Dear Google

Dear Google,

I'm at the end of my rope. Matter of fact, the rope's gone. I'm clutching at straws here, and slippery ones at that.

Maybe you can help me out. In fact, I know you can. You've been a dear trusted friend for longer than I've kept any single job and at the moment I can think of no other who can do for me what I expect of you. None. Not a priest, not a lawyer, not a politician, not a doctor; not an accountant, a plumber or an electrician. If the most gorgeous of svelte nymphs were to appear outside my front door with a set of fancy wheels replete with a full range of accessories, a topped up gas tank and a prominently labelled suitcase full of cash in the boot, and if she were to scoot over to the passenger side and throw me the key to the monster it just wouldn't do and that's saying a lot. Nope. Sadly, it would only be postponing the inevitable. I know that now.

The deities themselves have given up on me. Used to be I could count on flicking open some holy book and the answer would be right there. No more, although, to be honest, I'd be wary of touching them right now what with all the dust they've been gathering. What's the best way to fumigate? Something to look up later.

I feel abandoned by everyone but you. You have been my guide and companion most of the time I've been online. Everywhere I click, every webpage I visit, I can feel you nearby. Whenever I need someone to turn to for answers, who else can supply me 1,940,680 of them at the touch of a mouse button? Who else can protect me as well as you do from the foam-at-the-mouth fanatic hordes of barbarous spammers waiting like some atavistic specter of Moloch's minions with their Medieval implements of torture to enlarge my ... you know ... , to strap cheap reproduction watches to my skin, stuff my digestive tract full of pills for very ailment under the sun and crush me beneath a pile of DVDs promising the way to riches and everlasting happiness. Only you are always there: loyal, dependable, unpretentious, and most importantly efficient. If only Diogenes had been born in this day and age he wouldn't have gone wandering around the hills of Athens with that silly lamp of his.

Damn, you're good. You know what I need before I do. You're there with an answer before my synapses are jolted to an awareness of the question. Thank you.

You've got to believe I'm grateful. Heck, my cat would be fat indeed if I appreciated it half as much as I do you. But that's a whole other story, which BTW I'll have to get back to you about.

Right now, I'm feeling like someone's drawn the curtain shut and the darkness is so dense I could use it to sharpen the family's best set of steak knives. The lights are out both in the universe beyond my window and somewhere deep beneath the folds of my part-cotton, part-synthetic t-shirt. Speaking of which, I'll need to find the fabric that's best suited for a non-vegan. Or anyone at all for that matter. And how can I tell what it really is? I mean without having to blindly trust the label? I'll have to make a note to ask you at some point. I know you'll steer me in the right direction.

At the moment I've reached a desperate crisis point. I've got a desperate case of the Need-Some-Answers-Badly-Right-Now Syndrome: answers to some very troubling questions. You know ... the big ones. The scary ones. The ones that send men into the desert half-naked without any hair gel or suntan lotion and nothing but locusts to feed on. These questions are gnawing at me worse than a bad case of chiggers and I'm all done wiped out from scratching.

Maybe if I'd come straight to you in the first place I wouldn't be in this jam. Sorry. But I've come to mend the error of my ways. That should count for something.

And now it is time to start humbly petitioning the fathomless wisdom of the logarithms secreted deep within the cavernous Holy of Holies of your majestic servers. I can hear you humming from this end. You are part of God's plan: to be here for us in our time of need. I know that now.

A great burden has been lifted from my shoulders and will soon be deposited on yours, and I know you'll pull through like a real trooper.

I haven't had a good night's sleep in months but tonight will be different. I'll meditate on which question to submit to you first and am confident you won't fail me.

I feel much better already.


You humble petitioner,

Eskewel Kiuwery