Google Is My Bitch

January 13, 2008

By Ronald Plimpton

Yes. It is true. I have conquered the mighty Goliath. The once herculean internet giant now huddles at my feet, a quaking, whimpering mass, hanging onto my pocket, chin on chest, like a broken spirited prison inmate. Indeed, Google is my bitch.

Ah, the power I command at my fingertips, flinging search queries like mighty thunderbolts. Zeus has returned, chariots a'blazing. Beware ye mere mortals, for it is I, Ronald Plimpton, King of the Gods.

Forever shall my name be immortalized, as I deftly maneuver, effortlessly, at 70 words per minute, through the wide expanse of cyberspace where time and space merge as one in a dimensionless parallel universe.

My fingers stroke the keyboard, like Michaelangelo's brush on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. I am the quintessential artist, and the web is my canvas.

I am a Ferrari F60, hugging the curves of the information superhighway, devouring pavement like Milk Duds, my 650 horsepower V12 screaming as my omniscience unleashes its full fury.

I am the puppetmaster, and Google is my marionette, dancing about to my every whim, with a flick of the strings at my fingers.

Yes, Google is my bitch.

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