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Dear Captchas (a tribute to that tiny box of irritating and lovable non sense)

Oh captchas, you weird combination of letters and numbers with no apparent meaning or usefulness, you remind me of algebra classes. You continue to surprise me with your assumption that I don’t have a soul as if you could look right into my hollow eyes, or eYE5s as you would say. 

I love that I found you in all sort of impractical places like on my bank login, which already takes me 2 previous (and very "humane”) tasks like finding my card in my oversized wallet, inside my oversized purse while trying to remember my 6 number internet password: 31-10-70 (which can either be a birthday or the body measurements of a very disproportionate child). Anywho, it always makes me giggle to see your almost illegible characters splashed in what appears to be a logo designed by a 8 year old on oxycodone, and good thing I’m almost never in a hurry when i’m trying to access my bank account, because there you are, bringing some nerve racking fun to the mix.

Is that an “N” or an “M”?, is that a zero or an “O”?, is that a fucking square root on top of an ink stain? I get it, you need to know that I am not a robot by making me seizure on the floor from frustration. But, to be fair, that's exactly how everyone else feels when is my turn to draw on Pictionary. 

I love how you keep me on the edge of my seat when I click enter, asking myself if I got it right the first time. Of course I didn’t, who am i? Stephen Hawking? So take two presents me a combination of crossed out words like wieners-voyage or horse-racism that makes me feel like I just got a free tea leaves reading. You are sending me a message captcha, don't cha? (lol #captchahumor).

But, for some reason I type it wrong again leaving me with no other option than clicking the refresh button until I find something that can be read without shrinking my eyes. I love this because it also allows me to appreciate more of your very misunderstood form of expression. Really, if we think about it,  conceptualists are like the artistic captchas.

          That's some horse racism right there. 

So whether you are choosing random letters, fonts and sizes like a 5 year old who just discovered WordArt, or giving us much needed insight of what really is in the back of our minds (like discontented bacon), I hope I'll always count with you asking me if i’m a robot and me screaming back at you like Bruce Willis to the french girl in Pulp Fiction.

Because, let’s be honest, nothing has been more persistent in questioning our humanity, than you captchas (maybe philosophy, but in many more characters). And for that, respect my friend. Also, I wanna be on your good side since you might be our only weapon against robots taking over Earth.  

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