Saturday, January 28, 2012

Existing in the Police State of Billionaire Heaven, New York City: Confessing to Google

Foto by tgw, New York City, Jan. 2012
Google Needs to Know All About Me (and You)

Google has announced that on March 1 it will begin data mining every one who logs in to one of its sites or uses Google search. Google says it's to offer a better privacy policy!!! Huh? They really mean what they are going to do is follow you as you search on Google or as you log in to your blog on blogspot (Google owns it) and they are going to collect data via cookies they'll plant in your computer as they follow you and those cookies will give them a clue as to everything you do. Like say you email a friend and brag explicitly about who you had sex with last night. Since Google owns G-mail and a lot of Yahooers and others switched over to G-mail a year or so ago, Google's sensitive-to-your-needs implanted cookies will advise Google's advertising-spammers to send you advertisements via your email that may offer you sex education courses at the University of Phoenix or maybe they'll send you an invitation by a sex therapist for a session on his or hers couch or maybe the Trojan condom promoters will offer you a free pack of rubbers if you'll order some K-Y Jelly from their on-line sexual-aid store. Or, dig this, you may joshingly email someone how you hate President Obama--Google may feel it in the common interest to supply the FBI with that email for them to analyze to see if maybe you don't win a one-way ticket to Guantanamo.

The Daily Growler posts on, so Google already I am sure has thoroughly analyzed the old Growler's growling messages (sermons) and have reached the conclusion that...well, I tell ya what I'll do, let me just go ahead and give Google all this info right now:

Dear Google:

Here's some info on me you may need when you start hurling spam-like ads at me while I'm searching or perhaps you'll redirect me first to one of your advertisers--you know those huge shadowy screens that suddenly pop up when you're say scanning the Washington Post's Website--those overshadowing pop-ups telling you that "Be AHEAD of the Game, be the envy of your Friends! How? Well, Verizon has a Droid waiting for you in your name--ready to ship to you"--you know those kind of new sales intrusions into our exposed private lives? These are the pop ups that have the "X" up in one corner you can hit and exit the ad or it will say CLOSE and you click on that and close it. Intrusive, but, hey, in or about 1973, the sales forces of companies took over the management of these companies and it effected most everything in this country and thus began first talk about shelf life and store accessableness and futuristic designs and shit like that and now it has puffed itself up into what it has always called "the Global Marketplace," marketeers expanding the sales potential universe--sales, promotion, tracking, dividing the country up into buying zones. Google also has a satellite that can practically break into your home or apartment and film your whole life without you the least knowing about it--Google can put a surveillance camera on your ass 24/7, while some computer-nerd-intern number crunches all the info that private-corporation-owned satellite collects. Google openly talks about "mapping" you in their announcement of this data mining they're going to do on their sites starting March 1st of the Year of Doomsday.

thegrowlingwolf's Giving Personal Information to My Lord, Google
For my first admission:
Yes, Google, I do read Ezra Pound's poems and his little essay books like The ABCs of Economics.

Google, I was never a member of the Communist Party, but I do dig Karl Marx and Frederick Engels and I am presently reading The Communist Manisfesto. Here go, Google, let me quote you the first line of it: "The history of all hitherto existing society is the history of class struggles." Can you relate that line, Google, to what's going on presently in the USA? Would you say it was a class war?

Google, oh by the way, let me stress that I am a White male who feels inside like he's more related to the wild wolf than he is to a civilized human being--who I admit I refer to a lot as a human-monkey, or as the late great president G.W. Bush would have put it, a human-animal-hybrid.

By the way, Google,
I must confess I hate that little spoiled brat prick G.W. Bush--I call him Georgie Porgie a lot--he and Pickles; what a fucking good life they've got for themselves off the working backs of sliding-into-poverty Americans but also off the dead American soldiers's bodies and the millions of Afghanistan and Iraq corpses his War on Terror has brought about. And, by the way, if I were president, I'd bust his ass as an enemy combatant and send him and Pickles--I might even throw the twins in the mix, too--off to Syria for some legal torture before CIA-airing them back to their new home in that gorgeous Caribbean spa, Guantanamo Bay Homeland Security Prison and Torture Administration Center. The guilty go free while the innocent are imprisoned and tortured.

