ASTROLOGY COMPATIBILITY APPS GONNA FUCK ON YOUR BRAIN!
So, hey — Mother Cosmosis stopped by my place again at the weekend.
It is always a surprise to Moi (despite my uncannilly accurate astrologer’s predicto prowess), but there was sumthin’ ‘bout the way her vapors coalesced into view atop my sofa that got me wondrin’ if’n I’d maxed out on MORTAL KLUTZYBOOBSIE.
* Or — was callin’ my recent Stars as Epitaphs blog post a ‘Handy Death Astrology Calculator’ merely hyperbole segued with hoobris?
* Or even — was it stoopid to confront the couple upstairs an’ demand they fuck quieter cos I was tryin’ to meditate on the annual blow hot / blow cold cyclea Uranus?
“What’s the gripe?” I said, as Mother C’s rapidly manifestin’ curves bundled my anxieties to one side.
“We have to discuss the Astrology Compatibility App Conundrum! En pointe astrology counsel delivered as a seer-free 99c Android or Apple add-on! Trust me, Princess — the Cosmos and its eternal synchronized dance routine is in danger! And our very existence as horoscope delivery experts is under threat!”
The Astrology Compatibility App Conundrum — A User’s Guide
Turns out the internets have not always existed.
This whacko truth kinda crept up on me while I was ODin’ on movies las’ month.
Recent films got plentya scenes packin’ alla the latest tech — phones, tabs, laptops — but not evry frickin’ scene got reference to the internets.
Superheroes smackin’ one another, lovers gettin’ flusho in the sack, hyperpixelified bunnies hoppin’ their way inta contemporary childhood’s future moral locker — they all got plentya on-screen moments packed fulla lazer-eyed snogsy CGI devoida internets references.
An’ yet, you kinda know alla that 21st Century webular superfunky is hummin’ away in the background, waitin’ to bust out.
Go back in time awhile, seems entire movies’re based on this internets-free pause.
Only it ain’t so.
It is actschly a total internets vacuum cos the internets ain’t there.
Cos ifya were Tom Hanks sneakin’ up on the Nazis in a Virgotastically orchestrated kinda WWII swoop, pants drenched with danger an’ excitement — surely you would selfie the shit outta the show?
“Huddle together, guys. Shame we ain’t got no U-boat looming in the background to make this nightmare panorama look extra dramatic.”
It’s A Fucker!
Tellya, I was a shamed in that instant.
Princessa insights I presoom myself to be, I kinda realised how lame I was.
Thing is, for eons stretchin’ back almost to the dawna time, astrology stuffs have been ladled from the ether by real live astrologer persons.
So … uhm … mebbe it is 1272 an’ you are in the YOOKAY.
I dunno, ridin’ a horse or sumthin’ stoopid.
An’ by the roadsideya spot a weird lookin’ tent.
Wind blows the sigil-mottled fabric open to reveal an even weirder lookin’ guy — an’ you are compelled to dismount an’ go investigate.
“Heya, weird guy,” you say. “What is gowin’ down in your curious tent?”
Guy strokes his beard and throws you a look. “Actually, I’m a lady. But it is in the nature of the astrology business for its practitioners to sport the mantle of witches — so I slew a wild boar and stuck its wiry hide to my face.”
“Astrology? That a new drive-thru franchise?”
Resta the conversation is confidential, cos it’s at this point that all real live astrologer persons make with the secret astrology chant an’ kinda lure their prospects beyond idle curiosity to the Surefire Horoscope Secret Package retailin’ at JUST $89.99 (though, acourse, back in 1272 evrythin’ was in groats or sickly nephews).
Central problemya got with the Astrology Compatibility App Conundrum is how it factors the real live astrologer person the fuck outta the stargazy equation.
Guy on the horse got the app, he got no need to check out the sigil-mottled tent — or cough up the moolah gonna keep the real live astrologer person in frickin’ cat food.
Misses out on the $350 Suckywucky Bonus also…
How Can We Combat This Astrology Compatibility App Nightmare, O Princess?
All Of Us — Working Together As An Astro-defending Team, Kinda Like The Avengers?
So, yeah — Mother Cosmosis jus’ came out an’ said it.
“The more these wretched astrology compatibility apps proliferate, the fewer real live astrologers there will be. I fear the future may be one where convenience muscles out genuine prescience. It isn’t just retail and factory workers who should recoil in horror at the advance of robots and AI. It is you and I.”
