Google–you’re killing me

Dear Google,

I know it is your job to teach those of us who are clueless about issues that we are…well, clueless about but I think you have a fear factor built into your algorithicalications. (That is totally a word if I say it is. Google it!) Anyway, this algorithicalication is just meant to scare the snot out of us lowly users who come to you for advice.

I Googled a thing or two this weekend about stuff and have come to realize I am suffering from a rare but serious condition that afflicts one in 7,364,986 people who are of Aborigine descent and were born on a small island off of the coast of Bermuda. It does not matter that NONE of those things are actually applicable in my situation. I read about the symptoms. I can do the math. I studied what you had to say. I went to the pages you sent me to. (I am not a hypochondriac. I am a Googlecondriac. It is the root of all things terrifying.)

I just want you to know that I am writing you out of my will, Google. Oh, yes, my friend, you were going to get great and glorious things from me. But now? Not so much. You and the Internet (Al Gore, you are written out of my will, too) have done nothing but scare me.

You are mean.

Next time I will just Google porn or Britney Spears parenting skills or even Dr. Phil naked. At least I know those will be horrifyingly scary.

With not so much affection,

Jenn

NaBloPoMo, Day 4