I probably won’t finish this in January, but I liked the title too much not to block out the basic idea.
The Ping In Yellow
Right, okay, I know it’s weird, talking about All Of That in person, and everything. I won’t discuss any of it online, though. You don’t know what’d be listening in. — No, I’m not being paranoid, dammit. You don’t really think I am, anyway. You’re here, right? So if I’m paranoid, then so are you. We should start a club.
We absolutely won’t be starting a club.
…
So, you want to know about The Website, right? No, don’t say its name! Please. It’s important. Even here, at a table at a diner, no computers, no phones, no freaking watches or whatever gadget’s trendy right now: you don’t use The Website’s true name. I don’t even think you should even think too much about its name. The name, it can wriggle through the brain and into the fingers, and then you’re typing it out, and it’s too late for you then, right?
Right. See? I’m not being any more superstitious about me not naming The Website in person than you are in not wanting to type it out, online. Because we both know it’s not superstition. People just pretend that they can keep their distance.