Forget about Iran for a second.
Why not worry about the kind of things you can find in your own kitchen, like the microwave. Or why not worry about the kind of things you strap to your head, like bluetooth wireless phone ear pieces or cell phones themselves. Or why not worry about the cancerous cells currently being formed inside your body thanks to the invisible faxes being sent wirelessly around you all day long?
Yes. Why not worry about those things instead of Iran.
See, the thing is — I am afraid that everything around me is bombarding me with radioactive fallout. Or invisible radiation. Or whatever the exact technical term for invisible death currently is, amidst the lexiconical death term subculture. There’s nothing more scary than the invisible (except for when Chevy Chase played the Invisible Man in Memoirs of an Invisible Man, although technically it was scary that he chose a movie such as that to start [and end] his dramatic film career).
In fact, quickly look at this list of invisible things in our world and tell me it doesn’t send shivers through your spine:
- Bodily gases
- Gamma rays
- DNA (read: The Fly)
- That knocking in your house that you can’t find the source of
Honestly, there’s nothing scarier than something you can’t see — and there’s nothing doubly as scary as something invisible that you can’t see, that causes cancer, and that can be sent forth from household objects you desperately need to use on a daily basis…like the cell phone and the microwave.
And so, I recently created what I like to call “Three Meter Island.” The Three Meter Island is a three meter invisible radius I have figuratively created around the kitchen microwave that no one must enter while the microwave is in its “radioactive state” (read: cooking a flatbread pizza courtesy of Lean Cuisine).
Most of the time I try to just stand just outside the three meter island of the microwave so that if anyone enters even close by to the outer borders of said invisible island, I can be there to save their lives. That being said, sometimes I like to multi-task and hit the head while food is being prepared for me (read: a Trader Joe’s bean and cheese burrito, which by the way will often explode if you follow the instructions on the outside of the wrapper which stupidly tells you to not take off the wrapper before you cook it) by taping some string around the border of the three meter island so that people can see just exactly where the radioactive borders have been erected.
But honestly, that doesn’t discount the fact that my kitchen microwave is still sending out invisible (and harmful) radiation and slowly killing everything and everyone around it.
Fortunately, I can avoid the microwave and I can hold my cell phone away from my head (in what I’ve dubbed the “Three Inch Island“) so that the radiation doesn’t get me. This, of course, can’t even hold a candle to the destructive power my laptop is currently heaping upon my ability to procreate from this day forward. You can deny that a laptop or the mind-numbing heat that shoots forth upon your lap will have no effect on your male ability to father a child, but if you’ve looked at the statistics lately, you’ll notice that more men in the world are finding themselves sterile and no one can really figure out why except…
Yes, the laptops.
If I were to completely sever ties with all the radioactive, cancer-causing, manhood-destroying technologically advanced consumer products available to me today, the list would include (but not be limited to) things like: cell phones, laptops, bluetooth headsets, microwaves, wi-fi video game consoles, flat screen TVs, cottage cheese, USB flash drives, bread making-machines, Blackberries, Treos, wireless hubs, iPods, satellite-delivered cable channels, and those awesome smelly markers that smell like fruits but really are causing tumors to form in your head each time you sniff them to still make sure they smell like “berries.”
I’d never be able to live a normal life, it seems.
And therein lies the rub: if I want to live a life of luxury, I’ve got to assume that that life of luxury will someday cause me a horrific cancerous death due to the radioactive fallout that such a life of luxury can cause. Yet, if I want to live longer and avoid such a death, I will be living the kind of life they lived on Little House on the Prairie. And I don’t know about you, but if I have to walk ten miles to the damn general store every time I want some ice or some grain, I’m gonna be the most unhappy person on the face of the Earth.
So I choose death. And radioactive bombardment.
Just as long as I can have my toys.