This is a domain I’ll never fucking use.
Here’s what you fucking do. You think of a fucking cool idea for a website. Then you go buy the fucking domain. You go to fucking GoDaddy or wherever (or maybe not, these fucking days), and you keep on typing fucking names in, getting more and more tenuous and tangential, and dropping more and more fucking vowels, in the desperate fucking hope of finding a fucking domain that’s not been taken.
(Hey, is vwls.com taken? Of course it fckng is.)
This is when you meet the depressing power of the fucking internet. Twenty years ago, if you had a fucking cool idea, you’d just get on with it. Three thousand people across the fucking planet would already have thought of it too, but you’d never fucking know about it. So you just fucking got on with it.
But now you can find every fucking one of those three thousand fucking people through the wondrous power of fucking Google, and every single fucking one of them has already thought of your fucking original idea, and most of them have bought a fucking domain name, too.
This is just like when you post what you think is a really fucking original photo to Flickr and the first fucking comment you get is “Hi! I’m an admin for the ‘Upside-down photos of penguins wearing bobblehats (shot on Velvia)’ group, and we’d love to have your photo added to the 2,947,341 photos that are already in our group pool.”
I mean, every fucking time.
But eventually, you find a fucking domain name that’s not been fucking taken. Okay, so it’s a 36-fucking-letter-long domain name that’s only related to the fucking idea you had by an improbable path of lateral thinking, thesaurus-use and fucking disemvowelment—oh, hey, did I just coin a new word? No, of course I fucking didn’t—but you actually have a fucking domain name.
And then what do you fucking do?
Well, that’s the creative process fucking done with. Because you’ll never actually fucking get around to fucking using the fucking domain. No, that would take actual fucking work, fucking commitment, seeing a fucking project through to the fucking end. If your idea’s a really fucking good one, it’ll take fucking collaboration, and maybe even some fucking venture capital.
So, instead of actually fucking doing anything, you buy the fucking domain, and then it’s up there on the fucking web, eating up the global domain namespace while being no fucking use to fucking anyone.
Once a fucking year, your fucking domain registrar will send you a fucking email telling you that the domain’s going to fucking expire. You’ll feel wistful for a fucking millisecond, and then one of two things will happen.
Either you’ll fucking renew it, committing yourself to feeling fucking wistful again in exactly one year’s time, or you’ll fucking not renew it, committing yourself—in fucking GoDaddy's case—to fucking dozens of fucking emails over the course of the next three fucking months, reminding you that this is your last fucking chance to renew this domain, you fucking slacker, and shouldn’t you just click that fucking “renew” link and put some fucking hope back into your life?
Because, after all, there’s always that one-in-a-fucking-million chance that you’ll stop being a fucking waste of carbon this year, suddenly get some fucking motivation, and actually fucking do something, rather than wasting your fucking life buying domain fucking names during the ad-breaks in the middle of re-runs of fucking Scrubs.
But until then, all you can do is post depressing fucking sarcasm on the Internet. It's enough to make you want to shoot a fucking elephant.