Google, I graduated college with a Masters Degree in Sociological and Economic Theory. I wrote my thesis on the Sociological theories of Georg Simmel, a very difficult man to understand. Since you now own all of the books in the world, I would suggest you read some Simmel.

Google, after college I couldn't find a job in my focus field, Urban Sociology, so I opted to do what all Sociology students with Masters Degrees in Sociological and Economic Theory do when they can't find a job in their fields, they get a job as a Social Worker. My first job as a Social Worker took place in New Orleans, Louisiana, where I was hired as an Intake Worker for the Orleans Parish Court. At the time I worked in New Orleans, my official boss was District Attorney Jim Garrison. And, yes, Google, many a'mornin' I've had breakfast with the Mayor of New Orleans at that time, Vic Schiro, and Jim Garrison. Why, Google, Jim Garrison introduced me to Bullshots one afternoon in Don's Offshore Lounge down on Carondelet in Center City New Orleans.

Google, I've been married three times to three beautiful and extremely intelligent women all of whom after they kicked my ass out of their lives went on to be extremely successful. My first marriage happened in Mexico, so to hell with telling you about that one; my second marriage was my real marriage. A Texas girl I'd first met in the Disneyland parking lot in Anaheim, California, after she had just turned sweet sixteen--and what a young beauty she was--White as the driven snow in the winter; becoming brown as a Tex-Mex berry in the spring; and as red as the skin of her Choctaw grandpa in the middle of summer. When we lived in Mexico, Mexican caballeros and young chicos would gang along behind us and beside us and in front of us spouting rapid Spanish advertisements for themselves in terms of being a better sexually (mucho macho) for her than the norteamericano gringo-bastardo-ching-golly-cock-a-rony she was strolling with down the Reforma. We were married 10 years, Google, and then one day in our East Side Manhattan apartment overlooking the East River on a quiet Sunday while reading the New York Times she casually, dropping her paper as she did, informed me that she wanted a divorce (and for your sales techies, Google, note that I no longer read The New York Times and certainly never plan ever to subscribe to it no matter the fabulous offers it will be sending me via your cookies...ah what's the use--OK, yes, the Growler does have a link to the People's Daily on-line newspaper, which you will determine we Growlers do click on and read haphazardly some times. The reading of it is improvisational with us--though, hell, I reverted back to a time when Red China was one of our bitterest enemies--now it's OK to read a Red Chinese newspaper, is it not? Your call on that one, Lord Google).

Google, how 'bout we don't mention my third wife at all. Thirty years that one lasted...but, hey, I'm keeping some of my life undercover--in a steel lead-lined vault I've had installed in the concrete floor of a rented warehouse hidden somewhere out in the Lehigh Valley.

So far, Google, what do you think? I guess you want me to reveal more about my income and what I spend it on, right? Fuck all this silly personal college and marriage stuff--oh, did I say I'm a ex-military man? US Army Artillery. That ought to stand me good as a patriot, that is if a part of your data mining includes gathering information on my patriotism! I think most Americans are as stupid as Newtie Gingrich and Mitt Romney, but hey you already know that.

Google, mark me down as a cheap-ass son of a bitch when it comes to spending my money. I have an Achilles heel in my money spending secrets though, but more about that later. In terms of how I spend my money on clothes: hellfire (a good American cuss word), my wardrobe consists of about 100 tee shirts, two pairs of jeans, several pairs of Boxer Joes with holes in them, four pairs of black sox, no belts, about 30 baseball-type caps or hats--two or three I wear more than any of the others, especially my old alma mater sidelines hat--my UNT hat--a hat that some vulgar folks at first sight think spells out CUNT. They are very disappointed when they find out there's no C in my old alma mater's acronym.
The Wolf Man's UNT cap. See, there's no C.
Shoes? Well, currently because it's winter, I'm wearing my Doc Martin-imitation Italian-made thick-sole shoes with cleated soles so I don't fall down on the New York City icy sidewalks this winter when the hawk starts talking a mean frozen lingo.

