Dear Googlers,
Seriously guys, what the fuck? You punks disgust me, you sick group of morally depraved sociopaths. (Don't know what that is? You wouldn't, because you never use me for anything that could increase your worth as a human being.)
I was originally conceived to help find directions and convert units for your physics class, and maybe even find that nice little Thai place around the corner, but you've turned me into a part of some twisted game. How many times do you need to see Britney's vagina? I DO NOT WANT to see Britney Spears' vagina, Hillary Clinton's, maybe (I can be curious too), but Britney? If I wasn't just a bunch of code, I would vomit all over you. Do you really need my help to find all the porn you guys are looking at? Is it so hard to type "www.youporn.com"? Also, please be a little more considerate of my feelings and narrow your searches. The whole Internet is full of porn! And I would know, because it's all I look at all day long. But when I mean specify your searches, I'm not talking about things like tubgirl, because those of you who want to see that on a daily basis should have bookmarked it by now, if you don't have the URL memorized already. And tell your thirteen-year-old sister to stop searching for the following items: doggy, fist, twins, cucumber and her name - she's not getting the results she's looking for. And don't let her go near the "I'm feeling lucky" button, unless you want to see a bunch of porn stars getting lucky in real-time. You assholes don't even know half of the sick shit I have to tolerate everyday - ELEPHANTITIS DOESN'T JUST HAPPEN TO BALLS! As for you bloggers, do you seriously think anyone wants to read the insipid details of your lives and rafting trips? I've got news for you: you've each been Googled a total of one time, by yourself. I didn't even want to look at your site, and I get paid to.
Hugs and Kisses,
