The internet is definitely the greatest invention known to man.
Thanks to the internet, we no longer need phones–we have email.
Thanks to the internet, we no longer need television–we have Hulu.
Thanks to the internet, we no longer need companionship–we have online porn.
And now, thanks to the internet, should we find ourselves in one of those messy, human-like arrangements that our parents (sorta) enjoyed we have Sidetaker.
Thanks again, Al Gore.
The website Sidetake just might be the most addictive thing since Youtube. On the site, people send in issues/problems/questions that they’re having in their relationships and airing them out for anyone to give feedback, advice or “take sides” on.
Not really surprising when I consider the insane amounts of Smurf that people post on their Facebook accounts.
But this is insane; it’s almost like Twittering your relationship.
Can you imagine getting into an argument with your better half and handling things via Sidetaker?
(Wife): “I can’t believe that you’re taking your mother’s side again? It’s like you don’t even listen!”
(Husband): “…look, I keep telling you, you’ve got to understand, she was raised by lions so sometimes her social cues are–”
(Wife): (shakes head): “….see, this is exactly what texasmorningwood78 said you’d say. This is over, this is so Smurf-ing over.”
(Husband): “Why don’t you give us another chance, baby? Come on we can wor–”
(Wife): “Why don’t you just move in with your feral mother, Simba? I’m out.”
(Husband roars, runs out.)
And those are just the ones that ended amicably.
For fun, I submitted one to Sidetaker:
Topic: What to do with my partying wife?
Subject: So my wife really likes to go dancing, but I really don’t. It’s just not my thing as I prefer to stay at home and have us dress-up as anime characters. Anyway, for her birthday I took her to this club that she wanted to go to for a long time. Let me just preface this by saying that on this particular night, my wife decided to wear her Apple-Bottom jeans and her boots with the fur. Naturally when we got there, the whole club was looking at her. So the music comes on, and she hits the floor and the next thing I know, she got low, low, low, low, low, low, low, low. And now I have syphillis. Anyway, should we have kids? –submitted by F. Rida
Naturally, the response was strong with people’s comments being all over the place:
- “ur gurl sounds like she is my kinda gurl let’s party. u bring the snacks i’ll bring the rum..and coke” b.brownluvswhit
- “you don’t have to stay with her you can always dump her”–thebachelorc-zons1-8
- “why don’t you guys come over our place and watch ‘swingers’ with us. we’ll help work things out as couples. i’ll show you hancock
- “wuz’s so bad abot that? i dont even wear pants when i go to the club, just dance!”-gagalady
- “i’d kill my wife if she did somethin like that” orangejuicesimpson
- “Trouble pleasing her in bed? Try some Xiartura. Increase your size, increase her pleasure. Apply directly to the head.”
So I’m curious as to how this all plays out. Maybe we’ll get to the day that we’re not getting our advice from the over-important and out-of-touch (hello, Oprah), the clinically-insane (hello, Tyra) or the wildly drunk and belligerent (hello, Rachel Ray) and instead get some suspect, illogical advice from 3xNJdivorcee.
You never know; it’s probably someone you know anyway.