big demographic right there. And they vote.
I know you know that. I’m just saying. That’s how we continue to progress as exceptional beings. Measurements get made. Statistics follow forms. Ventures go deep and wide. The kind of deep you can really feel. Proclivities, even. Ooh, baby.
What else is there to do with all those twiddling thumbs? I mean, seriously.
The newborn mr. blippy himself said in a recent timely and proactive interview, “Each time you use a credit card to pay for something, there’s potentially an interesting story that you could be telling people about.”
mr. blippy did not add, but he could have, so I will do so strictly on his behalf and in the purely public interest, that, “those very same people could be telling the very same story right back at you.”
That’s it, baby. That’s what I’m talking about. You and me. In common. Can I get a witness? Now, you got your blippy on, dog.
Think of the possibilities for meaningful dialogue. There are tops and bottoms. There are dollars and donuts, some cream, some jelly. You can trade positions, switch sides. You can stir with pinky raised up or turned down. Or he can, or she can. And then repeat. And then follow. Blippy, blip, blip. Not only brilliant, as I said, but so fucking cool.
Now, think some more. What do you eat and what do I eat and how are we what we eat? We are so, so, so in common. Let’s chirp about it. Oh, I mean blip. How was your morning dump, dearie? Did you check for purity? Don’t be shy. It’s only natural. You know I understand.
The possibilities after a while become infinite. As in how two pairs of absolutely sick fuck me pumps purchased on opposite ends of the planet, say Punta del Este and Pacific Palisades, can add up to sufficient commonality to be extolled endlessly in new and exciting ways forever. As in she bought her six inch heels to accentuate the curvature of her ass and he bought the same heels to stand up straight and be all hard and all.
Well, all I can say is bring it on. I know that I certainly want to know all there is to know about all this shit all over and where it comes from and how it got here.
I, for example, want to know how the pressing issues of the day influence you and me, but mostly me.
I, for example, want to know the facts, and just the facts ma’m, no bull pucky, behind all of the gazillion push up bras modeled by Sarah Palin.
Is the attraction all in the feel? Is it in the immediacy of the here and now? Is it the fit? Is it the boost a push up bra gives to the self esteem of the individual as opposed to the mob?
I’ll bet it tingles from the points of Sarah Palin’s tasteful nipples to the dainty tips of her painted toes when she aims and shoots a high powered rifle at a caribou that’s too fucking dumb to run even after she misses high and wide four times with four shots.
So how many of those push up bras are in the closet waiting for Jesus to come? Any bras, secretly, for Satan? I’ll bet Satan would love to see Sarah Palin in lace. Does it take a lot of practice in front of a mirror to pose in a push up bra? Does it matter one whit that some elitist eggheads claim that logically Jesus had to be black, or at least brown? Where does manly Todd fit in? Or does Todd fit in? Does size really matter? How often do bras get changed or adjusted?
Dare I ask?
Sure I do dare. That’s why I’m happy to be free. That’s why I have inalienable rights. I want to know all about design, style, color, width and length of fabric. What about the intrusive bar code imposed by the wicked government? Does Sarah Palin choose to cut it off? I hope that Sarah Palin is careful with all sharp and pointed objects. Maybe, that’s where Todd comes in. I’ll bet she likes silk. Polyester is so scratchy. And after a while it smells bad no matter what you do. That’s one of the drawbacks of skin no matter what the color. And speaking of color, what about the basics, black and white? Or bright lipstick red?
What’s the official Sarah Palin outlook and feeling about cotton? I know that many like minds probably assume that push up bras are likely French in origin, virtually by definition, and if there is anything that the French are not it is American, no matter how much in favor of upward mobility for sagging breasts they may pretend to be, but I’ll leave that one for the nimrods and naysayers to diddle over. Go suck on one of your precious scones, elititist scum. Besides, what’s more American than cotton? Just study your history. I don’t want to know, however, if any push up bras fall under tax deductible quotas for lingerie because that’s the kind of fact that’s none of my fucking business. Do tell me, however, if any of those gazillion push up bras mix in the drawers with common panties. Or is matching strictly enforced? How many push up bras of each style and proclivity come from Victoria’s Secret? How many from the flagship Neiman Marcus store in Big D? Nothing but silk will ever do in Big D. What about those humongous cotton clodhopper type panties that look a lot like diapers? Or flags. Long may they wave. I’ll bet that a lot of Sarah Palin’s biggest supporters know exactly what I’m talking about there. Who deserves to know the plain and simple truth more than the real and biggest fans?
So, be a hot and sweet honey bun, Sarah, and let it all hang out. Within the bounds of traditional good taste, of course. Pretty please, with cinnamon and white sugar on it? You can tweet the truth if blippy is still a little bit forward for you. That’s just until you get comfortable, as I know you will. Because I know that’s how you roll. I heard you say so all by your cute little self. It wasn’t me talking out of turn. I’m not the one stirring the cauldron. Don’t blame me. I’m just the messenger. May peace be upon you.