Thursday, June 10, 2004
With Gmail fever sweeping the nation like an incurable disease, I thought it best to console those who have yet to receive invitations. As for my own invitation, I’m sure it’s in circulation, just waiting to wend its way into my antiquated “e”-mail account. In all likelihood an unscrupulous deliveryman probably stole it for himself, coveting it and stroking it as if it were a newborn pup.
Those are my problems, however, and we’re here you talk about yours, gentle reader. You probably haven’t received an invitation either, and for that you have my condolences. It’s okay, really, because the same unscrupulous deliveryman probably stole yours along with mine, or Google really hates you. Let’s go with the latter possibility. Have you ever questioned what the “G” in Gmail stands for? I think it stands for “Gestapo,” but that’s just me. Picture it: a Gothic tower in the heart of Silicon Valley, a gathering storm, flashes of lightning, men and women in finely tailored suits whispering dark machinations across Instant Messenger, cryptic missives doled out to those select few who are in the know. It’s positively criminal. And unfair. In the spirit of inclusion and good ol’ American know-how, let’s draft an invitation to send ourselves.
Hello Comrade,
You have toiled under this travesty, this “free marketplace” of e-mail services for too long. Hotmail, Excite, Yahoo–these are the capitalistic mongrels who would have us scream with delight and gratitude, even as they crush us under their monolithic weight.
“From each according to his ability to purchase high-speed Internet to take advantage of our massive storage services, to each according to need.” That is our credo. And it shall be yours, should you choose to join our revolution, our fight, our Gmail.
Please insert your soul into your disk drive. Meet us at the corner of xxxxxxxx and xxxxxxxx. And bring cookies. Do all of this and an account shall be
Yours,
G.
I feel much better now.