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Sitting on a hard plastic chair under a fluorescent buzz as an employee lectures on proper condom use—a catechism you know by heart yet sometimes fail to heed—you may conclude, as Emily Witt did, that the time has come to change your life. Just before Valentine’s Day, Witt had slept with a friend. A few weeks later, he called to report that he might have chlamydia. “I still envisioned my sexual experience eventually reaching a terminus, like a monorail gliding to a stop at Epcot Center,” Witt writes in “Future Sex” (Farrar, Straus & Giroux), her gutsy first book.

“There’s no need for a middle man, no reason to ask for anyone’s permission to make a movie (like a producer).

As a rule, I don’t download time-sucking games onto my phone. Back in May, when I first made space on my screen for that little red flame icon, I didn’t realize the latest online dating app craze was a game. Last night my roommate, who met his boyfriend on Tinder, perched beside me for some vicarious swiping. Like Zuckerberg’s original, verboten pleasure, Face Smash, which asked Harvard douchebags to choose the hotter classmate between two photos, Tinder offers players a simple, visceral choice. The right one will prompt other players to click through to see your tagline and up to four other photos.

That’s right: they’ve finally made an online dating service that is fun — nay, addictive — to use.

And with a rotating set of fun features and filters, it's also the response to Facebook and Twitter's stale experiences.

As with any social network, much of your Snapchat experience will depend on who you follow, but on this one you're less likely to find carefully composed posts.

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