Oh, the bullshit, how it burns. It burns like getting your ass waxed and then wiping with #4 steel wool. Well-meaning but addle-pated support personnel have added the word “physically” to their lexicon to describe actions which must be carried out virtually. Today I am on the phone with Joan the Drone and she tells me, in an oh-so-chipper voice
and I am suddenly terrified that to change my records I must find a server room, or perhaps slap on a pair of VR goggles during a proton storm, or maybe get stuck in the Holodeck. Because otherwise, the only way I can get to the website is to figuratively “go” there. The verb “to go” is figurative because my physical form is not going anywhere. My chapped ass will remain in this office chair for the duration of my visit to your fucked-up website. It doesn’t end there, though! She lets me know that once I have physically visited this website, I’ll need to
Except that the only thing I can physically click is my mouse, because every other goddamn thing I can click on is an icon in a virtual space. I’ll have to interact with every one of them virtually! I can’t physically touch any of them without sticking my hand through the monitor, which I’m getting ready to do, because she then tells me I’ll have to
and that just terrifies me. I have metaphorically scrolled; I have figuratively scrolled; but the only time I ever had the opportunity to physically scroll was at High Holiday services when the rabbi asked me to dress the Torah*. I am computer literate, I can use a typewriter, and I can even write longhand in a notebook, but I haven’t held a physical scroll in quite a while unless you count my diplomas. I had understood “scrolling” to be an analogy or a metaphor but apparently if I go physically visit this web site, and physically click some of their icons, I’ll be able to literally scroll through their documents. I am left to envision a seriously fucked-up OCR machine responding to my mouse-wheel. I stifle a scream of recreational outrage over the telephone as I slowly turn purple. I complete the call, and exhale with relief as the stupidity stops wafting from my phone. I briefly wonder whether there is a visible fog of the stuff hovering around my ear, but then I realize, “No, there isn’t - I’m just imagining that your stupidity could possibly have a physical manifestation.”
Joan, you’re not alone! Your words have simply been the metaphorical last straw which has broken this hypothetical ruminant’s spinal column with its virtual weight. In the last few months I’ve heard such gems as
and
“Physically change the way we think?” You mean people around here should stop using the grey stuff in their skull and switch to maybe their liver? Or perhaps the problem is that some of you have been thinking with your rectal cavities, and the switch would be to something that’s connected more-or-less directly to your spinal cord?
Joan, and the countless others who commit this sin: I am quite angry with you for your misuse of the language. I am so mad that I would like to literally reach into my dictionary for some adverbs and physically stuff them down your throat. But I can’t – because they’re fucking ADVERBS! Just like websites, computer icons, and the act of paging through an electronic document, adverbs are virtual, metaphorical, and insubstantial. They have no meaningful physical presence! Wishing will not bring form to their void, and boy are you lucky because if I could wish hard enough to make adverbs manifest you’d be literally choking on your words.
For your sins I hereby ban you from using adverbs, analogies, metaphors, or idioms for the next 90 days, and sentence you to read Eats, Shoots and Leaves once a day while being literally and physically flogged with your mouse cable. I invite you to metaphorically get fucked – because “physically” is too good for you lot.
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- I declined because I am goyische and wasn’t sure whether I would metaphorically contaminate the sacred text by handling it, but that’s another story.