If I Twittered, This Is What I'd Tweet...

When you wanna diss that fat fucker, Rush? Call him:

Limbah, the Butt?

Jabba, the Rush?

Each is entirely the consonant allusion. C.f. Darth Cheney.

Only ridicule 'works.'

And hurling offal.

I like the first one better because it alludes to the pilonidal cysts in his rectum that--along with his father the publisher and his uncle the judge--rescued Rusty, after he'd flunked out of South-Southwest Missouri State College in late '67, from being drafted, going to boot-camp, and becoming a man--where that is understood to mean looking at yourself, naked, weak, and afraid, and growing... According to his section 8 papers, he literally grew a mad hair up his ass, and it has never come out. All this is way past twitter range, unless you broke it up...

Is that the underlying message/lesson of twitter-talk? That human intelligence can accommodate only 140 characters at a time? Or that that is the optimum length of a human message? where the limitations of the medium reduce communication to its grittiest essentials. Like I said, this rap wouldn't twitter. Too lengthy. Transitions are what would be the first to go.

It occurrred to me some time ago that the instant communications media provided humanity with something they thought they had lost out on the veldt: constant reassurance from the tribe. Welcome to the Monkey House. The din is incessant. Each screams to its fellows to assure itself of its connection with its tribe. "I am 'someone' and I know to whom it is true."

If I were offered the chance to do another ph.d., I'd do it at the intersection of the 'discursive practices' of the Internet(s) and the Vygotskyian Zone of Proximal Development (ZPD). That'd be rich territory for a semiotician/semiologer to mine.