Gmail Email Translation

Did you all see this?  Well, if you didn’t let me summarize briefly.  Google has taken another step in becoming God.  Next time you get an email in another language, Google will automatically translate it for you.  That’s right, next time you get an ad in Chinese appearing to sell you some knockoff penis enlargement pills you can finally read the fine print.

“Ho. Lee. Shit.” you’ll say, a frown creeping into your voice. “I had no idea those pills were made from monkey feces and all those unwanted baby girls.  Yuck.”

I just have one question for Google …where the hell was this feature when I was taking Spanish in high school??  God damn the kids have it good these days.  Let’s be honest, every stoner student too busy rolling papers to write one is going to be completing all his German book reports with Gmail in less time than it takes to lick a Zig Zag. Now, all one has to do is open a Wikipedia article, paste it into Gmail, send, receive, translate and print. How long does that take? Like, maybe 45 seconds. Max.  There’s not much else you can in that amount of time.  Although, I suppose if you’re in high school the sex your having (if any) has yet to reach that duration.   Not to mention the added bonus that since it’s a different language it’s technically not plagiarism. (note: that is probably not true).  Shit, and to think I spent all those hours learning my “uno, dos, tres” and “donde estan mis cervezas” the old fashioned way (copying my friends).

I was hoping that maybe we could take this technology and apply it to a far more pressing issue than translating knock off dick pill emails.  Could we, for the love of all things delicious, greasy and unnecessary at 3:00 am, install this Translate thingy at fast food drunk drive through windows!?  It seems like every time I pull up and order some ‘supersized McSharts’ or a ‘double wrapped triple shitty extra cheesy gordita breakfast turd sandwich’ the person on the other end is speaking 2nd grade level English or literally trying to speak to me through the asshole of his coworker.  A little help here please.

Oh, but I’ve got a better idea.  Forget the google translate thing at the drive-thru; save that for your chat room sex talks with underage girls from Russia (Or more likely, Chris Hansen and dare I hope, Stone Phillips from Dateline).  Instead, let’s install a breathalyzer at drive-thru order menus and turn them on after 10 pm.  If you pass, no big deal. You’re probably just some depressed fatty eating 7th meal at midnight anyway.  You’ve got enough problems.  But if you fail the  test, the staff gets to make you a combo meal of their choice.  That could mean you go home with 18 packets of ketchup, a pubic hair salad or maybe just get a bag of middle buns from a bunch of Big Mac’s.  Doesn’t matter, you probably won’t notice since you’ll be busy opening another beer.

Buenos noches America.

 

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