I searched the cards for close to an hour without any leads. Someone had posted a card reading "highly intelligent 20-something seeks at-home job requiring no work. Hours must be flexible," but that could have been anyone. For the most part the wall was flooded with ads for antiquated gaming systems. The loss of online gaming and even flash distractions had left people jonesing for some seated, hand/eye coordinated entertainment. There was a Vectrex from '84 on sale for $900, and even a bunch of games relying on ball, hole, and spring technology were selling for more than I'd ever imagine. Just before my frustration reached its peak, I felt Oz slip her arms around me from behind and rest her head against my shoulder like my own guardian angel of affection. "Baby still wants to ask Jeeves, doesn't he?" she said. Day 50: ASK JEEVES Oz and I took a long slow walk to Central Park, pretending a life was possible supported only by my disability payments and her rack-based ability to earn extra cash on an as-needed basis. It was the kind of fragile new infatuation that let simple answers carry more weight than they deserved because further exploration would send the whole thing tumbling down. "Do you think you'll ever go back to work?" she asked. "I'd prefer not to." "What's your real name?" I asked. "Isn't it sexier not knowing?" It was 2 pm by the time we reached the Park and the line to Jeeves was already fifty people deep. A bunch of Internet zombies were milling about in their circles, but most of them gave Jeeves a wide berth for fear of accidentally obtaining some actual knowledge. He sat there with his balding pony tail and poorly defined goatee, dispensing information from a folding chair. Sometimes he consulted his books - the OED or an encyclopedia. Sometimes he would grab the person's hand to answer the more personal, psychic-based questions. But usually he would just roll his eyes in disgust and dispense answers one by one while collecting his money. Q: "What's the average yearly rainfall in the Amazon rain forest?" A: "Six feet, seven inches." Q: "Will I ever find a job I don't hate?" A: "No. " Q: "Is there a God?" A: "I don't know if a God exists, but anyone who claims to be certain of His absence probably lacks humility more than faith." Jeeves gave the God guy back two of his five dollars on that one and whistled "Onward Christian Soldiers" as he placed the remaining three in his lockbox.
A skinny sixteen-year-old boy came up next, dropping five singles on the table. "Where's the Internet?" he asked. Jeeves's arrogance gave way to irritation. "I get that question every single day. I don't know." "But you know everything. How can you not know?" "Well, I don't, OK?" he said, pulling down on the rising edges of his Dark Side of the Moon T-Shirt. The boy reached to take back his five dollars, and Jeeves stopped him. "Only take two," he said. "Why?" the boy asked. "You haven't told me anything?" "I don't know where the Internet is, but there is someone who does." Jeeves stood and held up his hands as if absorbing psychic visions through his palms. "I can feel it. And I have seen him. In my mind. There will be. . . for lack of a better phrase. . . an Internet messiah. He will come. And he will return the Net to us." Jeeves sat down, spent from his pronouncement. A buzz worked its way through the crowd. A couple of YouTube zombies were even distracted enough to let their trapped cat run off to freedom. For a moment, it seemed all of Central Park was quiet. "You're not just saying that so you can keep three of my dollars are you? "Next!" Jeeves screamed, and within a moment, he was back to spewing answers. "Hammerin' Hank Greenberg; The Articles of Confederation; leave it alone or it will get infected; no, he will never marry you; Jason Bateman. . ." We continued advancing as Jeeves dispatched about thirty people one by one until only a few stood between us. From our new place in line we could now only hear the questions. "OK, Jeeves," someone said, "Question. Who would give better head: 1977 Linda Carter or 2001 Angelina Jolie?" "Are they dressed as Wonder Woman and Lara Craft, respectively?" "Of course!" "Well," Jeeves said. "It's a cliche, but I have to go with Angelina Jolie." "Wrong! The answer is Demi Moore as GI Jane, but keep the money, Mr. Know It All." Somehow, it had happened again. I didn't need the crowd to clear to know I'd found Tobey. And not just because of his Demi Moore infatuation, but because this was someone who managed to take pride in stumping an educated psychic with a completely subjective and arbitrary question. Still, I can't tell you how happy I was to see the goofy bastard. We screamed and hugged and punched each other the way guys do because we're retarded. "Fuck, am I happy to see you," he said. "I just spent my last five dollars." "You spent your last five dollars to ask Jeeves a blowjob question?" "I know," Tobey said. "Now, I can't get that Jaguar." I was about to respond, but I suddenly felt consumed by an overwhelmingly antsy and negative energy. I turned to the woman behind me who was about thirty years old and filled with venom. "Are you going to go?" she asked. "Some of us have important questions about our boyfriends." "Save your money," Oz said. "With an attitude like that I'm sure you turned him gay long ago." The line ahead of us had cleared , and Jeeves was tapping his fleshy fingers, waiting for me. "Oh, I'm sorry," I said. "My question got answered already." Jeeves stood up and pointed, but words would not come. "Look, no offense. I was just looking for this jackass here, and I found him so. . ." "It's you!" Jeeves stammered. "I'm not sure-" "You're here." The crowd that already hung on Jeeves's every word was now listening more closely than ever. They began to crowd the table. "It's him!" he screamed. "It's the Internet Messiah!" To be continued. . .HERE.
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To see what the world would do if the Internet disappeared, check out 8 Online Fads You Didn't Know Were Invented Decades Ago. Or get some more G-Stone with 3 Reasons the Ground Zero Mosque Debate Makes No Sense.