Hillary Clinton might have to release more e-mails after the government found information suggesting her private inbox contained information about the CIA’s most sensitive programs. Her e-mails were embarrassing enough the first time around, like when everyone creamed over her new glasses. Yeah, I’d never want strangers to read my mail. But, as bad as releasing my e-mails would be, I would sooner die – DIE – than release my GChat history.
For starters, I would estimate one in every 6 of my GChats starts with “Ugh, I know I shouldn’t say this but…” followed by something like, “I genuinely think Kim Kardashian has a brilliant mind.” Yes, on GChat, I have the IQ of a Bachelor contestant after seven margaritas and some severe head trauma.
Then then there are the secrets. I say things to friends on GChat I’ve deemed “too personal for therapy:” the truth about how my first cat died, who I really voted for in ’08. Every sex dream I’ve ever had is detailed (and I mean DETAILED) somewhere in my chat records, including the disgusting ones. Especially the disgusting ones. All of it, archived in the endless, sordid cloud where all GChats are kept.
Oh, and how about the epic, no-holds barred shit-talking? I’ve talked hard, ugly shit about every single person I know on GChat. Every. Single. Person. My best friends, my dog, for SURE all my co-workers at Above Average. Every boss I’ve ever had, everyone I’ve ever loved, God herself. I’ve put all of them on vile, explicit blast many, many times.
“Uh, dummy, just go off the record!” You’d suggest. WHO GOES OFF THE RECORD?!? I’ll tell you who: No one. No one goes off the record on GChat. Maybe there’s a very savvy serial killer in the Canadian wilderness sending cryptic clues about his identity to a reporter at the New York Times. And maybe, MAYBE that murderer has given in and taken their chats off the record. Other than that, we’re all living, loving and smack-talking on the record.
So keep your head up, Hillary. And keep the fuck away from my chat history.