As I have mentioned, I work out with Hot Mike and Alyssa, and, yes, I am the hotter for it. That much is true. But that’s neither here nor there. The point of this post is not to talk about out how hot I am, although apparently I’m happy to digress in that direction. The point of this post is to lament that although I continue to get hotter in my old age, I am nonetheless getting older in my old age. And, as I have also mentioned, getting older means that I grow less adept at understanding the technology that I could not afford when I was young enough to enjoy it. Case in point: I do not understand how to work a hyperlink. Just ask Max.
In addition to working out with Hot Mike and Alyssa, I go running once or twice a week with a cutie patootie named Max. I refer to Max as a cutie patootie because he is cute, and because I have two children who are older than Max, he is also a patootie. During a recent run, I was lamenting (I seem to lament rather often) that my friend Kathy and I missed seeing the movie Superbad. Kathy and I always sneak away to see movies like Superbad, Blades of Glory, and Nacho Libre together, but we were busy working on a project at our kids’ school and didn’t feel like we could spare the time. Kathy and I are often the only two people (well, grown people) in the theater who are laughing our asses off during such movies, but still, it’s dark in there and no one knows it is us . . . well, now they do.
So after the running and the lamenting, Cutie Patootie Max emailed me a link to a website at which I could watch Superbad.* I didn’t click on the link right off the bat, but emailed it straightaway to Kathy. A short while later, Kathy emailed me back, asking if I had clicked on the link. No, I hadn’t, I responded. Kathy replied that I should click on the link. I emailed back asking why. Kathy replied that I should just do it. So I did. Argh. It was almost as bad as clicking on a hyperlink over at jonsonblog. There were breasts and pink parts and, well, argh. I wondered what the heck Max was thinking when he sent me that link. Was it a mistake? Did he think he was being funny? I emailed Kathy back and said something like, OMG. She said something like, I know. Argh. I emailed her an apology and explained that I was going to ask the person who sent it to me what was up with that. So I emailed Max and said something like, What the heck is up with that? Max replied that he had no idea what I was talking about. I told him to click on the link, and meanwhile I was questioning whether I’d misread Max. He seemed like such a good kid. But I’ve missed seeing the darker side of people before, although I’d like to think I’ve gotten better at sniffing them out lately. But Tom knows and likes Max. So did Tom misread Max? Surely not. Tom is a keen judge of character.
Max emailed back to say that he had clicked on the link and still did not know what I was talking about. What was up with that? I clicked on the link in Max’s email again, and then clicked on the website link just below the breasts and pink parts. A message popped up asking me to confirm that I was over the age of 18, and I was certain that somewhere on my computer there would be a log with URLs that I have visited and that “they” would find that log and use it as evidence that my interests run toward the prurient side. I feel compelled right now to tell you that while I might not be the most angelic person on the planet, my interests are far removed from the kind that involves looking at breasts and pink parts on the internets. Not that I’m judging; I’m just saying, it ain’t my thang. I was a little grossed out. Not so much by the breasts and pink parts, but by the fact that someone had sent me a link to them. So I emailed Max and said something like, Dude, so not funny. Max emailed back and said something like, I seriously don’t know what you’re talking about and I’m feeling a little freaked out right now. And I emailed back something about opening up a can of whoop ass.
I sat and I pondered, and then I pondered some more. And I tried to grapple with the notion that someone so seemingly sweet as Max could actually be such a little perv. As I grappled, I went to the link again. And I took a long hard look at the website to which Max’s emailed link took me. As I looked and grappled and pondered, I realized that there was another link below the breasts and pink parts link. It was a link to the movie to which Max intended to direct me. As for the breasts and pink parts? Uh. Well, uh. Um, well, uh, you see, the breasts and pink parts were on a banner ad, a random banner ad on the website. The random, rotating banner ad that wasn’t there when Max sent me the link, and that may or may not have been there any other time that I clicked on it. It had changed, as revenue-generating banner ads on websites do. I called Max to explain what I’d done just as his email asking whether I was looking at a banner ad came through. Yes, I was indeed looking at a banner ad because I am old and a dumbass. I apologized profusely to poor, sweet, traumatized Max. I called Kathy and we laughed out loud; we’d both done the same damn, dumb thing. It is so hard to be old, even when you’re hot.
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*Dear Feds: All persons and events depicted in this post are entirely fictitious. Any resemblance to real events or persons is strictly coincidental.
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