Google’s Manhattan Offices Sit Atop an Internet Nexus
Everyone already seems resigned to having Google as their benevolent technocratic overlord, but in doing so we have tacitly consented to a bunch of sick dorks recording and reading every schedule detail, email and chat we’ve ever typed—and using the info “gleaned” (same as spied) to advertise online degree courses and diet pills. Given how bovinely docile people have reacted toward this invasion, it should be no surprise that Google’s goliath New York office is a first step toward furthering even more insidious, invasive goals.
Google’s policy of recruiting the best and the brightest and inculcating them into the organization with a series of Scientology-inspired personality tests and office perquisites rivaling those of imperial courtesans isn’t just for the benefit of the company, it’s in the hope of creating a newer, cleaner, “less evil” world.
Last week Google expanded its Chelsea offices by opening more space across the street from its 111 Eighth Avenue space. The thing is, below that space—mingling with the CHUDs, alligators and pink ooze—is the pulsating core of the Internet, a seething nexus of fiber-optic amazingness. No joke, it’s the Hudson Street/Ninth Avenue fiber highway, one of the most vital Internet arteries created by man.
Just wait: In 2012, the end of the Mayan calendar (the civilization that created the first rudimentary search engine by arranging, measuring and interpreting the fine movements of its captured enemies’ entrails wrapped around a stone framework built in relation to the positions of the stars), the Googleplex will break its Manhattan mooring, float up above the city and activate a long-planned info-bomb that will prioritize all of your electronic emissions by order of embarrassment and send every chat, email, website visit or online purchase to the person(s) who should least be allowed to see it, devastating humanity’s collective dignity and inviting a violent and immediate shame-based, civilization-wide implosion. Meanwhile, Sergey Brin and Larry Page will clink champagne glasses from the Googleplex’s observation deck and toast both our demise and the approaching free-to-use, intuitively designed Googletopia…the fucking nerds.
High Line Park is a Secret Conveyor for Celebrities
Friends of the High Line tell us that an elevated park is being developed along the West Side of Manhattan. We see the fancy-schmancy condos and hotels going up slapdash in Chelsea and the Meatpacking District to give spectacular views of the Gotham landmark. And soon, the new Whitney Museum will even show up to strut its stuff. But we know it’s never gonna happen. The High Line renovation project is really nothing more than a means for Manhattan celebrities to move about the West Side unseen! Unbeknownst to the common New Yorker—still stuck on the ground, with no way to peer past fencing—the High Line has been in operation for months now, ferrying NY’s richest and most famous without the need for waiting in traffic or interacting with commoners. Diane von Furstenburg knew she had something great after the 12th party she hosted in honor of the ironwork and eventually decided she couldn’t give it up, so she banded together with her party crew and dreamed up a way to continue to keep up the facade of bonhomie, while selfishly keeping the lofty playground for her elite cronies. We were duped into giving money and precious faith (wasted!) that it would one day be a public park for all New Yorkers. But the nefarious scheme must be revealed!
Banana Republic is Tracking You Through Your Clothes
You remember the little tabs in those cute, sensible tops that are perfect for office attire? The ones that say: “CUT BEFORE WEARING”? Well, you should follow the instructions, because those innocuous pieces of cloth and dull techno wizardry are actually savvy tracking devices. They were first imbedded in seams so that the retailer could easily track their shipments globally as they shipped from China to Western shores. Then some low-level assistant (who was wearing her own A-line jumper in a snazzy herringbone pattern cut on the bias) realized that the little blips were still active and detected the constant scurrying of countless PR interns and Midtown office temps. She alerted the VP of marketing and got herself a raise. Banana Republic now tracks neglectful customers’ every move (see dog microchips), responding to choice in dry cleaners and other shopping habits. They’re in cahoots with Jamba Juice, since the “vitamins” in those overpriced Slurpees make it easier to pick up the signal—and accidental spills make it essential to restock the wardrobe on a regular basis.
