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Halloween Special: 5 Web 2.0 Clues My Wife is Trying to Kill Me

on Oct 29, 12 • by + • with 5 Comments

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Social media provides tools for people to express their mindset or identity. And thank heavens for that because this Halloween season I happened to stumble across my wife’s murderous secret life…
It was a dark and stormy night. By which I mean the kids had gone to bed after marathon trick-or-treating, my wife was asleep on the couch, and I was in the kitchen, drinking my not-first-or-second Dark ‘n’ Stormy.
I went to grind some limes down the disposal, but it wouldn’t grind…i.e., no disposing or grinding of citrus cocktail garnishment…no trabaja el disposalo.

I flipped the switch a few times, but it just sat there, silently not-disposing….

Man, what a drag – I was going to have to call the plumber first thing in the morning and pay the evil All-Saints Day premium.

“No way,” I thought. “Tonight I’m going to solve my own problem. For I am a competent post-modern man, and – with the power of the internet’s collected information – I have infinite home-repair wisdom at my, err…disposal.”

So I pulled up a chair to the kitchen island counter and popped open my wife’s laptop. I navigated to wikiHow (because I’m loyal to my man Jack Herrick) and started typing in “disposal.”

No amount of Goslings and ginger beer could have prepared me for what I saw….

1. WikiHow Autocomplete:

I shrieked in horror: “Holy crap – my wife thinks I’m fat!”

“This couldn’t be right – I’ve really been working out lately.”  I said to myself as I re-read the autocomplete suggestions. “Yep, she thinks I’m fat. Oh, and she may want to kill me…”

I had to keep my wits. Auto-complete is fickle master, and I knew I should not jump to conclusions.

There were plenty of potential explanations for this. Maybe one of her friends had borrowed her computer. Certainly she has a few friends who have husbands who were dumb turds (not you, Duncan – you’re awesome. Really.).

Then again, maybe she’s going to dismember me, stuff me into a Glad ForceFlex trash bag, and float me out to sea, Dexter-style!

I was beyond dismayed, and left with some disturbing questions:

  • Would she really kill me?
  • What had I done to disturb her so?
  • Is it wrong to tell another man that he smells nice?

I thought and thought. Had I been missing signs? She had Tweeted some odd stuff recently.

2. Twitter: aka, death in 140 characters…

…but she said this was all a joke. And we were still getting along. We were even intimate pretty often. She seemed like she was enjoying it.

…okay maybe she wasn’t “enjoying-enjoying it.” It was pretty okay with me though.

But come on, murder? Surely I was over-reacting. I had just finished both Gone Girl and Broken Harbor (which are basically the same book, right?) so perhaps I was extra sensitive to the whole “mariticide thing.”

Besides, I doubt she could muster the gumption to even draw blood.

I scrolled through her Tweets some more…

So maybe she could muster a little gumption.

I was horrified. Not only by her steely, murderous resolve, but by her complete lack of Twitter etiquette (what’s with the ALL-CAPS, honey? That’s just basic stuff).

I had to learn more. So I went to her browser history, which did not appear to have been cleared recently. When it comes to covering one’s digital tracks, murderous women have a lot to learn from horny men.

Where had she been? Let’s see….travel sites, Pottery Barn, Amazon – yes, AMAZON! I’ll see what she’s been shopping for…

 3. Amazon Wishlist: The news was not good. 

As far as I knew, our kids weren’t planning a school play based on a recent episode of Breaking Bad, so here was pretty clear evidence that she was planning to do me in.

Thats’s right, she’s going to chop me up into little bits, then dissolve me in a drum full of sulfuric acid.  I’m stewed….like, literally.

Okay, back to browser history….Kickstarter. Why would she be spending so much time on Kickstarter? To my knowledge, she wasn’t making a record or producing stationery out of reclaimed bamboo. Sorry – that’s Etsy.

What kind of project could she be working on?

4. Kickstarter:

Oh. That kind of project.

You know, it’s interesting to read a crowd-funding proposal for your own murder. The rewards for helping her were particularly notable. Donors of $20 or more get a hand-written thank you note, post-marked from Belize, and those giving $50 or more got to pick any three of “his old CD’s that he f’ing refused to throw away. Pick from Matchbox Twenty, Midnight Oil or Hoodoo Gurus (whoever they are).”

You’ve got to give her props for leveraging web 2.0. While it’s disconcerting to find out that my wife is trying to kill me, I do appreciate her attempt to save a little of our money. Even if I won’t be around to enjoy it.

So what was she planning to do with our little nest egg?

Well, if Amazon could tell me what she’s shopping for right now, I bet Pinterest could give me some insights into the lifestyle to which she aspired. For Pinterest is a catalog of human want that makes Robb Report look like the Dalai Lama’s list of essential human needs.

So I decided I’d check out her Pinterest Boards, unconsciously wishing it was just pictures of elaborate table settings, lavender duvets and tropical vacations we would never take….

5. Pinterest:

Sorry, tropical vacations that *I* would never take.  She’s totally planning on taking a tropical vacation.  With some dude.

I always pictured her second husband as a nice, semi-homely guy who is noticeably less virile than I am…er, was. It would appear she has something else in mind…

Damn you, Pinterest. Not only are you (according to Forbes) a massive threat to Facebook’s business, but you are shoving in my face my wife’s dreams for a future without me. That’s not cool. You should be more “oohhhh look at how the towels complement the lilies on the deluxe marble bathtub,” and much less “yo, Imma kill my man and bang my way through the islands.”

I think it’s time for me to crowd-source a lawyer. ‘Cuz if she kills me, we are never, ever, ever getting back together.

Like ever.

Happy Halloween, turkeys!

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