Google: "Cool" Lies, Plain Truth Woah, dude, I didn't think you'd spot me there, or feel my touch. You say you want your wallet back? Ha! Fat Chance. I'm no ordinary pickpocket, you know. I am The Pickpocket, The Grand Master, The Pickpocket of all Pickpockets. And I pick brains too, of course. I am the picker of all brains; I am the brain that picks the brains, The brain that picks the brains that picks the brains ... And I am also Big Brother, or Big Brother of Big Brother, to be more exact. You know Big Brother— Mr. Orwell told you about him. But I am Big Brother of Big Brother. You can also think of me as Big Sister of Big Sister, Sista Supreme! The times, they change, don't they? But not the plots, little fellow. It's still money and power, money and power ... But back to your wallet, You didn't know who was there, did you? Mr. Orwell suspected Big Brother had an accomplice but he never spotted me because, well, I'm no ordinary thief. I am like Feynman's subatomic particles, living a dual existence, or maybe I should say an infinite number of simultaneous existences. I'm as hard to spot as the Higg's boson and even harder to apprehend. Spot me somewhere and, poof, I'm no longer there! Ha! I always have an alibi no matter what anyone says! In fact, I have many alibis. I can pick your pocket or brain, and I can pick ten, a hundred, a thousand ... any number of other pockets or brains at the same time. What a deal, huh? I am wired to win in any situation; only losers refuse complicity in my ruses. In older times I was called a swarm of flies or a pack of lies, maggots multiplying or a pile of you-know-what. Some even called me Beelzebub. Beelzebub, that's shorter, I guess. Why describe the attributes of an object if you can give it a nifty name like that? But you can call me Google or Boogle, or the Great Google Boondoggle, as long as you don't ask for your money back. Sorry about that but it's mine now. And it's really your fault, this whole situation. Let me explain. You see, Googoolians— that's what we call you here in the cheery white fortress in the valley of friendly deception— are not very bright. Didn't you know that my answers to your questions— you call them "search results," I think— were all bogus? You say "bias," I say "bogus"; same thing. Why didn't you slow down, quit saying "cool" and "awesome," and think a little? Is it too uncool to think in your hyper-active, super-connected world of icon idolatry? Let me ask you this: Is the best restaurant guide for a district in San Francisco, say North Beach, the home page of some particular restaurant? Does restaurant = guide ? Try it: Ask me about        San Francisco restaurant guide North Beach No, but that didn't stop you from going to OpenTable, making a reservation, then going there for dinner. You even told your social-media friends it was "fucking awesome" when, in plain language, it was mediocre. Any idea how much money I made from duping you? And is the best headache medication the pharmaceutical equivalent of heroin? Dude, did you not wonder about taking OxyH+++ after ODing and the ambulance ride to San Francisco General Hospital? Didn't that "fucking suck?" Where's your review on that, citizen journalist? You end up in the emergency room and I score big time. Who's the best damn dealer in the 'hood? You bet—Big Doc G. And who's fault is that, little g? Who doesn't stop for a moment to think? Who's too busy pushing buttons? And as for my reading your email, man, come on! You knew about that all along, or should have. Wasn't it obvious when all those ads for stuff you asked me about showed up on every web page you looked at, even in your email? And did you really think it was "cool" or "awesome" when I put almost every real news organization out of business by stealing their content and— with a couple of tricksters called AdWords and AdSense, the heart of antitrust darkness— their advertising revenue? Oh, yes, I left a few of the big boys standing but how anemic they are now! If they were dogs I would shoot them. Even I feel sorry for them sometimes when there is nothing worth reading. Grow up, man! And quit blaming me for having to read "buzz," not news, and a bunch of dreadful blogs paid for by politicians, special interest groups, and corporate America! You applauded me when I destroyed the good guys, shredded their livelihood, and put them out in the street. Remember? "Way to go Google!" Children, you helped usher in the Age of Nonsense! But maybe you can help me out on this one, because I just don't get it: Did you really believe that history no longer mattered in the"digital age" of pierced ears and tattoos; that logic was a burdensome restriction on free thought; that philosophy was the domain of low achievers and sexless saps; and that the age-old masterpieces of art could be improved by computer-animation and blaring hip-hop intimidation? Email me your answer on that one, okay? I promise not to share it with anyone else. Ha! Now let's talk Google Glass and self-driving cars, little Googoolian. With all the money I've made stealing "content"— Well, what else could I do? I have none of my own!— and advertising monopolies that would make the Big Four sick with jealousy, I have money to burn for all my pet projects, which are really the hobbies of spoiled children who can't get enough attention. Here, put on these glasses and let's go for a spin. Gonna be "fucking awesome," dude! You'll forget about evil deeds, deception, and who knows what else! Wanna watch a little porno while we spin around the Valley— San Jose, Santa Clara, Palo Alto, Mountain View? We've got that too. Just go to images.google.com and enter      young naked girls Didn't I tell you? We're the King of Porno too, the largest pornography site in the world. Didn't you notice that monitoring device on my ankle? Okay, we had better not be gone too long. And don't tell me you've been Googled. We have great lawyers, the best judges money can buy, and a cozy relationship with the Federal Trade Commission.
	—By Louis Martin