Move The Needle

Friday, August 15th, 2008 | Douchewords

If Spencer Johnson has an ounce of sense he’s already working on a bestselling follow-up to his most famous book, themed around junkies and titled “Who Moved My Needle?”

After all, you lot are certifiable addicts, even if your poison-of-choice is bizarre metaphors rather than industrial-grade heroin.

It doesn’t really matter what the drug is though, does it? At the end of the day, we all have our coping mechanisms, and few things are harder to cope with than the fact that we’re actually living in the future now.

I know, it’s kinda scary that your desk houses ten times the computing power which sent men to the moon. It’s even more bewildering when Excel refuses to format your cells properly for the fifth fucking time in an hour, so we understand; really, we do.

When you get that glazed-over, far away look in your eyes we know you’re dreaming of a simpler, kinder time; wishing that you were in one of those 1960s NASA control rooms where all you had to do was monitor a few fuck-off-huge analog dials for a glimmer of activity.

So, you go, spacegirls and boys. You keep on movin’ those needles. Up here in the 21st century we’ll be speaking our crazy futurist moon-language and uttering phrases like, oh, I dunno… “make a significant difference” or something equally whacky.

Such advances in descriptive language are, one might say, “one small step for a man“. And a giant kick-in-the-pants for “needle movers”.

Tags: 1960s, douchespeak, drugs, moon landings, move the needle, neil armstrong, who moved my cheese

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