I was browsing Amazon the other day, denying offers to ‘join Prime’ with more resilience than I had ever shown prior in life, when they suggested I buy a defibrillator – a purchase I immediately dismissed as stupid, then read about nonetheless, demonstrating procrastination prowess only accessible to life’s greatest losers. This is one of the many reasons my face could be used to define ‘Dull’ in the dictionary, were it not more applicable a little earlier.
My necessary research brought harrowing news: the defibrillator, an item which exists to save lives, had an average rating of one star out of five – clearly Amazon have joined the most of my acquaintances in thinking I should die. In their defence, I wouldn’t say this advertisement was a direct request for my suicide, merely a hint that if I were to collapse in my own home, Amazon would very much like there to be nothing anybody can do about it.
Maybe the algorithm has, at one with Bezos, begun lashing out after the divorce. Regardless, I will be embracing my next Prime offer in self-preservation.
Gamedy 