How Google Docs Will Split With You [Google]

Nov 12th 2010
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We began so hot and heavy. The probabilities were endless. We were one of these pair, the two of us! Passionate. In love. At the least that’s what you led me to believe, you fucking asshole.

We began so hot and heavy. You’d visit me for your spare time at work, sneaking in a paragraph or two. Or stop in for your lunch break, with simply enough time to dirty up some spreadsheets. You were ravenous. The juices were flowing. You’d sweat over hard ideas, until finally words and sentences came spewing forth, euphoric. The probabilities were endless. We were this kind of pair, the two of us! Passionate. In love.

At least that’s what you led me to believe, you fucking asshole.

Was it me? My files got bloated, I’ll admit that. They swelled up with every never-finished blog post, but goddamnit that was your fault too. It took two of us to create Postmodern Sitcom Pitch! And List of Possible Memoir Titles didn’t just fall out of my folder-it was born of your textual input! But I never complained. Not once. Not even once I wouldn’t see or hear from you for days. I kept my mouth shut and our young documents saved, sheltered on my servers, watching their stunted growth. There were so a lot of them, all so promising. Sure, there were typos, a couple of false starts within the group, but they were ours. They ought to were nurtured. They only hadn’t matured.

And what did they get? A father? Ha! That they had some man who’d swing by once every week, poke around, and leave. They’d get so happy once you signed in. I’d be so happy. But frequently you’d ignore all of them. You then’d have the nerve to upload something from some other whore of a word processor-that you simply PAID to take advantage of, I’d add-and expect me to search after it.

Sometimes our little documents would see you there during the corner window, talking to friends, LOLing and exchanging web addresses all day. Collecting tabs. Wondering if it was their fault that you just had left. And who was there to select up the broken pieces of 12-point Times New Roman? Me, who broke my fucking back to produce you with anything you ever wanted. At no cost! And let’s not forget the perks I gave you. The presentations. The sharing. The ” collaborative editing” that ended in that bastard, One-Act Play that I still took care of THANK YOU GREATLY.

I’m writing to you because I’m through with you. Dunzo. You don’t have any idea what it’s like here now that you’ve got abandoned us. Unfinished Novel Outline has no likeable character. He just wanders around all day, bumping into everyone else without apologizing, talking about awards that he’s never actually going to win. Personal Essay About My Mother is either sitting around and crying for no reason or talking about how special she is. I hate to tell her that each one my friends have kids almost like her. Updated Résumé is a loser. And don’t get me started on Ideas For Young Adult Series. He’s just embarrassing.

I’m purging your files and getting my lean figure back. I’m reevaluating my Terms of Use. There are many men obtainable who wouldn’t take my services with no consideration. I don’t want your documents anymore. I’m sending them all to a foster Dropbox. Wiki and I actually have been talking, and the two of us are giving up on people like you. We’re uninterested in bending over backwards to modify ourselves for every asshole that looks our way. Hope you enjoy life with just you and your pen.

- Google Docs

PS: Burn in hell.

PPS: You could consider Imaginary Letter To My Boss sent.

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