You gotta be fucking kidding me.
The Art of Gratuitous PraiseCompliment Machine Gives Passersby Pats on the Back
By Joshua Zumbrun Washington Post Staff Writer Saturday, July 21, 2007
Feeling blue? Unloved? As if nobody appreciates you? Maybe no one can see your inner wonderfulness. Or maybe you deserve to be forsaken. Maybe you are unloved because you're such a jerk, simply unlovable. Maybe you're a victim of the old maxim: "If you can't say anything nice . . . "
So when walking along 14th Street NW, you might be surprised to hear a chime followed by a reassuring voice:
"You help create a brighter future."
The avuncular voice calls out from a bright red-and-white-striped box perched on a platform of bricks, with a speaker at eye level and a grid of ventilation holes in the side. A small sign explains, "The Compliment Machine." The striking colors, stark lines and sharp corners lend the appearance of some strange installation of the municipality, perhaps from the Bureau of Self-Esteem or the Ministry of Happiness.
Ding! "People are drawn to your positive energy."
Is it true? It must be. The Compliment Machine looks as though it knows what it's talking about. Maybe it's a kinder, gentler cousin of Big Brother?
Ding! "You don't hate the player or the game."
What's next a motherfucking insult machine?
the fuck is this world coming to?
By Joshua Zumbrun Washington Post Staff Writer Saturday, July 21, 2007
Feeling blue? Unloved? As if nobody appreciates you? Maybe no one can see your inner wonderfulness. Or maybe you deserve to be forsaken. Maybe you are unloved because you're such a jerk, simply unlovable. Maybe you're a victim of the old maxim: "If you can't say anything nice . . . "
So when walking along 14th Street NW, you might be surprised to hear a chime followed by a reassuring voice:
"You help create a brighter future."
The avuncular voice calls out from a bright red-and-white-striped box perched on a platform of bricks, with a speaker at eye level and a grid of ventilation holes in the side. A small sign explains, "The Compliment Machine." The striking colors, stark lines and sharp corners lend the appearance of some strange installation of the municipality, perhaps from the Bureau of Self-Esteem or the Ministry of Happiness.
Ding! "People are drawn to your positive energy."
Is it true? It must be. The Compliment Machine looks as though it knows what it's talking about. Maybe it's a kinder, gentler cousin of Big Brother?
Ding! "You don't hate the player or the game."
What's next a motherfucking insult machine?
the fuck is this world coming to?
posted by Federico at
11:38 PM
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