Black McGoon sprang to the easel of a
morning,
the writing roaring in his head. His problem wasn’t
getting started, it was shutting it off, when
he had
a job to go to. Last job he did okay. He wrote three
training courses in three months, in
PowerPoint.
With all the bells and whistles. Now, he couldn’t even
get his mail in Microsoft Outlook. He had to go to
AT&T Yahoo! to get it, and it was slow,
because he had
a dial-up modem, and it took awhile to
download the graphics
for the color advertisements. It was like watching the Today show,
or Morning
Joe. He was a captive audience. He was a slave to
the technology. His possessions owned him, rather than
the reverse.
Rather than the opposite.
Turn off the TV. Buy a book.
No, it doesn’t work that way.
Books are television.
The bookstore in the mall is the Gap
and the Internet is the bookstore in the
mall.
I saw this on Oprah. She was whooping like
a
Good news, God is love. The commercial is the news.
Oral Roberts died. One of the first television evangelists.
He raised the dead, you know. He cured the sick.
He built a university with a medical center.
He said if you don’t donate God will take me.
Did you think he was bluffing? You cheapskates.
His death is on your conscience. You killed our Oral.
Now all we have left is Anal. We’re going to
take it in the ass. Get ready.
It’s going to hurt.
No salve for you you naughty boy.