I understand the allure of smartphones, if you’re the parent of an adolescent (or younger) moron – which I believe many of you are.
You have booked a nice table for Sunday lunch and would appreciate not having to engage your offspring in a dialogue of inanities regarding the things which most concern them at the present time: the wickedness of Great Britain, historically and indeed today; the wickedness of the generation which brought them into the world; their debilitating and unsightly skin issues; their plans for transitioning; their fear that by the time they are 20 they will not be able to afford to buy a flat in Belgravia solely because of aforesaid wickedness; the fascinating evidence they saw on YouTube about Israel, global warming and the Freemasons; why it’s right to cancel people who disagree with them about stuff; why their stipend is laughably insufficient; why working for a living serves only to hasten the death of the polar bears; why Hamas has a bloody good point and so on, and so on, interminably and yet also incredibly briefly on each issue because they have entirely lost the power of concentration and can recall only 7.6
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