Luddite Round-Up
Luddite Round-Up will be an irregular feature of this blog. Each post will detail various proofs that we've spent the past several decades sliding from our once proud position as hunting, gathering, warring kings of the food chain to our current lowly vantage as fat, helpless, cheese-doodle-eating, TV watching, not-voting-but-complaining worthless sacks of shit. Enjoy my periodic fits of temper, and feel free to add your own.
Today's subject: Luggage with Goddamn rollers on it.
Once upon a time, luggage was some heavy shit. When people traveled far, they used steamer trunks, or crates. When explorers fought their way through jungles, they did so with teams of bearers toting crates behind them. Dr. Livingstone even had a specially made air-cooled Vickers machine gun that packed down into a couple of crates, which were then carried by his bearers. Suitcases, smaller versions of trunks, were carried by hand, your own or hired ones. Be it slave laborer, bearer, sky cap or bellhop, luggage was lifted, and carried to its destination by the hands of men.
Then came the pilot and the stewardess. These arrogant, laconic, sunglassed weirdos and well-coiffed air sluts changed the face of luggage forever. For they were the first group who routinely used small suitcases with rollers on the bottom. Granted, there previously existed wheeled suitcases, but they were the province of the housewife, and the infirm. Good Americans carried normal suitcases, and smirked at those wheeled Samsonsites. It was the airheads who first started using bags small enough to fit carry-on luggage racks, that had telescoping handles and rollers. One could spy gaggles of these plane monkeys in every airport in the country, de-planed and off in search of a lay, a line, or liquor. And fat followed with them.
Like mold on cheese or Scientology through Hollywood, these small roller bags slowly spread into popular culture. First the Europe through the backdoor crowd discovered the small, wheeled bag. Then lawyers, mbas and other autistics began using them, to help them schlep their bullshit around. Today it seems every overweight American is rolling a little bag behind them, doubtless full of TV Guides, nachos, and the latest Oprah book.
Now that I'm on the Island, I have to contend with these worthless, bag-rolling ShitBirds each time I get on or off the ferry. They stagger along, taking mincing steps, their little wheeled bag slaloming behind them, like a disobediant vinyl child. Each of them takes up the space of two normal people, and by some strange synergy, the use of a wheeled bag automatically erases one's ability to walk a straight line, and takes ten points off one's IQ. By the time I make it on or off the ferry, I'm in a lather, and despairing of our future.
So to America I say this: let go of the wheeled bag's handle, and pick up a suitcase, briefcase, traincase, backpack, fanny pack, or purse if you must. I know It's hard to carry heavy stuff, but you do yourself no favors by always and forever avoiding any form of physical activity. For if you continue to avoid it, the day will come when you are incapable of it.
Long ago, we were fleet of foot, and strong. Small groups of men, using sharp rocks, pointy sticks and plenty of moxie, killed mammoth. There's a great and furious weirdness in the offing, and it's just around the corner. Do you want to face it as a sad sack of shit with a little bag with wheels on it, or as a man? The choice is yours. Fair warning though; keep yourself and your Goddamn wheeled bag the hell out of my way.
Today's subject: Luggage with Goddamn rollers on it.
Once upon a time, luggage was some heavy shit. When people traveled far, they used steamer trunks, or crates. When explorers fought their way through jungles, they did so with teams of bearers toting crates behind them. Dr. Livingstone even had a specially made air-cooled Vickers machine gun that packed down into a couple of crates, which were then carried by his bearers. Suitcases, smaller versions of trunks, were carried by hand, your own or hired ones. Be it slave laborer, bearer, sky cap or bellhop, luggage was lifted, and carried to its destination by the hands of men.
Then came the pilot and the stewardess. These arrogant, laconic, sunglassed weirdos and well-coiffed air sluts changed the face of luggage forever. For they were the first group who routinely used small suitcases with rollers on the bottom. Granted, there previously existed wheeled suitcases, but they were the province of the housewife, and the infirm. Good Americans carried normal suitcases, and smirked at those wheeled Samsonsites. It was the airheads who first started using bags small enough to fit carry-on luggage racks, that had telescoping handles and rollers. One could spy gaggles of these plane monkeys in every airport in the country, de-planed and off in search of a lay, a line, or liquor. And fat followed with them.
Like mold on cheese or Scientology through Hollywood, these small roller bags slowly spread into popular culture. First the Europe through the backdoor crowd discovered the small, wheeled bag. Then lawyers, mbas and other autistics began using them, to help them schlep their bullshit around. Today it seems every overweight American is rolling a little bag behind them, doubtless full of TV Guides, nachos, and the latest Oprah book.
Now that I'm on the Island, I have to contend with these worthless, bag-rolling ShitBirds each time I get on or off the ferry. They stagger along, taking mincing steps, their little wheeled bag slaloming behind them, like a disobediant vinyl child. Each of them takes up the space of two normal people, and by some strange synergy, the use of a wheeled bag automatically erases one's ability to walk a straight line, and takes ten points off one's IQ. By the time I make it on or off the ferry, I'm in a lather, and despairing of our future.
So to America I say this: let go of the wheeled bag's handle, and pick up a suitcase, briefcase, traincase, backpack, fanny pack, or purse if you must. I know It's hard to carry heavy stuff, but you do yourself no favors by always and forever avoiding any form of physical activity. For if you continue to avoid it, the day will come when you are incapable of it.
Long ago, we were fleet of foot, and strong. Small groups of men, using sharp rocks, pointy sticks and plenty of moxie, killed mammoth. There's a great and furious weirdness in the offing, and it's just around the corner. Do you want to face it as a sad sack of shit with a little bag with wheels on it, or as a man? The choice is yours. Fair warning though; keep yourself and your Goddamn wheeled bag the hell out of my way.
posted by DirtyBird at 11:13
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