It’s time to address the fact that today’s society is suffering from one of the greatest epidemics of this millenium: an epidemic of connection. These days, it’s starting to seem like there is an undeniable shortage of genuine human connection, and by genuine human connection, I mean people willing to have sex with me specifically.
When did this happen? It seems like just yesterday, when people left the house, it meant they actually wanted to talk to each other. But nowadays, no one wants to let you sidle up to a coffee shop with an ambiguous stack of “work” anymore and scoot closer to the twenty-three-year-olds and ask them banal questions about their drink orders and think they won’t notice you’re trying really hard to have sex with them. What gives?
Look, maybe I’m just a product of my generation. For whatever reason, I can’t get behind the fake Instagrams and the selfies. Sue me. I want to get deep. I want to talk about real things, like free will and mortality and whether or not that convinced you to have sex with me.
Please let me have sex with you. Pleeeease. PLEASE. Okay. I’ll bite. What do I need to do? Be “twenty-five?” Not be palpably teeming with the steady accumulation of years of sexual and romantic frustration, nurtured by a high-functioning addiction to pornography developed in my teens and never really recovered from?
On second thought, I think I’m gonna just keep vaguely blaming this on COVID-19.
Wake up, people. Put down your cell phones and your “memes” and get outside. There is a whole world out there waiting to be seen. People waiting to be seen. And touched. And spit and pissed on. And stepped on in heels. Praise God, Amen. So who’s with me now? The modern era has robbed enough from us. Let’s not let it also take the spirit of wanting to touch people who are me.
