Google Instant To Free-Up Two-Thirds Of A Second Of Your Day

GOOGLE’S new Instant search engine means consumers can finally start using the fraction of a second it used to take them to get a result.

The company estimates the average user performs 12 searches a day, meaning they will soon have more than nine extra seconds to devote to work or leisure interests.

Hailing a ‘quantum leap in search’ a spokesman said it would mean millions of people were finally able to finish their novels, while some could even donate their nine seconds to help tackle global warming.

However experts stressed that instant internet search results would inevitably lead to something filthy.

Software
engineer, Julian Cook, said: “If it’s delivering answers as I’m typing
then what happens if I’m planning a long weekend in Cockermouth?

“If
it just waited until I’d actually finished typing the word then I’d get
a useful list of B&Bs and interesting walks in Wordsworth country
instead of a face full of big, hot dicks or a picture of Liam
Gallagher.”

But working mum, Helen Archer, said Google Instant means she will finally have time to read an incredibly short bedtime story to her children.

“I came across a lovely one in Waterstones the other day. It goes ‘Once upon a time there was a little princess who lived in a forest. Everything worked out fine’. I reckon with a bit of trimming I can get that down to about 6.4 seconds without ruining the magic.

“Thank you Google. My life is amazing now.”

Advertising executive, Martin Bishop, said: “It will make no difference to me because I already utilise the time between entering the search term and getting the result. Look, I’ve just made this origami giraffe.”

And primary schoool teacher, Emma Bradford, added: “Developing this will have cost Google millions of dollars which could have been used for other things like buying everyone a bag of crisps or helping to cure cancer.

“I think that might actually be evil.”

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My Big Gap Year

Dispatches from Poppy Spalding

Wednesday: San Francisco

This week, I’ve come west coast to the quakin’ gay disco town of San Francisco!  

Out clubbing, I met so many ultra-friendly gender pirates, including a stunning boy called Andy who was like seven feet-tall, even with his stilettos off. There was also some bird called Tina who must have been having a great time as she was never out of the toilet.

Eventually, they asked me if I wanted to meet her so I was into the gents like a shot. Turns out Tina isn’t a lady at all, she is a super illegal party drug that you have to snort. As a major cocaine addict I literally couldn’t say no. But I know for a fact it wasn’t coke because its side effect didn’t include calling up my ex boyfriend from year seven to tell him I’m married to a dentist with a massive dick.  Instead I just danced with Andy for hours. He is my perfect man! He’s blonde, shiny and can get stuff down from shelves which is always handy cause my dad keeps all his potcheen above the bathroom cabinet and I’m too scared to go up since that time I broke my jaw.

“You’re so tall!” I said, as I stroked his culottes. “Thanks,” he said, “I’m Dutch on my mother’s side.”  He was without doubt the Dutchest man I’ve ever met and I was in love. We had to get married immediately. Andy agreed and asked me to remove my bra so he could give me an Indian head massage – so spiritual. I felt so relaxed I just knew I could hold my breath for the entire Golden Gate Bridge. I’m really good at holding my breath – way longer than Liam Neeson in Phantom Menace. So we jumped a cab and of course I managed it, easily trouncing Andy and the cabbie.

At the end of the bridge, I was flabbergasted to discover a massive Apple Store on stilts, but instead of Apple Geniuses, there are just hundreds of jackals – but not nice jackals: evil ones. And they were all trying to steal my helmet. Pretty terrifying. I was still confused the next day, but happily, Andy explained I’d lost consciousness at the traffic lights approaching bridge. He’d tried to take me to his homeopath for immediate treatment but  unfortunately he was in jail. So jaded I missed the bridge but also thankful that I escaped Andy’s quack (I’ve seen House and don’t need Hugh Laurie giving me a lumber puncture just because some late night burritos are making me do mad alien farts that sound like the start of I’m Too Sexy by Right Said Fred.)

However, I’ll be leaving San Fran unhitched because I learned Andy’s surname is Turdpunch.  Lots of people in America have wacky European origins and the resulting comedy names. Even if I’m too proud, it’s still so beautiful that Andy Turdpunch has made peace with himself and is able to get work. And that’s what makes San Francisco the greatest city in the world!