Google Your Goggles

For those of you who don’t spend 100% of your internet time on facebook and reading celebrity gossip, political and shopping blogs like me (and I’m kickass), I would like to inform you that the recent Ivy-Graduates-in-San-Fransisco-Constituency, also known as “Team Google” have created a new feature to prevent you from writing drunk emails.

Mail Goggles, as they are called, note a frequency in typos and interrupt your rant to an ex with math equations. If you are competent enough to solve said problems, you may continue your well-wishing of the syph and herpes.

Now, this idea could work if your emails looks like this: djklfasdlkfjaklghah. While this may be beneficial to some, I have to ask: how many of you actually drunk email? The only person I ever drunk email is myself, and it’s generally from my blackberry, and I wake up delighted to the Sunday morning “Call back Grandma Ellen,” “You ate six oreos; RUN,” and “Is it hot in here? Whhyyy nooo it’s just meeeee” messages to myself--I consider it responsible. However, I can think of a couple of things the smarties at Team Google could come up with to prevent the usual drunken humiliation:

1. The refrigerator. How many times have you come home at 3 a.m. to demolish the entire contents of your fridge? Good news for me is I buy food like, once a month; bad news is, I forget about it shortly after. Additionally, I live with seven skinny bitches who seem to hatch chocolate baked goods that sit there in our fridge, and when I come back from Smoke's, the effing brownies lecture me about how they’re lonely. Not with Google: give me some Trig, and maybe some AP Stat and a code to punch in, and my late-night notes to self would be gone-zo. The only risk here is if you stop at Allegro's or Fro Gro, in which case Google would have to come up with some Inspector Gadget shit.
2. The Beer Goggles. Fortunately I have only had one situation where I woke up to look at the guy in bed and thought, “Thank God: he’s still hot.” But not everyone has such luck. What if we had to do BC Calc to take my pants off? I certainly wouldn’t be fucked.