The reason I’m writing this is because I was just ears-bleedingly-loud-music-rolled by yet another fucking website: http://www.shrutilaya.org (WARNING: the sound on the site is loud…and it never fucking ends).  Look, you amateur dipshits, people actually may look at your website at school, at the library, at work and they don’t need to listen to your shitty music blaring unexpectedly.  It’s annoying and it’s rude.  It’s like if you went to your local library and just started shouting.  It’s like if you were anywhere and just started shouting.  There is no difference between this and acting like a crazy person.  Because that’s what you are — yeah, I’m looking at you, Webmaster G-Dog!, with your Macbook PRO in the coffee shop sipping lattes and furrowing your brow while you work with your webmasterin’ skillz because I don’t know how many years of webapprenticeship you went through and I don’t care how many years you were a webjourneyman before being elevated by some blazing Sword of Greyskull-like dildo that christened you into webmasterhood (pathetic piece of shit, I fuckin’ hate you) — you’re a crazy person.

Here’s the deal.  I want to go to your website, glean some information that I deem important, and get the fuck away.  I don’t want to be pulled into your idea of what my experience should be.  I don’t want to be dazzled by flourishes of pretty colors and smart spacing.  I don’t want a million stupid gadgets in my way for my convenience.  I don’t really care about using your website as a springboard into my social networks because let’s face it, they’re stupid anyway.  And you’re stupid.  I will ignore your ads with every ounce of my being.  I will close every popup you dare to open.  If your entire website is in Flash, I will wonder if you are trying out for the special Olympics because you obviously have Down’s Syndrome…and your mother probably drank during her pregnancy.  All I ask is that you give me what I want and that you get the fuck out of my way.  Who knows?  Maybe I would even pay for that.