I’ve never been a big fan of instruction manuals. They always seem deliberately obtuse and for the most part I don’t really think they’re necessary. If you just bought a self launching space station then, yeah, maybe you need an instruction manual. But I don’t think a coffeemaker needs an instruction manual. I don’t think a lawnmower needs an instruction manual. It should be possible to design those things in such a way that getting them to work is obvious just from looking at them.
And for the most part, I seldom need to use instruction manuals. Usually, with a little fiddling around, I can figure out how to get something to work. It strikes me that instruction manuals are probably yet another modern invention that’s causing vast sections of society to become neurotic. After all, instruction manuals treat you like a child; basically say, “you can’t figure this out without reading 20 pages of technical jargon. Without me, you are nothing.” People become overwhelmed with all the technical contrivances out there and additionally become convinced they have no way to handle them without instructions.
I suspect instruction manuals are also responsible for a lot of male homosexuality. Guys look at the naked female body and think, “there’s no way I can figure that out. I’ll just stick to what I know.”
Yeah, instruction manuals are lame.
I wanna hear Tommy Stinson play the bass solo on “Welcome To The Jungle”.
Nobody reads instruction manuals. You just buy your new stuff and FUCK AROUND WITH IT for a couple of days until you think you know how to use it. Maybe once every couple of weeks you learn how to do something new. This afternoon I figured out how to remix Oasis CDs with my microwave oven. Last week I accidentally downloaded some Japanese Shit Porn on an ATM.
Tommy’s still waiting on the instruction manuel for that bass solo.