City’s Recycling Program is Just a Feel-Good Front
You arduously separate plastics and paper from your stinky banana peel, quietly hoarding all those non-biodegradables for weekly curbside collection. It makes you feel like you’re doing your part to save the world, one Trader Joe’s paper grocery bag at a time, right? But think about it: You’ve never actually seen what goes on down at the old garbage dump. Recycling is expensive and we’re in a recession, people! Thus, while some of the time your stuff really is regenerated into one of those coffee-cup sleeves made from 60 percent post-consumer recycled material, The Man likes to cut down on costs by hauling the rest off to some landfill in Pennsylvania where it’s sealed off for millennia away from prying eyes. Quick, someone call Captain Planet!
In times of crisis, it’s always best to take things into your own hands. Reduce your daily impact by composting moldy leftovers, or, if you really want to buck the system, live a paperless existence totally devoid of petty belongings like toilet paper or MetroCards. It won’t be easy, but at least you’ll never have another paper cut as long as you live.
Halal Trucks Fund Terrorists
First the hotdog carts started to disappear; then the halal trucks began to clog the sidewalks of the city. OK, we acknowledge that it sounds a wee bit racist to assume any and every person working a cart serving Middle Eastern food may be connected to some terrorist group—lighten up! But don’t pretend you haven’t seen those ubiquitous halal food carts around the city and thought there can’t be such big business in selling gyros to the lunch crowd and drunk kids sitting on curbs.
The theory behind halal terrorism is that Muslim immigrants, homesick and in search of a little jihad camaraderie, band together for the common cause of supporting corrupt regimes. What better way to do this than to sell Americans the fatty food they can’t live without? The irony is almost poetic. And what if Osama bin Laden is hiding out in a Lower East Side food cart just under our noses?
Halal sales dropped significantly after 9/11, so some folks out there must be a little ignorantly suspicious of the Muslim community, but they have since rebounded. Still, when the munchies strike, what’s a lousy $4.50 really going to do to advance any terrorist operations? Eat. Pray. Love.
Dogs Imbedded With Microchips are Marketing Miracles
That 3-year-old Labrador retriever picked up in the Brooklyn Animal Shelter in East New York last month was expected to accompany you for vigorous jogs in Prospect Park, weekend swims on Long Island and late nights spent snuggled on the couch with a pint of Phish Food and Season Three of Entourage. The first couple weeks were pure canine bliss; but by the start of July, eerily prescient emails advertising pills to treat your symptoms began to arrive, or ads for iPod repair when your Nano froze. When toothpaste or toilet paper ran out, direct mail coupons mysteriously appeared.
Turns out the pooch had been outfitted with a “standard” tracking chip so that if she were lost, the search would be quick and painless. It also contained a small microphone, however, recording conversations and sidewalk jaunts and transmitting the data to unknown market-research firms. This sort of “pet tapping” is running rampant. Although vets are reluctant to release medical records, it’s suspected such “bugs” are implanted in dogs, cats, parrots, snakes, hamsters and even squirrels and pigeons (who spy at lunch in parks). Think again before you reveal all your inner secrets to cute little Chauncy.
Bloomberg is Collecting DNA From the City Streets
Going out for a cigarette break? Don’t toss that butt to the floor! Mayor Mike Bloomberg is after your DNA sample, and he’s willing to stoop to the ground—or pay someone else to—in order to get it.
He’s currently pushing through a proposal to mandate that anyone arrested for any crime also be swabbed for a DNA sample. Cops will need to be trained on this, but they will soon learn how to take the sample with a Q-tip and then mail that to Albany; there, a giant DNA database is being built that can be used to solve future crimes.
But he’s also spending millions on an effort to expand that database to include DNA of the innocent. He’s hired hundreds of men and women to wear a variety of high-tech costumes that will disguise them as green metal trash cans, telephone booths, even as scaffolding. The job of these hacks is to gather any tossed napkins, cups or food scraps that could contain your DNA and then send that up to Albany as well.
Basically, the mayor’s banking on most everyday New Yorkers eventually committing a crime. So, he wants to be ready. We recommend you start getting familiar with how to file a lawsuit claiming a false-positive.
