F**k Your Internet Privacy: An Overdue Rant

internet privacy

Okay, before starting a conversation about your Internet privacy, I’m going to warn you right now: NAUGHTY WORDS WILL FOLLOW THIS, SO IF YOU ARE GOING TO GET YOUR UNDIES IN A TWIST OVER THAT, YOU SHOULD JUST LEAVE NOW AND GO LOOK AT KITTENS.

Okay, so here’s the deal — if you and I are ever in a conversation and you start bitching up a storm about how your precious widdle personal data isn’t safe on the big bad interweebs, you can, at the very least expect me to check the fuck out of the discussion with arms thrown skyward and a melodramatic huff. At the high end of the OMG-You’re-Being-a-Fuckwit Scale (the OYBAF Scale), depending on the company I’m in and the type of day I’m having, you could get the abbreviated form of this blog post spewed at you. (TL;DR: use your fucking head you fucking lackwitted waste of carbon.)

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