20nothing.com

You can tell a lot about a person from their history. You can tell even more about them from their Google history. Few people blatantly advertise their penchant for blow-up dolls or Asian porn when speaking at state dinners, or whatever else it is that people do with their time these days. But if you have access to their previous Internet searches, an image of a person becomes clearer than if you were to download it with high definition.
Many people find this here website by Googling certain questions and being sent to a place where they will never be answered.
If share holders knew that Yahoo sent someone who wanted to know how to make “DIY Contraception” to 20nothing.com, I’m sure they would pull out. But I get to read many brilliant search engine terms every afternoon when I start my work day. It is like reading the news. Except, instead, it is full of people who want to find blow-up dolls or Asian porn but, rather, find the ramblings of a twenty-five year old girl.

“Prettiest Blow Up Doll” made me laugh for, roughly, eight days but also made me understand why Google chooses me for certain topics, despite the fact that I have never once written about blow up dolls (Isn’t that about to change?). I’m more for the DIY Satisfaction in the absence of a real life human kind of a girl (but that could change?). The Prettiest Boy In The World, obviously, tipped the Interweb Gods off and made them send all of the perverted people who refuse to fuck ugly, or just downright plain, artificial humans to me. If they are here now, Hi. Welcome. Try the chicken.
This morning, I woke up to “Post Coital Stress Disorder” in my list of overnight views and immediately decided that four words had never summed up my life so well. Except for, maybe, You’re Twenty? Get In.
But what the Hell was it? I had never heard of such a condition. Stressed AFTER sex? Seriously? Human beings really must be greedier than We can even comprehend.

Wikipedia did not have a listening for Post Coital Stress Disorder, meaning, obviously, that it doesn’t exist. I wondered if there really are doctors Out There devoting their lives to researching the stress levels of the orgasmically relieved.
“I’m sorry, I know that a cure for cancer is a prominent topic, but you know, I just can’t live in a world where people aren’t happy after coming.”
Urban Dictionary, meanwhile, had everything I deemed I needed to know. According to this, obviously authentically correct little corner of Interweb Knowledge, Post Coital Stress Disorder doesn’t just exist. It has an example.

“Rocco developed Post Coital Hatred for Sheila during a one night stand on a park bench.”

I’m no doctor but, fuck, even I would feel a little bit stressed after having sex with someone named Sheila on a park bench. I may even be downright suicidal if my name was Rocco. The definition, thankfully, gave better insight.

“Post coital hatred is the feeling of hatred that a man feels for a woman immediately after a man ejaculates during sex.”

Girls cannot win. We are a whore if we have sex with a guy. We are a cold prude if we don’t. And if we actually make him come, he hates us. No wonder people look for the “Prettiest Blow Up Doll”. The absence of emotion must provide a completely stress free environment. If, of course, you can get over the fact that you are fornicating with something made out of plastic and in China.

Post Coital Stress Disorder, under its Urban Dictionary definition, is a horrible reality. In the event that Google has sent anyone Here to read about it, let me just say, “Get The Fuck Over Yourself.”
Human Beings are capable of making big deals out of the smallest of things and taking selfishness to a whole new level. It is not uncommon for a person to cry when they are told that the have missed a flight to, say, Paris, for example. We will so quickly loose sight of the bigger picture and focus on the one negative thing in front of us, not even considering all of the people who don’t have the opportunity to go to Paris just eight hours after the planned departure time. Why do we do this? To get sympathy? To get attention? To get laid? Who knows. But, the fact is, that human beings let their emotions run a large percentage of their life, forgetting about the organ that is running the heart.

The brain exists to be used, so that we can think about things. One hopes that the moment people start using theres, Google will no longer be needed. To think for yourself is an interesting thing. It alleviates a lot of guilt, a lot of shame and a lot of turmoil because Reason replaces the ignorance of undefined emotion. If a person Hates someone after having sex with them, I have to wonder if they have, ever, used their brain. If they have ever looked at the bigger picture. If they have ever stopped for a moment and thought about all of those people who don’t even have the opportunity to fuck on a park bench.

You can tell a lot about a person from the weird shit they will create just so they have something to complain about. Few people will blatantly say, “I hate you!” after they have sex with you. But if you have access to their Google history, and discover that is the reality, may I just suggest that you search for A Man Who Uses Both Of His Heads. Google may not find one and send you here, but, hey, it is a start.