Thousands of Immigrants Live in Chinatown Tunnels
We all know about the folks living in the subway tunnels—that’s no secret. But what about the thousands (millions?) of poor, trapped Chinese immigrants who are forced to live below the city streets? Sure, you’ve walked through those secret panels to get at the excellent bourgie bags for cheap. But that’s just one layer of subterfuge. Peel back the panels, and there is an entire network of tunnels, rooms and secret living quarters down below…
When feudal landlords could no longer stack more beds and pack more employees in already dilapidated housing, they looked for a new location: below the ground. The tunnels were once used by marauding Chinese gangs, who would use them for sneak attacks. Those trapdoors look like they are stuffed with Fendi bags, but it’s all just a ruse for something even more lucrative. Human trafficking is no laughing matter, and we are sure the city has dispatched many a man to go down those dark, dank passages—never to return. Forget speakeasies, this is the final frontier of the city’s underground.
Heath Ledger is Alive!
Mysterious suicides are ripe for implausible fantasies of future resurrection (see Jim Morrison; also Kurt Cobain). So it stands to reason that a tribe of doubters believes Heath Ledger—aka The Joker—faked his own death and is kickin’ it somewhere with Tupac Shakur. You heard that right: There’s a secret isle where all the celebrities with careers prematurely cut short chill away from prying eyes.
The genius of Ledger’s master plan is twofold: First and foremost, it prompts Americans across the country to feel inexplicably sad about the demise of some actor they forgot existed and fork over $11.50 (or more) to watch The Dark Knight in memoriam. Can you believe you fell for that? Second, Ledger is a posthumous cash cow for The Corcoran Group, who managed to up the rent on the actor’s Soho apartment by $3,000 to $25,000 a month.
But if Ledger does indeed get an Oscar nod, will he be able to resist showing up? A back-from-the-dead Academy Award appearance would likely incite a shock 40 million times higher than Janet Jackson’s Super Bowl nip slip. We wonder if he’s sort of disappointed that he didn’t think of this plan right before Brokeback came out, because nothing begs more empathy than a dead gay cowboy.
Maple Syrup Smell is Really Bio-Weapons Testing
The first time the sweet fragrance wafted through the city in the fall of 2005, penetrating every stank corner, infiltrating every orifice—even overpowering the locker room B.O.—we tried to ignore it. “I thought I was having a stroke, and this was some phantom scent,” a guy admitted sheepishly after it turned out to be experienced by everyone with olfactory abilities in Manhattan, some locales in northeastern New Jersey and as far as Queens and parts of Brooklyn. Could it be a sweet-smelling dirty bomb? A syrup slick on the Hudson? We were later assured it was just some sort of leak from a factory that produces chemical scents, but the smell has turned up several times over the years—most recently this past May. Turns out it’s not so harmless after all but is a form of bio-“weapons” testing. The CIA has been testing New Yorkers with the smell of American breakfast over the years in an attempt to determine if it will pass unnoticed in Middle Eastern countries who don’t traditionally dine on pancakes or waffles during brunch (see halal carts). We’re still unsure if it’s simply a means of distraction or actually has some sort of paralyzing effect. As soon as the pigeons start dropping dead—the New York version of a canary in a coal mine—it’ll probably be too late.
Subway Candy Sellers Are Working for the Mob
Unlike the kids selling bottles of water for a buck on a hot summer day, the organized nature of the subway candy seller gives away its dirty secret. Taking a page out of the crack dealers’ handbook, some less-than-honorable candy kingpins are recruiting wayward New York youths to peddle their sugary wares. They teach them the script, supply them with the wholesale goods and send them on their underground route. When their minions return, these glucose gauchos garnish all the kids’ profits, and use intimidation and pyramid-scheme psychology to keep them in line. Violence often sparks between rival groups over territory and profits. So, next time you look into the eyes of some kid selling peanut M&Ms (it’s always peanut!) on the rush-hour A train, think less Horatio Alger, and more Scarface.
