I Probably Wouldn't Bother Putting An iPhone on Your Wish List

My children have reached the age where I am certain they simply cannot believe in Santa Claus anymore. Honestly, I don't really know how this works because I never believed in him. Incidentally, he never brought me a single fucking present, so either I was right, or what I keep telling my kids is right - the moment you stop believing in him, he stops believing in you.  

So my brother was asking me today if he could gift my kids a copy of Modern Warfare 3 for Christmas, and I was like, I think they have it already, and he was like...

So I checked. I needed to find out whether they'd be shooting the shit out of nazis or people. There is a difference. I hoped on Google and before I could even put the 3 in the search, the Great Eye of Mountain View popped this up:

Okay, it's weird enough that Google always always knows what I'm searching for, but now it knows who my best friend's husband is? Isn't the slightest bit odd that Google is like, "You know, there is really no better testmonial than that of a friend who's kitchen you sat in last weeked, talking about his trick finger *wink wink nudge nudge*" Does Google get a kick-back off all the XBox 360 rehab searches we parents are going to have to conduct over the next decade, or are they really just that into me?

Of course I'm obsessing about this because I'm 51% Pisces and 73% paranoid schizophrenic. I'm freaking out that Google has figured out who I know and it putting it together with what I'm interested in. Somehow, Google has figured out a way to see me when I'm sleeping, and knows when I'm awa.....HOLY SHIT GOOGLE IS SANTA CLAUS.

So I figure I better listen, since it's like five weeks from Christmas and Yes, Virginia! There really is a Santa Claus and HE HAS ARRANGED FOR YOUR FRIENDS TO MONITOR YOUR INTERNET SEARCH RESULTS. So I do what Google tells me to and ask Ron Mattocks.

Ron Mattocks tells me to raise my own damn kids. Figures.