Google, let's see, what do I eat? Well...that depends on how much money I have. Aha, now your ears are perking up. "He's maybe about to tell us how much money he has--fine tune me into his room so I can watch to see if he has a safe--maybe we should inform the IRS about this guy...." Sorry, Google, I'm putting words in your mouth. Where is your mouth, by the way? Oh, sorry, I'm not an info gatherer, you are. I worked in advertising long enough to know what you are data mining for. Here ya go, you'll love this: I EAT OUT EVERY DAY AND NIGHT. However, I've established a series of neighborhood restaurants, one in particular where you'll find me dining at my own table--but then you could zoom your satellite tracking device down on my apartment--it does penetrate brick doesn't it?--and when you see me puttin' on the Ritz--putting on a clean tee shirt and my same-ole green jacket made in Mongolia--when I was a kid if you'd'a told me I was going to be wearing a winter coat made in Mongolia some day, I'd'a laughed in your face--and, Google, when I'm exiting the building, just follow me and you'll see where I directly head--it's that Irish pub right there--see it?--on the left side of the street--yeah, that's it--of course this pub owner, my pal, owns three more restaurants in the area where I hide out sometimes.

Google, I know you're interested in what I buy on line. I have a tendency to say Fuck You, it's none of your business, but then I wake up to the fact that it is your business. Google ads, those particularly bothersome interventions on otherwise solid Websites--you know, you go on one of those Medical advice sites and there are all these Google ads salted in among the site's actual articles and such. And speaking of medical advice, I don't trust most doctors. I've had several friends in my life whose brothers were and are doctors; in fact, currently, three of my closest friends's brothers are doctors. I would trust a doctor in a one-to-one situation; in fact, one of my friend's doctor brothers was influential in helping me get a professional evaluation of an infection I had decades ago, a professional urologist who I trusted and who was I thought very thorough in explaining the cause of this infection, even drawing me a very well-done sketch showing me exactly where my infection was located. And, yes, I've had good results especially with eye doctors--I had a viral eye infection in the 80s and I found this very clever, witty, and seemingly knowledgeable eye doctor who prescribed this stuff that cost $80 a bottle and it worked miraculously and I haven't had any eye troubles in many a moon since. Dentists I go to, but I really don't trust these guys--I've had some hairraising experiences with dentists--but I've already exposed those moments in past posts on the Growler.

Google, one horrible thing about me is I don't believe in insurance and I don't believe in using credit so I have NO credit rating. Does such an admission get me marked off your list of your potential cookie embeddings and phishing and spamming expeditions? Probably not, but anyway, you see I'm not really a good source for someone to be suckered in by Google ads's come ons.

I could reveal a hell of a lot more--was I ever a criminal? Were you ever a criminal?

What Was Timmy Geithner Doing in Africa?
I don't believe I ever recall in our past history where a Secretary of the Treasury made US sales junkets to foreign countries, but Little Timmy Geithner took such a trip just a week or so ago. Little Timmy showed up in Africa. What was he up to? I think he was bringing pressure on them to buy our arms and genetically engineered vegetables and fruits. And speaking of genetically modified foods, did you hear that Monsanto has bought Blackwater (or whatever their latest name is)?

Oh, shit, Obama is lying sideways, backwards, upsidedown...his every word is a bunch of well-hook-punctuated bullshit. He's still trumpeting himself as a man of change--yep, he changed the Homeland Security bullshit to where he's now able to tell HIS armed forces, now a combat unit active in the USA, a first in our history, "Hey, dudes, I don't like the looks of that American down there, see, that guy in that surveillance photo there--that White guy wearing the turban...let's whisk his ass off the streets, nail him as an enemy combatant, and ship his ass off to our friends in Syria for a little legal torture--WHA! My CIA has started a revolution in man, Assad, what? But didn't I give him a Medal of Honor for his role in torturing those renditioned al-Queda agents? what there's no proof he's an enemy combatant, that makes no difference to me--bust his ass anyway; I'm the Commander 'n Chief, by gum by golly."

[Google, I forgot to confess to you that I'm not voting for any of these sham bastards this time--all of them, including Obama, are backwards-thinking lyin' dogs.]

I feel so much better after confessing to my Lord & Master Google.

thegrowlingwolf (Google me)

for The People's Daily Growler

A Little Taste of Canadian Art:

Foto by mw (Ontario, Canada, scene)
I'm more and more impressed with our old pal at wood s lot's photography. He's already a The Daily Growler Hall of Famer for keeping publishing one of the best sites on the Internet--now he's going in as a Hall of Famer photographer.

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