Colony Collapse Disorder revisited

With or without net neutrality—though I, as someone who just realized on my six-month old iPad are cute and colorful and sweet as gourmet crema . . . you know, the stuff you [read: unnamed male] swirl into your overpriced latte at the moms and pops coffee-shop-turned-shiny-bright-as-a-castle-franchise while dreaming of biting into your favorite order of chilaquiles at the Mexican restaurant now owned by that same moms and pops of the chica bonita who likes to think of herself in third person and who is questioning your integrity because of your potential Bot involvement in a click fraud operation and because of your “nsfw” type of photo bomb proclivities whenever she and her friends are photographed sh*t-faced while throwing back Tequila poppers at your high-profile parties. . . yes, bright, cheery symbols affectionately, and most aptly, described as emoji: thingamajigs(which, btw, unnamed male often uses as click bait for unsuspecting chicks perusing his tweets), representing all kinds of “wtf” emotions that can be strung out in lieu of text-based adjectives , which ironically often annoy the heck out of people I just learned, little symbols I admit to being ignorant of most of the time; you know, since as of late I’ve been experiencing imposter syndrome, that is, thinking I don’t know much about anything, despite my numerous degrees in psych—so, yeah, as I slap together tortillas in my most retro apron for my sweetie, a man who cannot seem to understand the era of Mad Men is over and that he is not Don Draper incarnate, I get the feeling with or without open access that my man [read: named Don—yes, really] may fall into complete colony collapse disorder, the same way my forbearers reported seeing a group of visiting aliens mysteriously experience a little more than a century ago in a sparkling underground city beneath an oasis in a sandy Nevada desert.