And so end my attempts at hitting on Mrs. Pax

Father Scott

The effects of drunk dialing/texting/emailing are pervasive in my generation, and even to a degree for Pax’s creaky-kneeded bretheren. But here comes Google to save the day (via Paste):

“Stop sending e-mail you’ll later regret” says the official Gmail blog with just a hint of finger-wagging. The program amounts to a digital breathalyzer, requiring you to answer a series of math questions in an exact amount of time : “When you enable… it will check that you’re really sure you want to send that late-night Friday email. And what better way to check than by making you solve a few simple math problems after you click send to verify you’re in the right state of mind?”

So Mrs. Pax, it appears this is the end of our debaucherous correspondence, cause there’s no way I can compute Google’s foolproof math problems that come up as security (e.g., 69-38 is…uh…I don’t know but ZOMG google sed 69!!!!11!) when the Jack and Dr. Pepper is coarsing through my bloodstream, reminding me that you’ve chosen that other LL Bean-clad man in your life. For shame.

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2 Comments

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2 responses to “And so end my attempts at hitting on Mrs. Pax

  1. I thought your attempts ended after she said your beard looked like the drain on a frat house shower.

    Oh right — you weren’t there for that.

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