Friday, February 13, 2009


While circumnavigating the world wide web yesterday, I received one of those dreaded pop-up advertisements. This one offered me a glimpse of “young hotties” from my town. This isn’t the first time I have seen advertisements that are zip-code-specific, but nevertheless it is still somewhat disconcerting that they know the general area I live in (from my IP address, I assume). Either way, I didn’t give much thought to the pop-up. I simply took swift notice of the aesthetics of the bikini-clad “young hotties” that definitely did not live in my town, and clicked the X.

And then something happened.

I have found that clicking the X occasionally brings up another pop-up, which in turn leads to another pop-up. But this time was different. An
extremely perplexing alert popped up. I have documented it below.

This alert had really presented a tough dilemma for me. I was quite sure that I wanted to navigate away from the page – that was not the issue. The issue was that queer middle line.

It was so subtly worded. It did not say “IF YOU CLICK “OK” YOU WILL BE TAKEN TO XXX GAY PORN.” Instead, it simply let me know that if I wanted to avoid gay porn, I just had to click “Cancel.” I’ve never really had to avoid gay porn. I mean, it hasn’t jumped out of the woods into the middle of the road
as I speed down the highway. To the best of my knowledge, gay porn has never been anywhere near me. Until now, that is: according to this alert, it is just a button click away. Thankfully, someone at the “young hotties” page was looking out for me, not wanting to expose me to XXX GAY PORN. So, at the cost of staying at the “young hotties” page, I clicked “Cancel” and decided to regroup.

I tried to click the X again, only to offer the same alert. “Cancel.”

Again, I clicked the X, hoping that pop-up banners had to follow some “three strike” law, but alas! The same alert. Clicking the X to this alert was the same as clicking “Cancel.”

So there I was, stuck staring at the “young hotties” that were not from my town, and I swear to God, I could see their smiles getting bigger. They knew they had me trapped, imprisoned by my fear of what clicking “OK” would implicate. Ensnared by the fear of becoming “that guy” who waived his option to avoid hardcore gay porn.

I began to wonder if this pop-up having a permanent home on my desktop would really affect my daily activities on my computer. It didn’t take up that much room…

* * *

I know that you are thinking, “Youngman Brown, why are you making such a big fuss about this? Just click “OK” and close whatever window happens to pop up.”

I understand this. And I wish to ensure you that I am not a homophobe. The reason for my stubbornness is the same reason I am always stubborn: hypothetical situations.

I picture myself in the not-so-distant future in front of a crowd of people, all of whom are gorgeous women who closely resemble the “young hotties” from my hometown. I am handcuffed to a chair, and there are wires and sensors on my arms, hands, and temple. I am sweating bullets; I have never been given a lie-detector test before. The proctor of the test is Salma Hayek, and she is wearing a sexy police officer uniform, for whatever reason.

“Your test consists of only one question,” she says, sexily. And then, “your answer will determine whether you pass or fail.”

What will happen if I pass the test, I am unsure, but I have a feeling it involves Salma and one or more of the “young hotties” in attendance. I am also unaware of what will happen if I fail the test, but I have a feeling it involves castration.

“Are you ready for your question?” Salma asks.

“Yes,” I lie.

“Very well. Your question is…”

But I already know what the question is: “…Have you ever looked at gay porn?”

There is a long pause. Too long.

“Well, it’s funny you should ask. You see-”

“YES OR NO!?” Salma hits me with a whip. I don’t know if I love it or hate it.

“If I could just explain-” Another crack of the whip. Salma wants an answer.

* * *

The ending to this story that I desire is for me to give a resounding “NO,” let Salma uncuff me, and then let whatever happens happen. But this could never happen if I click “OK.”

Somewhere, someplace, there is a dossier on Youngman Brown:

[x] Has been to Jamaica
[x] Has hazel eyes
[ ] Has looked at gay porn

Even if this report is only in my mind, I would rather not have that last one checked off.

But I also don’t want to be continually reminded that girls that hot are nowhere near my town. And I also know that while I may have issues, this should not be one of them, and that I should just man the hell up, click “OK” and move on with my life.


I hover my mouse over the “OK” button, do a mental countdown, squint my eyes as if looking at an eclipse, and click the mouse button.

And now I’m gay.

Just kidding.

In all seriousness, I clicked “OK” and the pop up went away, no gay porn popped up, and instead of forgetting about it and moving on with my life, I wrote a blog post about it.


  1. This was actually pretty funny. :)

  2. that's hilarious! pop ups can be so odd sometimes! The other day, someone told me they'd got one telling them that some prince had given them a pile of cash:
    click here and it will go straight to your bank!
    (more like: click here and a virus will go straight to your hardrive).
    most of the time i'm thinking, couldn't they be a bit more imaginative?

    1. They really should hire me to help them... I have a few ideas that could be put to evil.

  3. Tell us the truth - you finally hit "ok" and then lost an hour of your day to what was happening on our screen (cue the horrible 1970s porn music). Heehee.

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