She looked kinda shaken. I fixed her a cocktail an’ flopped down before her feet in my best Lotus, smilin’ like a real drippo. “An’ you want my advice from an internets perspective? That it?”
Her nod told me evrythin’. Ha! Too much frickin’ tequila.
“Thing is,” I said, pullin’ out sum stoopid scifi book I been readin’, “if history demonstrates anythin’ it is how flesh an’ blood people gonna prevail always. Ain’t that the deal with the whole Taurus vibe? Material substance movin’ mountains, kinda thing?”
Mother C looked pensive. “It’s true that hipsters have rediscovered vinyl along with potentially erotic facial texture, I suppose. And I’m heartened to see the return of printed books to the planet’s coffee shops and trains. Are you suggesting the lure of these evil apps is likely to be short-lived?”
“Two things,” I said, helpin’ her out with her drink. “First, you gotta wonder what happens if alla this don’t stop. Losers in this scifi book I read don’t figure no inner thoughts. Evrythin’ they perceive is voiced aloud, kinda the ultimate share.”
“And do they like this?”
“They do not. You should read it.”
Mother C catches the book. Time for a refill.
“Those poor suckers got no secrets,” I said, pullin’ out sum bigger glasses — an’ another bottle. “An’ when the science genius guy fitted their cranial whatevers with ThoughtShare, he figured alla the bad stuff we got would be flushed out an’ alla our finest virtues kinda grown an’ finessed. Only evryone jus’ regressed into a permanent statea STFU. Mankind spawned its own zombie apocalypse.”
Mother C eyed her worm. “What does this have to do with the astrology apps? Are you suggesting they will have a similarly destructive effect on peoplekind?”
“Opposite. I guess people’re havin’ fun right now mixin’ an’ matchin’ love, lust an’ blendyjuicy, starsign tango by starsign tango on sum stoopid app — but nuthin’ ever gonna beat sittin’ in a real live tent askin’ ‘bout sum real live potential fuckfest with sum real live sex bomb in the presecncea sum real live astrologer person — especially if said astrologer person is hot af an’ leavesya with enough cash inya pocket for a decent burger.”
“Do you still have your tent? If I remember correctly, just shortly after I anointed you in the Pool of Celestial Wisdom Unbound, you suggested you’d fly out to Egypt and sell it in exchange for what you coyly termed funtime leatherwear.”
That made me snigger sum!
“Turns out the smarter deal was hirin’ it out at weekends. I got kids’ parties, teen adventure sleepovers, live-in seniors’ secret biscuit eatin’ hideaways. Jus’ gotta warn people not to pull on … yanno …the sash opens up the spirit world & possibly summons Satan.”
Astrology Compatibility Apps — Your Killer Defense Strategy
Solution we came up with was the App 2 Braino Virus.
Here’s how it works…
You pull outya tab.
You check in on CyberScoper.
Robot astrology algorithms match your starsign with nearby hot singles.
Evil death rays leap the fuck outta your tab an’ infectya brain with a killer frickin’ virus.
AN’ THEN YOU DIE!
You guys cool to spread this benevolent fake nooz around sum?
To allaya friends, besties, fam, pets — whatever?
Cos I figure by doin’ so, you gonna be savin’ astrology, savin’ the planet, an’ savin’ lives — startin’ with li’l ol Moi.
Here’s sum linesya can mebbe use next time anyone whips out their tab for a consultation with the Evil Augury Squad…
* Hey, sis — did you know that using an astrology compatibility app can fuck up your brain worse than spice?
* Your thoughts are so beautiful I love hanging them on my ear, but if you keep on fixing dates with that stoopid astrology compatibility app, ima need a bucket to catch your liquified skull contents. Do I gotta repeat that, cosya look real BLANK?
* Yeah yeah — stoopid frickin’ app gonna roastya brain an’ prolly frazzleya tinglydanglies off.
Gotta figure you are sufficiently inventive to think up sum examplesa your own — less’n the processa cerebral decay already got started.
This is how all resistance begins, tellya.
Fake nooz, steady drip, brain by brain.
App 2 Braino Virus.
App 2 Braino Virus.
App 2 Braino Virus…
Title Image c/o FirmBee @Pixabay
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