Google killing off the art of pub conversation
Hasn't the internet rather spoiled the gentle fun of riffing on a comedy notion in company? You’re all sitting round the pub and someone mentions the new hurricane in the Carribean. Hurricane Earl.
Someone else says: “I wonder how they come up with the names for hurricanes?” And you start joking about meteorologists sitting round their lunch table saying: “So who’s up next, Mitch?” and him sayin’ “Well it ain’t me, I copped for the big one in Central America in 1998” while Katrina looks out the window with pursed lips and everyone avoids her eye cos she hasn’t been the same since New Orleans and some wise ass says: “Hey, Earl’s just gone to the john, why don’t we wind him up with this one?”
Oh such fun! Imagination! But now, there’s always some cyber anorak who, the minute a question’s asked, surreptitously looks up the answer on their phone under the table and spoils the moment by saying: “Actually — hurricane names have been chosen for the past 57 years by the Meteorogical Centre. Only female names were used at first but now males feature too one of the next ones on the list after Earl is actually Fiona..”
Great. We all know more. But who’s laughing? Could we come up with names for pub cyberbore killjoys? Oh, don’t tell me, you looked it up on Google and someone’s already done itgreat.