Someone's Twitter account just sent me a Viagra ad. (Actually, it was a Viagra knock off. Viagra doesn't need to advertise. But that's not the point.)
The point is this: A human I actually know in flesh form had their microblogging alter-ego possessed by an invisible (yet clearly capitalist) computer-robot, designed with the sole intention of selling me synthetic sex enhancers in pill form while disguised as a person I've known for years, leaving me feeling violated and manipulated. Future: 1, Me: 0.
I'm old fashioned, I guess. But I swear that this event is important somehow. My gut tells me it's another sign that robots are taking over the world. And my gut's gut tells him he's probably right.
This shit happens all the time to people like us (internet/tech users), but not to those Outlanders who for some reason stay off the grid (non-nerds, seniors, mountain folk). It's weird and unsettling if you step back and think about it. It feels like the old guy that oversees the logic center of my brain just crossed an item off his Armageddon bucket list.
You might think I'm crazy. It's just spam. What's the big deal?
The big deal is, if this message was sent with exactly the same content but delivered as snail-mail instead, (the kind I grew up with, also known as "mail" mail), I'd only be able to come to the conclusion that someone took my friend hostage and sent me a ransom letter demanding I buy dick pills or else I never get to see him again.
We put too much faith into people's social network identities. So what exactly happens to the internet version of you when your friends' internet versions of themselves go missing? Do you call the Architect from the Matrix? Dial 311 and ask for Tron? Put up flyers on Facebook walls until they come back to us?
God. It's all so befuddling. I get caveman hands trying to type about it.
Just imagine what the grizzle-faced rapey dudes from "Deliverance" would think if you tried explaining this to them.
They'd be so mesmerized by the pops and clicks in those fancy college words coming out of your pretty, city-slicker mouth that they might just forget to anally rape you long enough for you to make a run for it.
Oh well, I guess it's all inevitable.
I'm just glad this particular pirate-tweet is one with health benefits in mind. If I have to have internet ninja robots hacking into my world from now until I die, it's better to have a cool one doing it rather than one of those asshole robots. Because evil or not, a robot that wants to make my penis strong is far more preferable to getting a email confirmation from Skynet telling me they're sending one of their special T-1000 Life Technicians somewhere between 2 and 5 tomorrow in order to disconnect my life service.