Everyone already seems resigned to having Google as their benevolent technocratic overlord, but in doing so we have tacitly consented to a bunch of sick dorks recording and reading every schedule detail, email and chat we’ve ever typed—and using the info “gleaned” (same as spied) to advertise online degree courses and diet pills. Given how bovinely docile people have reacted toward this invasion, it should be no surprise that Google’s goliath New York office is a first step toward furthering even more insidious, invasive goals.
Google’s policy of recruiting the best and the brightest and inculcating them into the organization with a series of Scientology-inspired personality tests and office perquisites rivaling those of imperial courtesans isn’t just for the benefit of the company, it’s in the hope of creating a newer, cleaner, “less evil” world.
Last week Google expanded its Chelsea offices by opening more space across the street from its 111 Eighth Avenue space. The thing is, below that space—mingling with the CHUDs, alligators and pink ooze—is the pulsating core of the Internet, a seething nexus of fiber-optic amazingness. No joke, it’s the Hudson Street/Ninth Avenue fiber highway, one of the most vital Internet arteries created by man.
Just wait: In 2012, the end of the Mayan calendar (the civilization that created the first rudimentary search engine by arranging, measuring and interpreting the fine movements of its captured enemies’ entrails wrapped around a stone framework built in relation to the positions of the stars), the Googleplex will break its Manhattan mooring, float up above the city and activate a long-planned info-bomb that will prioritize all of your electronic emissions by order of embarrassment and send every chat, email, website visit or online purchase to the person(s) who should least be allowed to see it, devastating humanity’s collective dignity and inviting a violent and immediate shame-based, civilization-wide implosion. Meanwhile, Sergey Brin and Larry Page will clink champagne glasses from the Googleplex’s observation deck and toast both our demise and the approaching free-to-use, intuitively designed Googletopia…the fucking nerds.
High Line Park is a Secret Conveyor for Celebrities
Friends of the High Line tell us that an elevated park is being developed along the West Side of Manhattan. We see the fancy-schmancy condos and hotels going up slapdash in Chelsea and the Meatpacking District to give spectacular views of the Gotham landmark. And soon, the new Whitney Museum will even show up to strut its stuff. But we know it’s never gonna happen. The High Line renovation project is really nothing more than a means for Manhattan celebrities to move about the West Side unseen! Unbeknownst to the common New Yorker—still stuck on the ground, with no way to peer past fencing—the High Line has been in operation for months now, ferrying NY’s richest and most famous without the need for waiting in traffic or interacting with commoners. Diane von Furstenburg knew she had something great after the 12th party she hosted in honor of the ironwork and eventually decided she couldn’t give it up, so she banded together with her party crew and dreamed up a way to continue to keep up the facade of bonhomie, while selfishly keeping the lofty playground for her elite cronies. We were duped into giving money and precious faith (wasted!) that it would one day be a public park for all New Yorkers. But the nefarious scheme must be revealed!
Banana Republic is Tracking You Through Your Clothes
You remember the little tabs in those cute, sensible tops that are perfect for office attire? The ones that say: “CUT BEFORE WEARING”? Well, you should follow the instructions, because those innocuous pieces of cloth and dull techno wizardry are actually savvy tracking devices. They were first imbedded in seams so that the retailer could easily track their shipments globally as they shipped from China to Western shores. Then some low-level assistant (who was wearing her own A-line jumper in a snazzy herringbone pattern cut on the bias) realized that the little blips were still active and detected the constant scurrying of countless PR interns and Midtown office temps. She alerted the VP of marketing and got herself a raise. Banana Republic now tracks neglectful customers’ every move (see dog microchips), responding to choice in dry cleaners and other shopping habits. They’re in cahoots with Jamba Juice, since the “vitamins” in those overpriced Slurpees make it easier to pick up the signal—and accidental spills make it essential to restock the wardrobe on a regular basis.
