I'm not a zeitgeist type of prole, or nebbish, I don't have a stick with electrics in that with which I can talks to persons more than many yards away. In fact I find the shouting over chain-link fence, from one to another, suffices in the hard-sunshined backlots hereabouts.
"Hey, Cletus, you got the sack out the basement yet, ya motherfucker," is all I have to say to communicate to my social network.
Cletus, redneck, redface, always responds with "Fuck ya facebook, I'm blocking ya friend request, cocksucker, I got to friend me some clart on the social me applification."
"Yeah, poke me, ya fucker," I say.
I crack open another beer and wonder if I can piss on my dog again.
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