The Day The Internet Died…


This isn’t a warning about the Y2K problem. It's more of an extended daydream. Mama Jackal has a lot of those…


Saw another rack of servers hit Market Street this morning. Looked like a bunch of Suns - of course - falling out of orbit. At least the dudes pushing it out of the tenth story were polite enough to yell "Look out below!" before the chips hit the fan. I've seen some kids making jewelry from the shrapnel - as good a use as any, I guess.

The big thing, now, is to have a typewriter, or a bike, or both. The couriers and scribes are making a stinking fortune. They’ve just set themselves up floating storefronts on the street and do their thing, charging as much as the traffic will bear. Seems that everyone’s forgotten how to write. Now if we can just slap the "I told you so" sneer off the speed-crazed messengers, I’ll be almost happy.

I hear the chief Java dudes from Yipee! got spotted down on 3rd rooting through garbage cans for recyclables. I hope they’re good in a knife fight. The homeless are pretty territorial and they ain’t happy about sharing.

It’s still unsafe to go through the financial district - bodies are still hitting the ground frequently enough to make it hazardous. The stock-market whiz kids who don’t take the quick way out are going to be burning those portfolios for heat, pretty soon. Combined with the last of the desperate looters hoping to find some viable currency in the banks and storefronts - and the whole starvation-typhoid thing - the city ain’t so great a place to be.

Despite the internet ‘revolution’ most of your average joes still prefer tee-vee to anything Billygates could have offered - missed that lynching, what a shame. But things ain’t that much better in the ‘burbs. No e-mail, no web-porn, and the banks have gone belly-up, so it’s looting-for-trade-goods-time for Joe American.

It’s always been said that any society is three meals away from revolution. Shame no-one converted that to mouse clicks.

Back to where you came from or read previous howlings.

E-mail The Maternal Jackal.

Nedstat Counter