City’s Recycling Program is Just a Feel-Good Front
You arduously separate plastics and paper from your stinky banana peel, quietly hoarding all those non-biodegradables for weekly curbside collection. It makes you feel like you’re doing your part to save the world, one Trader Joe’s paper grocery bag at a time, right? But think about it: You’ve never actually seen what goes on down at the old garbage dump. Recycling is expensive and we’re in a recession, people! Thus, while some of the time your stuff really is regenerated into one of those coffee-cup sleeves made from 60 percent post-consumer recycled material, The Man likes to cut down on costs by hauling the rest off to some landfill in Pennsylvania where it’s sealed off for millennia away from prying eyes. Quick, someone call Captain Planet!
In times of crisis, it’s always best to take things into your own hands. Reduce your daily impact by composting moldy leftovers, or, if you really want to buck the system, live a paperless existence totally devoid of petty belongings like toilet paper or MetroCards. It won’t be easy, but at least you’ll never have another paper cut as long as you live.
Halal Trucks Fund Terrorists
First the hotdog carts started to disappear; then the halal trucks began to clog the sidewalks of the city. OK, we acknowledge that it sounds a wee bit racist to assume any and every person working a cart serving Middle Eastern food may be connected to some terrorist group—lighten up! But don’t pretend you haven’t seen those ubiquitous halal food carts around the city and thought there can’t be such big business in selling gyros to the lunch crowd and drunk kids sitting on curbs.
The theory behind halal terrorism is that Muslim immigrants, homesick and in search of a little jihad camaraderie, band together for the common cause of supporting corrupt regimes. What better way to do this than to sell Americans the fatty food they can’t live without? The irony is almost poetic. And what if Osama bin Laden is hiding out in a Lower East Side food cart just under our noses?
Halal sales dropped significantly after 9/11, so some folks out there must be a little ignorantly suspicious of the Muslim community, but they have since rebounded. Still, when the munchies strike, what’s a lousy $4.50 really going to do to advance any terrorist operations? Eat. Pray. Love.
Dogs Imbedded With Microchips are Marketing Miracles
That 3-year-old Labrador retriever picked up in the Brooklyn Animal Shelter in East New York last month was expected to accompany you for vigorous jogs in Prospect Park, weekend swims on Long Island and late nights spent snuggled on the couch with a pint of Phish Food and Season Three of Entourage. The first couple weeks were pure canine bliss; but by the start of July, eerily prescient emails advertising pills to treat your symptoms began to arrive, or ads for iPod repair when your Nano froze. When toothpaste or toilet paper ran out, direct mail coupons mysteriously appeared.
Turns out the pooch had been outfitted with a “standard” tracking chip so that if she were lost, the search would be quick and painless. It also contained a small microphone, however, recording conversations and sidewalk jaunts and transmitting the data to unknown market-research firms. This sort of “pet tapping” is running rampant. Although vets are reluctant to release medical records, it’s suspected such “bugs” are implanted in dogs, cats, parrots, snakes, hamsters and even squirrels and pigeons (who spy at lunch in parks). Think again before you reveal all your inner secrets to cute little Chauncy.
Bloomberg is Collecting DNA From the City Streets
Going out for a cigarette break? Don’t toss that butt to the floor! Mayor Mike Bloomberg is after your DNA sample, and he’s willing to stoop to the ground—or pay someone else to—in order to get it.
He’s currently pushing through a proposal to mandate that anyone arrested for any crime also be swabbed for a DNA sample. Cops will need to be trained on this, but they will soon learn how to take the sample with a Q-tip and then mail that to Albany; there, a giant DNA database is being built that can be used to solve future crimes.
But he’s also spending millions on an effort to expand that database to include DNA of the innocent. He’s hired hundreds of men and women to wear a variety of high-tech costumes that will disguise them as green metal trash cans, telephone booths, even as scaffolding. The job of these hacks is to gather any tossed napkins, cups or food scraps that could contain your DNA and then send that up to Albany as well.
Basically, the mayor’s banking on most everyday New Yorkers eventually committing a crime. So, he wants to be ready. We recommend you start getting familiar with how to file a lawsuit claiming a false-positive.
