Within six months, the following conversation will take place:
Me: Yo, where's [redacted, but rhymes with Sputnik]?
Adam: I dunno. Check your magic phone.
Me: (Checks Magic Phone) It says here he's at 1260 Boylston. What's he doing there?
Adam: That's where the liquor store is.
Me: But today's a holiday and liquor stores are closed in Massachusetts on a holiday.
Adam: Well, the only other things there are a Domino's, a porn store, and a gay bar. And it's too early for the Domino's to be open.
Me: Oh, [redacted].
Google already knows everything. Now it also knows where you are and will gladly let other people know that too.
Ladies and Gentlemen, Google Latitude!
Stalkers everywhere are celebrating. And a celebration like this hasn't been seen since porn titans found out about the internet. Champagne and trenchcoat sales just boomed.
Sure, there are privacy controls. Sure, you can choose whether to share this information or keep it private. You can choose who you want to see where you are. You have every means of control available at your disposal.
But of course the internets neeeeeeever get hacked. Of course your location is neeeeeever compromised. Of course your girlfriend will neeeeeever demand that you turn this on when you go to Vegas with your buddies just to make sure you're back at your hotel (off-strip of course) before midnight. Of course people will neeeeeeeever notice that you seem to spend all your time at that sketchy place in the corner with the painted windows.
And just how the hell are you supposed to "accidentally" give the annoying kid everyone hates the wrong bar name? Watch the "doctor's appointment" excuse cease to be. And can't you picture INS agents somewhere going, "Hmm, Charlie seems to be wandering perilously close to El Paso, don't you think?"
You thought the paranoid were paranoid before? You ain't seen nothing yet. Watch this:
And she would!
Pray for him. Pray for us.
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