The Nanny Internet….

August 7, 2013

and you thought the gov’mint was nosey….

It’s like having some obsessed parental control freaks following me around, telling me in precise detail what I should like, think, look at, talk about, read, yadda, yadda, yadda. With (in)sincere apologies to obsessed parental control freaks everywhere, having someone refold my skivvies to within microscopic tolerances is a pain in the ass, but not nearly so much as the internet deciding that it knows more about me and my likes and dislikes than I do myself.

I think it started as just one of those new digital playthings that Google or someone thought up a few years ago, but the whole concept has become a disease. I turn my computer on in the morning, and just about anywhere I go I am greeted by a synopsis of what I seem to have enjoyed in recent days. Excuse me, you stinkin’ sack of ones and zeros, but YOU didn’t savor that piece of lemon meringue pie I had for dessert the other day I did! I casually browsed e-Bay for a specific book and within hours YOU spam my universe with the entire contents of the Library of Congress and YOU then presume to inform me regarding exactly what I like and should therefore immediately beg, borrow, steal, buy, download, eat for dinner, or read based upon your annoying and intrusive need to stick your digital nose up my intellectual butt 24/7.



I will look when and where I please for what I may or may not find interesting. I don’t give a toot how many ones and zeros you can dance with, I have 100 billion brain cells and I’ll use them any way I please, and if I want you to do anything with the crap you suck up from my footprints, I’ll let you know.

Don’t ask….don’t tell…

If I don’t ask you for it, don’t tell me your two cents worth. We’re in a recession and two cents actually aren’t worth a fly fart in a hurricane, anyway.

Don’t tell me what I did yesterday. I already know. And don’t tell the NSA either, because it’s none of their business.

Don’t tell me what your statistical Bingo basket predicts I would enjoy doing today. Maybe I already have plans. Maybe I don’t. Maybe I don’t want any.

Don’t keep track of what I buy, where I buy it, and how much I pay so you can attempt to steer me to what you and your market pimps want me to buy next and where you want me to buy it.

Don’t keep track of what I view and where I view it, so you can attempt to steer me to what you and your market pimps want me to view next and where you want me to view it in order to generate “hit” points for some entity who really doesn’t give a flying crap about making my day easier, more amusing, or more productive.

This attempt by Google and all of its illegitimate mutant spawn to hijack the human brain processes to which they have no deed, title, or even so much as a short term lease has resurrected in me a level of Oppositional Defiant compulsions I have not experienced since puberty, …..or, at least since I retired.

I have visions of swiping the lug nuts from Google’s wheels, painting their living room picture window black, and perpetrating various and sundry little bad boy stunts with firecrackers and animal byproducts. Fortunately, I am just as capable of choosing to NOT do such things as I am of choosing to NOT to follow their stupid trails of digital crumbs.

Nobody is perfect, however, so I must confess that I thoroughly enjoy feeding contradictory lies to random databases whenever possible, on the off chance that I might produce a self-consuming loop.


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