I'm starting to suspect that the Internet isn't the good thing I thought it was when I first met it in the early 90s. What happened to the promise of having humanity's aggregate knowledge available for everyone to use to build a better life? Society should be getting smarter, not dumber. And yet it seems all the web is used for anymore is to drive wedges between us. That's not right, is it?

When I have doubts like this, I turn to the wisdom of the ancients. This is what I hear when I listen:

I can't fight this feeling any longer,
and yet I'm still afraid to let it flow.
What started out as friendship has grown stronger;
I only wish I had the strength to let it show.

I tell myself that I can't hold out forever.
I said there is no reason for my fear
'cause I feel so secure when we're together.
You give my life direction; you make everything so clear.

And even as I wander, I'm keeping you in sight.
You're a candle in the window on a cold, dark winter's night,
and I'm getting closer than I ever thought I might.

And I can't fight this feeling anymore.
I've forgotten what I started fighting for.
It's time to bring this ship in to the shore,
and throw away the oars, forever.

That may sound like a mixed metaphor, but that's how the great prophets always communicate. (If they just came out and *said* what they meant, we wouldn't ever learn anything, would we?) Clearly it means we're all in one boat and should be working to sail in the same direction, people.

If necessary, let us disagree on the method by which we can best reach the future but not the fact that we all want that better future for ourselves and our neighbors. Together, we can overcome the deluge of misinformation flowing down the information superhighway as we drive our speedwagon to the future! Onward and upward in 2020!

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Still looking for that last minute stocking stuffer? How about some poo!

This is a vinyl "statue" designed to give to children 3 and up to color in with the provided markers (blue, red, and, yes, brown).

Merry Christmas, kids!

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I've had several conversations in the past month on topics that clearly indicated the person I was speaking to hadn't read my blog in a long time, if ever. That was both surprising and somewhat discouraging.

When I created this blog, I certainly never expected to make money off it, but I did expect my friends and family to drop in every once in a while. I mean, when your family calls you to connect their new ISP router, the least they could do is use their new Internet connection to ping my site, Dad.

(Historical note 1: this blog predates Facebook by three years and has never stolen anyone's data or threatened American sovereignty. Historical note 2: I've still not made any money off of this website. Non-crime doesn't pay.)

So let me take this opportunity to thank you personally, reader of this post, for spending a few moments of your day at Wriphe.com. I'm grateful of your patronage, and I promise to try not to waste your time.

In fact, let me immediately repay your investment with a delightful meme I found on Reddit:

Ha, ha. See, I told you this site could be worth your time. (Unlike the 20 minutes I just spent on Reddit. What a rabbit hole that is.)

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Earlier today, I got curious about who was the big brain who came up with the blockbuster Fortnite (a free video game which literally makes billions of dollars every year by selling players digital costumes and weapons). I only got the first word out when Google decided to "help" me by guessing what I was going to type.

Needless to say, Google guessed very, very wrong.

I know, Google! *sigh* I fucking know.

(Actually, I already know the answer to all those guesses, though I'm not sure whether the last is a reference to dead billionaire or the Sweathog from Welcome Back, Kotter. Given my search history, it could be either.)

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As if being pegged by a dodgeball wasn't bad enough...

Thanks for nothing, Aldi.

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It's poo! It's a unicorn! It's a Poonicorn!

What will they think of next? I hope I don't find out.

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New school year.

Same old shit.

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Maybe I'm just jealous that they didn't sell poop-shaped toys when I was three years old, but no. Just no.

I don't know what's wrong with kids in 2019. Back in my day, everyone came with their own poop slime formula.

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Dad update: he's now in his third hospital in as many weeks.

First he had heart surgery in Atlanta to replace a malfunctioning mitral valve. He came home for a couple of days before shortness of breath took him to the emergency room in Newnan. They diagnosed him with atrial fibrillation, a relatively common complication, and sent him to Fayetteville to have a pacemaker installed.

Doctors say he should be fine. I agree. He's already proven that for a guy with a bad heart, Dad can really get around.

Meanwhile, this side-effects poster was on the wall of his third room:

A closer look reveals a very familiar "face."

EVEN IN HOSPITALS.

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When I started this series of posts, I thought that the shit emoji must be a fad that would lose its appeal over time. I was wrong.

Yes, I showed you a floating pile of shit last year, but that one was recommended for ages 9 and up. This one is suitable for 7-year-olds. Next year expect shit-shaped water wings.

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