Thousands of Immigrants Live in Chinatown Tunnels
We all know about the folks living in the subway tunnels—that’s no secret. But what about the thousands (millions?) of poor, trapped Chinese immigrants who are forced to live below the city streets? Sure, you’ve walked through those secret panels to get at the excellent bourgie bags for cheap. But that’s just one layer of subterfuge. Peel back the panels, and there is an entire network of tunnels, rooms and secret living quarters down below…
When feudal landlords could no longer stack more beds and pack more employees in already dilapidated housing, they looked for a new location: below the ground. The tunnels were once used by marauding Chinese gangs, who would use them for sneak attacks. Those trapdoors look like they are stuffed with Fendi bags, but it’s all just a ruse for something even more lucrative. Human trafficking is no laughing matter, and we are sure the city has dispatched many a man to go down those dark, dank passages—never to return. Forget speakeasies, this is the final frontier of the city’s underground.
Heath Ledger is Alive!
Mysterious suicides are ripe for implausible fantasies of future resurrection (see Jim Morrison; also Kurt Cobain). So it stands to reason that a tribe of doubters believes Heath Ledger—aka The Joker—faked his own death and is kickin’ it somewhere with Tupac Shakur. You heard that right: There’s a secret isle where all the celebrities with careers prematurely cut short chill away from prying eyes.
The genius of Ledger’s master plan is twofold: First and foremost, it prompts Americans across the country to feel inexplicably sad about the demise of some actor they forgot existed and fork over $11.50 (or more) to watch The Dark Knight in memoriam. Can you believe you fell for that? Second, Ledger is a posthumous cash cow for The Corcoran Group, who managed to up the rent on the actor’s Soho apartment by $3,000 to $25,000 a month.
But if Ledger does indeed get an Oscar nod, will he be able to resist showing up? A back-from-the-dead Academy Award appearance would likely incite a shock 40 million times higher than Janet Jackson’s Super Bowl nip slip. We wonder if he’s sort of disappointed that he didn’t think of this plan right before Brokeback came out, because nothing begs more empathy than a dead gay cowboy.
Maple Syrup Smell is Really Bio-Weapons Testing
The first time the sweet fragrance wafted through the city in the fall of 2005, penetrating every stank corner, infiltrating every orifice—even overpowering the locker room B.O.—we tried to ignore it. “I thought I was having a stroke, and this was some phantom scent,” a guy admitted sheepishly after it turned out to be experienced by everyone with olfactory abilities in Manhattan, some locales in northeastern New Jersey and as far as Queens and parts of Brooklyn. Could it be a sweet-smelling dirty bomb? A syrup slick on the Hudson? We were later assured it was just some sort of leak from a factory that produces chemical scents, but the smell has turned up several times over the years—most recently this past May. Turns out it’s not so harmless after all but is a form of bio-“weapons” testing. The CIA has been testing New Yorkers with the smell of American breakfast over the years in an attempt to determine if it will pass unnoticed in Middle Eastern countries who don’t traditionally dine on pancakes or waffles during brunch (see halal carts). We’re still unsure if it’s simply a means of distraction or actually has some sort of paralyzing effect. As soon as the pigeons start dropping dead—the New York version of a canary in a coal mine—it’ll probably be too late.
Subway Candy Sellers Are Working for the Mob
Unlike the kids selling bottles of water for a buck on a hot summer day, the organized nature of the subway candy seller gives away its dirty secret. Taking a page out of the crack dealers’ handbook, some less-than-honorable candy kingpins are recruiting wayward New York youths to peddle their sugary wares. They teach them the script, supply them with the wholesale goods and send them on their underground route. When their minions return, these glucose gauchos garnish all the kids’ profits, and use intimidation and pyramid-scheme psychology to keep them in line. Violence often sparks between rival groups over territory and profits. So, next time you look into the eyes of some kid selling peanut M&Ms (it’s always peanut!) on the rush-hour A train, think less Horatio Alger, and more Scarface.
