Nine privacy policies
May. 26th, 2018 09:46 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
gravityeyelidsvia https://ift.tt/2J8KksU
listing-to-port:
1. We promise never to contact you at all under any circumstances, other than maybe if we as a company have been drinking and it is late at night and we start to dwell on lost marketing opportunities and the great sales of the past that our current merchandising never seems to live up to. It is possible that we may text you then to limply say ‘what’s up?’; an action that we will miserably dwell on the next morning as we try to charm our corporate hangover away with bad coffee.
2. Information is very important to us. Did you know that crickets have ears on their knees? That’s your information now, we’ve bequeathed it to you. Look after it carefully.
3. Well, you have been careless with your data, haven’t you? Now, we as a company care very deeply about the security of your data. Dare we say the sanctity of your data. That is why we realise the only way to keep your data safe is to take it away from you. We’ll be starting with the usual: mother’s maiden name, first pet and so on. Remember them? I didn’t think so.
4. Our privacy policy is that, once you have signed up to the service, we will follow you around forever in the form of a grey ghostly figure with great staring eyes and a sombre froglike mouth, watching your every move and silently judging them against a moral system that will always remain a mystery to you. We apply this policy without discrimination to all users and, as a supernatural service, I’m sure you will agree that it is outside the remit of earthly law.
5. Let’s put it this way: we recognise the importance to our business plan of us continuing to send you letters which, although you say you do not want, you will nevertheless dutifully scroll through to see if there is something important at the end and maybe idly click on a link if there is something you are supposed to be doing next that you would rather put off.
6. Our privacy policy is that we will turn on the tap or hum or something while you are in the toilet because we know sound carries in here, if you could do the same for us that would be much appreciated, you wouldn’t think a company would need to use the toilet but it’s one of the great drawbacks of corporate personhood, don’t ask.
7. Continuing to use this kitchen means that you agree to have cookies placed on your device. If your device cannot eat cookies why did you bring it in here. This is a cookie kitchen. We do not serve robots.
8. I’m sure you’ll appreciate we can’t release our privacy policy to just anyone. Come to the Jolly Woodpecker at 11 and ask at the back bar for Dave. The woman who trips over your foot will have left a note in your pocket. If you agree then mumble a confused apology at her for leaving your foot in the way. If not then we’re afraid under data protection legislation we will not be able to send you on any more missions.
9. I’m afraid we have no idea who you are. Would you like one of these round things? They’re quite tasty.
(Your picture was not posted)
listing-to-port:
1. We promise never to contact you at all under any circumstances, other than maybe if we as a company have been drinking and it is late at night and we start to dwell on lost marketing opportunities and the great sales of the past that our current merchandising never seems to live up to. It is possible that we may text you then to limply say ‘what’s up?’; an action that we will miserably dwell on the next morning as we try to charm our corporate hangover away with bad coffee.
2. Information is very important to us. Did you know that crickets have ears on their knees? That’s your information now, we’ve bequeathed it to you. Look after it carefully.
3. Well, you have been careless with your data, haven’t you? Now, we as a company care very deeply about the security of your data. Dare we say the sanctity of your data. That is why we realise the only way to keep your data safe is to take it away from you. We’ll be starting with the usual: mother’s maiden name, first pet and so on. Remember them? I didn’t think so.
4. Our privacy policy is that, once you have signed up to the service, we will follow you around forever in the form of a grey ghostly figure with great staring eyes and a sombre froglike mouth, watching your every move and silently judging them against a moral system that will always remain a mystery to you. We apply this policy without discrimination to all users and, as a supernatural service, I’m sure you will agree that it is outside the remit of earthly law.
5. Let’s put it this way: we recognise the importance to our business plan of us continuing to send you letters which, although you say you do not want, you will nevertheless dutifully scroll through to see if there is something important at the end and maybe idly click on a link if there is something you are supposed to be doing next that you would rather put off.
6. Our privacy policy is that we will turn on the tap or hum or something while you are in the toilet because we know sound carries in here, if you could do the same for us that would be much appreciated, you wouldn’t think a company would need to use the toilet but it’s one of the great drawbacks of corporate personhood, don’t ask.
7. Continuing to use this kitchen means that you agree to have cookies placed on your device. If your device cannot eat cookies why did you bring it in here. This is a cookie kitchen. We do not serve robots.
8. I’m sure you’ll appreciate we can’t release our privacy policy to just anyone. Come to the Jolly Woodpecker at 11 and ask at the back bar for Dave. The woman who trips over your foot will have left a note in your pocket. If you agree then mumble a confused apology at her for leaving your foot in the way. If not then we’re afraid under data protection legislation we will not be able to send you on any more missions.
9. I’m afraid we have no idea who you are. Would you like one of these round things? They’re quite tasty.
(Your picture was not posted)
