Amoebas in sexy grass skirts will soon be doing the hula on TV commercials, calmly wagging their hips to quell our fear of microbes and hypnotize us into buying new and improved products squirming with life.
It doesn’t seem fair that the only fat that disappears with age is the fat no one could see in the first place.
The things I buy call out to me with the lure of eternal coolness. Then I bring them home and forget about them.
Imagine grocery shopping on your hands and knees, walking home, and making dinner on your kitchen floor. My knees hurt just thinking about it.
I know I should fear an algorithm that doesn’t know the difference between rugs and shoes, but I’m addicted to eye candy.
If toys are templates for developing skills and behavior, what was the lesson I was supposed to learn from Betsy Wetsy?
If we don’t get a grip on our trash problem we’ll be living like medieval peasants again. Fatbergs are coming after us like low budget sci-fi monsters.