[SHORT STORY] The G Monologues

Google Music asks me if I feel lucky tonight. I look at my Levis holes, the dusty screen of my Macbook, some junk leftovers , a pack of warm Miller at my feet ... fortunately, it's a rhetorical question. The soundtrack of this monologue is a gracious courtesy of the giant Internet search corporation of Palo Alto.

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I click on the dice hoping not to fall on Katy Perry. The words Creedance Clearwater Revival appear at the top right corner of my screen. An intense sensation takes me from the first notes of "Fortunate Son". A feeling of invincibility ... of "I love the smell of napalm in the morning. The smell of victory."
“It is not me! It is not me! I am not no fortunate one.” So who was this blessed of the gods? This child spoiled by high-tech antonomastic consumption. So high that we lose the H, and then we will talk about Ipod and Iphone. Who needs textual marker when we have trademarks.
We must thanks the digital fatum. It strengthens me in my passivity. It keeps me comfortable in my pandemonium. Then, an advertising break ... greed requires, it is now time to move to the premium plan.

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