The Creepy Drunk

Google creeps me out.

Sure, I utilize components of it on a daily basis, sure - searching, translating, emailing, navigating, stalking, etc. - but they're like that guy at a party who's chugging a bottle of Jim Beam, with everyone around him chanting "Drink! Drink! Drink!" Yeah, everyone's really impressed in his prowess, and everyone loves a good show.

Plus, the whole chant thing brings people together - that's why chanting has been around for so long. Otherwise no one would do it, right?

Well, eventually all that whiskey is going to rush to that guy's brain. And who knows what type of drunk he is.

Is he a mean drunk? Will he rush at the nearest person to him and throttle them? Or is he a frisky drunk? Maybe he'll start fondling all the female party-goers, trying to find one that will go home with him. Or - God forbidding - he's one of those sappy drunks that just starts crying and telling everyone how much he loves them, or, conversely, how nobody will ever love him.

It can go either way. I've seen all those types of drunk, and I'm sure you have too.

So what the hell does this have to do with Google? I'll tell you:

We don't know what type of drunk Google is.

Sure, today they're providing us with mind-blowing services on a consistent basis - so much so, in fact, that we take it for granted. In a day where we can translate languages instantly for free, while accessing any small snippit of information from the darkest corners of cyberspace is, in all actuality, pretty frickin' creepy. Of course, when technology grows so much that it becomes too powerful to control, there's reason to sit up and take notice.

This had me sit up this morning:


Yeah, that's the street view of my house. Google took a picture of my house. From space. What's creepy is that you can zoom in so much that you can read the pictures on the back wall of my garage, determine which load of laundry is being done, and read the labels on the boxes in storage off to the right:

This, for me, is creepy as shit.

Anyone in the world can see my underwear. Just type in my address and knock yourself out.

(You're welcome!)

- Brian