Google Your Goggles
October 16, 2008 at 3:50 pm
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:
- 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.
- 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.