The first ghost that visited was a disgraced US congressman,
humiliated, ruined, laughed out of Washington after a simple misunderstanding
of how Twitter worked led to his sharing much more with his constituents than
he’d ever intended.
The second, the ghost of Chat Roulette, and with it the
potential to bring millions together, to create a community and bring the world
to your home, potential swiftly reduced to a simple punch line about sudden,
shocking exhibitionism.
The third, the future, was less clear. Was it a genuine
watershed of body positivity, mankind coming together to celebrate its form in
all its beauty? Or merely the exploitation by a mass media bent only on
profiting off humankind’s animal instincts? I couldn’t be sure, but one thing
was clear: The future had come, and it was naked.
I awoke from my dream and threw open my window, screaming
down into the street, demanding a passing orphan tell me what day it was, if
there was still time, if Christmas had yet come.
Upon hearing that it had not, I nearly wept with gratitude.
But I did not weep, I maintained my composure, because Christmas was upon me
and I still had much to do.
Shopping to get to.
Gift-wrap to buy.
Genitals to photograph.
Text-messages to send.
I had too long taken the holiday season for granted, but no
more. Thanks to that late-night visit from the Ghosts of Dick Pics Past,
Present and Future, I was in the proper spirit, and I finally understood the
true meaning of inappropriate late-night text messages to friends and acquaintances.
And, while once I might have scoffed at the notion of sending such photos to
people who had not asked for them, nor given any indication such a thing would
interest them in the slightest, I wasn’t going to let another moment go by
without sharing myself with the people who were nearest me in the most intimate
way that I could.
Christmas is, after all, the season of giving.
God bless us, every one…
