This is Ian’s wife, the Missus. I’m afraid there’s been an intervention, and Ian will be away for a while.
Oh, it was long overdue.
You see, Ian is addicted to the internet.
Too long he has stumbled through the house, tripping over toddlers with sodden diapers dragging along the floor, his face glued to his smart phone.
Too often he has mumbled, “Yes, of course, Dear,” and yet failed to bring me the requested mimosa because he was so immersed in his blog that he didn’t actually hear me.
Too frequently did he ignore his children’s pleas and cries for his tablet and its entertaining games, so intent was he on his Tweeter feed, Facebook timeline, and Tumblr stream.
He was so completely focused on being online 24/7 that I can only wonder how he managed to drive to and from work without injuring people.
Well, more people.
I suspect much of his attention was spent on internet porn. Probably the hard-core stuff, you know, those reprehensible wet cement and weather balloon videos.
Oh, he has no secrets from me. No, sir!
So we, his family and friends, stepped in. Through a combination of Jungian psychoanalysis, aversion therapy, electro-shock treatment, and the application of swift, hard kicks to his junk every time an electronic device is turned on in his presence, we expect to have him cured in short order. Until then, however, we must keep him away from this blog until he has lost all desire to work on it.
But I must go. He’s chewed through the gag again and while his screams aren’t audible from the street, they can be heard inside.
And I do find they detract from my mimosa time.