You look up at the clock and realize you've been viewing funny cat videos for twelve hours straight. "Jesus," you say. That's one hour less than you spent yesterday. Some people would call that progress. You just call it the daily grind. You shrug and visit a forum dedicated to thoroughly analyzing all the possible sexual positions a man and a cartoon pony could hypothetically engage in. You look back up at the clock. One hour has passed. You place a mammoth hand in a mammoth bag of Cheetos and out comes more orange goodness. My, my, my. Look at your hand. Your fingernails are orange. You look like you've been fisting Tony the Tiger for hours. Curious, you google Tony the Tiger porn just to see what comes up. You spend an entire day perusing the results. In the end, you can definitely say you are attracted somewhat to anthropomorphic tigers. Real tigers, you're not so sure.
You visit a gaming web site to talk about how much you hate gaming. Back in the day, motherfuckers knew what the RPG stood for in RPG. No, asshole, it's not rocket-propelled grenade. Which reminds you that you haven't truly enjoyed a first person shooter since Quake. You type a ten-thousand word diatribe criticizing the human race for forgoing the arena shooter in favor of Call of Duty and Battlefield. Back in your day, kids knew how to rocket jump. Camping was for pussies. There was no such thing as DLC or "pay to play." Console gamers restricted themselves to JRPGs and Mario. Now everything's gone to shit. You sit back after finishing typing, confident that you've really changed some people's perspective on things. A hard day's work deserves another fistful of Cheetos. You shove as many as you can into your mouth.
Your next post is about Gamergate. It is so incoherent that even you hesitate before posting, if only for a millisecond. The jist is that women are evil, and so are gaming companies, and it's all up to keyboard warriors such as yourself to bring the controversy to light. No one replies to your post. You drink a liter of soda in consolation. Suddenly the lights flicker. You try to move, but your massive body doesn't react as quickly as you want it to. What is happening? Have they come for you, finally? Have they discovered your secret stash of illegal pornography? Or was it the animal stuff? Maybe it was all that torrenting you did in your youth. Oh God. Your computer. It won't turn on. The lights are off on your modem. You realize that you have no electricity. The minifridge isn't humming like it usually does. You watch the clock in silence. After fifteen minutes, you decide you have no choice. You try to throw yourself from the window but get stuck. It seems that you are too fat to die.
When the firefighters come eons later, you swallow your pride and admit that you have a problem. But then the lights kick on and your computer boots up. You sit down at the screen. "Worst. Day. Ever," you mumble to the invisible audience in your head. Thank Jesus for Internet porn.
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