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What Would Google Do?

You know how sometimes Google has that drop down bar that tells you some of the most recent things you've been Googling (yes, it's a verb)? Well I saw mine last night and thought: Fuck. You're a retard.

So, for the benefit of all I have compiled a list.

What is a lounge suit?”
I'm not cultured. I think more than one fork on the table is a cutlery set and I still don't know what a spork (or a foon?) is for. (Next Google search: “what is a spork?”) So when I was invited to a dinner and told the dress code was 'lounge suit' I politely said 'that's not a problem' before hanging up. And then it hit me: what the fuck is a lounge suit? I have a suit, but I don't lounge around in it. I don't know anyone who does. I ran around my apartment asking cultured people, but they were all foreigners who were unsure of Australian dress rules. Which begs the question: did Australia just make this up? Is a lounge suit the Australian version of stubbies, wife beater singlet and the TV remote? Thanks Google!

Smoking side effects”
I didn't look this up because I was having any sort of guilt trip about sucking on the darbs. I was helping a friend with her assignment and I must say I learned a lot. For example, did you know smoking causes blah blah blah shut the fuck up. I'm going to ring Quitline one day and ask them: “Did you know you swallow 14 spiders in your life time? What's that? You don't give a toss? Neither do I!”

You know how when you were little you used to look up the word ‘dictionary’ in the dictionary, just to see if it was there? And do you remember thinking 'fuck it would be funny if they forgot to put the word dictionary in the dictionary' and then you were supremely disappointed when you found it and your intellectual superiority trip ended with a stumble? You don't? Err, nor do I. Well I looked up Wikipedia just to see if Wikipedia had an entry on Wikipedia. They do. I think it's kind of like blowing your own trumpet, but each to their own.

“Rick Morton”
Yes, I googled myself. Don't say you haven't done it! The stuff you find on there is ridiculous. I found a message board discussing an article I wrote in the paper and people were somewhat cross with me. Bastards. I also found out there is a pro wrestler that shares my name. I also found a letter I'd written to a computer magazine when I was 16 about what equipment to buy to edit a video. Lame, Rick. Lame.

I was trying to search for the XXXX website, I swear.

“54 x 9”
I was so bad at math in high school that on most of my tests towards the end I wrote essays instead of answers. To this day working with numbers makes my head freeze in anticipation – just like Lindsay Lohan's when she spots a line of powder. People will ask me a simple times table and my muscles lock up and my nose starts to bleed. Well, I made that part up but it would be good if it did. I'd be like, “six times ten is...BLOOD! Everybody down!”

I fear I may now be under federal investigation for plotting to make bombs and Spaghetti Bolognese. I can't cook, and I can't really follow a recipe either because I have too many questions. A cup of flour. Which fucking cup? My big one with the ninja turtle straw or the little one that I do rum shots in? People have tried to teach me to cook. I still visit them at the mental institutions. And why do I need so many ingredients? Does coriander actually make a difference? Actually, what the fuck does coriander do? A dash of salt - is this a big dash or a little dash?

If it weren't for Google I'd be a lost and lonely boy. And yes, if you Google Google you just get Google back again.

words: Rick Morton


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