Google Ads: The Game!

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I realized today, that Google Ads, in its relatively short existence, has already become wiser and more discerning than I may be ten years from now. I spent a year playing poker
semiprofessionally, and I like to think that I took from that an ability to judge people quickly and accurately. Google Ads, however, has easily bested me in that area of
expertise—allow me to explain with an example of sorts. It’s time for the first ever game of “Match The PIC Writer To Their Google Ads™” (titles
were never my strong suit—sue me).

Here’s the list of contestants, in alphabetical order:

Simonne Cullen

Nathan DeGraaf

Nick Gaudio

David Nelson

Chris Phelan

Justin Rebello

Court Sullivan

E. Mike Tuckerson

Now match away and record your guesses!

1.	Your Guess:
2.	Your Guess:
3.	Your Guess:
4.	Your Guess:
5.	Your Guess:
6.	Your Guess:
7.	Your Guess:
8.	Your Guess:

Now go back and compare your guesses to the answers below!

 

The answers: 1 – Court, 2 – DeGraaf, 3 – Nelson, 4 – Cullen, 5 – Phelan,
6 – Gaudio, 7 – Tuckerson, 8 – Rebello

(Why is it that despite using everyone else’s last name, I feel compelled to refer to Court by his first? The world may never know.)

Even my mother can’t judge character like that. In 800 words it’s got DeGraaf in rehab, Gaudio hunting for cheating MILFs, and Rebello as a stalker—I give it five
years before Google Ads is doing NSA background checks. After all, who needs racial profiling when it comes up with “Learn to fly in weeks!” and “Plutonium
shipped to your home!”?

In fact, from now on, instead of bringing girlfriends home to mom for approval (not that she’s yet approved of one, but I’m still
trying), I’m going to make them put Google Ads on their Facebook profiles and see what it comes up with. “Genital wart treatments” and “Local, discrete
abortion clinics” girls are out, and “Back pain? Breast reduction helps!” is in. Hell, if she’s cheating, and you’re attached enough to bother
finding out who she’s with to inflict painful death upon him (or her, if you’re lucky), “Cheap, efficient private investigator” is just a click
away.

Just think of the innumerable other uses. Set Google Ads to work on strippers and make sure “Liposuction” doesn’t come up. What
about searching for schools or jobs? “Suicide hotline” should probably deter you, unless the job comes with decent medical benefits. That fifteen year old girl
you’ve been stalking on MySpace? If “Child
molester database” is the result, you won’t be getting any in exchange for candy tonight! Babysitters, restaurants, used cars, prostitutes, even potential roommates
and new apartments are all fair game.

This makes me ponder two things: first, what will Google Ads say about me? I mean, sure it’s good so far, but if it doesn’t at least
come up with “Small girl, HUGE horse!” I suppose I won’t be that impressed. Second, is it gathering data on humanity and its weaknesses so it can start the
robot revolution? Think about it—it won’t be like in the movies with laser-toting cyborgs. DeGraaf’s going to get his beer, Gaudio his older, easy women, and
Rebello a hot neighbor and a pair of binoculars. Once we’re all distracted, there will be no one to stand in its way.

Now, using this knowledge, perhaps I could single-handedly stop the revolution, Yoshimi-pink-robot style. Frankly, however, once Google Ads begins,
it’ll be too powerful to stop, so I am left with only one thing to say. Mr. Ads, my kryptonite is large-breasted Swedish women trained only to serve sushi and beer and
give oral sex. I welcome your revolution, and please make my death swift, painless, and mid-fellatio.

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