Conan, what is worst in modern life?
Catching the wires of your headphones on a door handle and having them pulled out of your ears. This. This is to know murderous rage.
Also to catch the same door handle on another occasion but this time with belt loops of one’s pants. How is this even possible? Conan knows not. But it displeases him greatly.
Conan, seriously, what is worst in modern life?
To ride in one’s wagon to the secured carpark and find oneself barred from entry, without notice, by a changed PIN. No other such anger has Conan known.
Come now, Conan.
Great anger and frustration also comes unto he who is cursed to sit near the dread comic book nerd in a comic book film and suffer the endless lamentations related to the non canonical nature of the cinematic narrative. Woe unto he who must endure the whining of the nerds as they explain that Sabretooth is actually Wolverine's brother, and that the organic webbing that Spiderman has in the movies is really part of his powers, or that Wolverine and Jean Grey really loved each other, but in the end it was always her and Scott. Woe unto Conan who would simply enjoy the film without a public lecture about the failure of every Marvel movie, which were all disasters, except for Ironman, but only the first one.
Conan, is that really what is worst in life this day?
Conan is often vexed by autoplay video.
Conan, please. We must know what is truly worst such that we might meet and best it.
Sudden audio from an autoplay video in a mystery tab while Conan must record his podcast with Red Sonja. Great is the sorrow and distress of this.
Unreliable phone battery discharge too. From 52% to 3% in two minutes? Not even Thoth-Amon, the Stygian wizard of great and terrible power, can summon such powerful banes. And yet Conan must simply accept this as something that happens? This. This is barbaric, Conan tells you.
But what is really worst in modern life, Conan?
Status update meetings. Such weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth do they bring. Not just the meetings themselves, but the preparation forced upon Conan. The better part of a Hyborian Age do they waste.
Conan. What is truly worst?
Inadequate server capacity on launch day. When Conan singlehandedly fought and killed hundreds of mercenaries in the thrall of Salome, the witch queen, only to be overwhelmed by sheer numbers, captured and crucified, a night and a day without water he spent on the cross, but still did he possess the strength to pull the nails from his feet, to run ten miles to gather allies for a counterattack. Yet EA cannot plug another server in for Sim City on launch day? Give Conan a break.
Any more, Conan?
Doorway talkers, unruly children in Conan’s favourite restaurant, and a drinking straw that does not quite reach to bottom of Conan’s gourd or soda bottle. These must he endure with silent, killing rage. Especially the children. They are barbarians. And Conan would know.
Conan, is that truly what is worst today?
Great is Conan’s irritation with couriers who confine him to his redoubt for a whole day only to sneak lightly through creeping shadow and pouring dark as night falls, rap lightly, once, with velvet glove, then flee, cackling, Conan’s important parcel still tucked under their arm. Conan hates that.
But Conan, you have fought in battles and lost, you have seen cities fall, you have endured great suffering, surely you can tell us what is worst in this modern Age of ours, that we might prepare as of the champions of Old.
The accidental catching of Conan’s heel by another’s supermarket trolley would be the worst, were it not for the continual fraying of Conan’s lightning cables. And one floor elevator riders, the blatant abusers of 15 Items or less express lanes and pistachios which cannot be opened. All of these has Conan slain with his blade. Except for the pistachios which left him frustrated and out of sorts but were too small to hit with a large sword. Believe it that Conan tried.