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Trapped Inbox
Bladder leakage. Unwanted moles. Herpes Madness. And that old favorite, hot Russian girls! These are but a few of the hypothetical needs I see being addressed in my email inbox. In a way, I am touched by the concern so clearly expressed by these messages. It’s nice to know that, in this time of self-absorption and alienation, there is some one out there who cares.

And yet, these matters are quite personal in nature. While I don’t want to be specific, some of these messages strike quite close to home. I am by nature a private person, and it troubles me when others feel free to address my issues so openly. Part of me worries that they have somehow discovered my secrets and now feel free to bandy them about on the worldwide web. I obsess about a nightmare scenario in which my most personal data is shared with some massive digital clearinghouse of internet creepiness.

It is obvious to me that I have been hacked. The list of coincidences is just too long to ignore. Whoever it is that tracks unwanted blemishes has clearly tapped into my data and gathered intimate details about my moles (which, if you must know, are all unwanted).

I have no way of knowing the scope of this breach, but it now appears that the creepiness has access to my financial data as well. Just today I received a notice that the warranty has expired on my family car. True, but how did they find out? I don’t share the status of my product warrantees with even the closest of my friends. In fact, I throw most of them into the trash. That’s how deep this thing has gone!

Another message tells me my application was incomplete and that this is my second notice. Will I be granted more notices? Is there still time? And what am I applying for, anyway? This webmonster, or whatever it is, apparently lives in a mysterious cloud somewhere in another dimension, and it has somehow come to know about things that I haven’t even done yet!

The only thing I can’t figure out is why this all-powerful being is interested in me. It not only cares about my moles and the porosity of my bladder, it wants to help. Too desperately I fear. I suppose I should be grateful, but I am consumed by paranoia. It seems to me that I am naked and alone, defenseless against an irresistible force. What am I to do? What will become of me?

Oh! I know… I’ll just Google it!

Please Note: Tim Eagan will read your comments but he is currently not publishing them.

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No "new normal" for me, this shit ain't normal.
~ MS, Truckee