Ohhh, I’m so lucky I don’t have a smartphone.
If I had a smartphone, I’d be on Twitter, and if I were on Twitter, I’d never leave.
I’m not at all tempted to join Facebook (ha!), but I see Twitter as a kind of endless cyber-can of deliciously salty Pringles.
The only defense I have against deliciously salty Pringles is not to buy them. If I have them in the house, I scarf them all down in one or two (sometimes—rarely—I can stretch it out to three) days, after which I tip the can back so I can suck in those remaining splintered bits.
So, Twitter=Pringles—only in this case it would be the tweets I’d write rather than consume that I’d find so addictive.
Women shouldn’t have sex. . . with people who think women shouldn’t have sex.
Brand loyalty is for suckers.
Know where you live, live where you are.
These aren’t bad, really, but I often think I’m more clever than I am, and could see myself dropping line after line thinking each were a bon mot, when really they’d be less literary than littering.
Which would be embarrassing, but even worse would be that I’d have yet another distraction from my work: instead of thinking, I’d be twinking.
*Uhkf* It’s gonna suck when my dumb phone dies.