By Charlie Brooker
Well mannered, pensive, mature, reserved ...Charlie Brooker is none of this stuff and no more. impolite, unhinged, outrageous, and principally humorous, "Dawn of the Dumb" is vital studying for someone with a mind and a spinal wire. And arms for turning the pages.
Picking up the place his hilarious "Screen Burn" left off, "Dawn of the Dumb" collects the simplest of Charlie Brooker's contemporary television writing, including uproarious spleen-venting diatribes on quite a number non-televisual matters - tackling every thing from David Cameron to human hair.
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Additional info for Dawn of the Dumb
If you'd like a clearer rationalization, invent somebody cleverer than me and ask them approximately it, o.k.? ) besides, it sounds nice. It takes the strain off us. We by no means need to invent whatever back. We’d go away all that to our android offspring. They’d simply name us into the room sometimes to teach us cool stuff they’d invented—disposable eight-bladed razors, holographic Xbox video games, vibrating colors, cleaning soap operas set at the moon: that sort of factor. And that’d be it. We’d spend the remainder of our lives sipping cocktails and getting our chins wiped through androids. ideal. after all, our new super-intelligent robotic masters may well get uninterested with us stumbling round like idiotic youngsters, walking their elbows whereas they’re attempting to write down equations. they could snap, inject us with paralysis medicinal drugs and use us as human power-cells in a Matrix-style battery farm—slurping life-juice out of our backsides whereas pumping a digitised cartoon of truth into our brains. no matter what. supplied I by no means need to imagine ever back, I’m no longer that fussed. in addition to, there’s regularly the chance mat 5 mins once we swap them on, our super-smartarse descendants will enhance nanotechnology, i. e. the facility to re-configure the molecular constitution of completely anything—which capacity you may take a clump of soil and switch it right into a scrumptious profiterole, or squirt additional synapses and data banks and microchips into our brains, so we’d be as smart as they have been; shrewdpermanent adequate to hold the whole contents of Google round in our heads. Or they can get rather bold: take the total inhabitants of the planet and knit us jointly into one unmarried significant sentient being, with one thousand million legs and arms, an eye fixed within the centre of its brow and a big scrotum. rather than beginning wars, we’d easily sit down round arguing with ourself, falling silent intermittently to recognize the scale of our balls. truly, if the nanostuff’s particularly operating, there’d be no element bothering with a traditional actual shape in any respect. lets develop into a wobbly cloud of gasoline that can drift away and spend the remainder of eternity exploring the universe, contacting far away alien civilisations and flogging them ringtones. or even shall we move one larger than that, and easily holiday down all our molecules and rebuild them as an perpetually reverberating sound wave. whatever mild will be excellent; possibly the noise of somebody respiring on a harp. even if that might be a good suggestion or now not is completely beside the point—we’re no longer making the choices. We’ve delegated every little thing via this element, consider? Viva the Singularity! Rubbernecker’s Weekly [ u? March 2006] There are a few bits of the media your mind filters out prior to they could even sign up on your awareness. specific sorts of ad, often: don’t find out about you, yet I’m nearly thoroughly oblivious to so much dog-food or assurance commercials—the second I clap eyes on them, my brain hits ‘delete’ and so they fade into the history, like an ignored ticking clock. yet that’s television at the newsstands, there’s a specific pressure of journal I’m frequently completely blind to, yet which I’ve simply develop into obsessed via.