Go tit

It's nice to be known world-wide for my brilliant writing. Too bad it's not in this world.

It's actually an exoplanet 4 light years from here that scientists discovered with their latest telescope, built to find creative genius in the universe. An exoplanet is an earth-like planet that rotates around a sun, but hasn't managed to produce any intelligent life. Perfect market for my writing.

One could, of course, easily have a stimulating debate about whether there is any intelligent life here on earth. Imagine some other planet building a telescope to find intelligent life, it hones in on our earth and manages to record a speech by Donald Trump or an article about Bill Cosby. No doubt they would conclude their telescope failed in its mission. Melding the philosophies of Trump and Cosby together, the alien planet would conclude that Man's mission is to build a really high fence to trap women in, feed them drugs and rape them. This would be allowed behaviour by all of Man except a species called "Mexican". They're just getting out of hand with the rape thing.

What I'm not so brilliant at is typoing. Sorry, "typing". Maybe that's where the term "typo" comes from. Almost every time I type "typing", it comes out "typoing".

I make all kinds of other predictable mistakes, all of them with the same typo every time.

When I type "Globe" in Google Chrome, to read the Globe and Mail, it comes out as "Glboe". Never "Gbloe", "Goelb", or "Fuck it, I'm going back to bed".

When my wife emails me to find out what I have planned for dinner, I type "meat and porn". Of course, I meant corn. Maybe that's a Freudian slip.

I search a lot for "cornography".

Some typos are more severe. When I email the boys, typing, "Let's go out for drinks", it often comes out as, "Hey, let's sink some Red Bulls and look for hookers".

This being summer, we are visiting people all over Ontario. I need directions. People send directions and wonder if I understand them.

My shortcut for directions understanding is, "Got it".

Nope. Comes out as "Go tit". "Hey Paul", the wives of our couple friends ask me, "what did you mean by go tit? Are you and your wife breaking up? Is that why you're shaving your chest?"

Actually, I'm writing a kids book, in the vein of Go, Dog. Go! It will be called Go, Tit. Go! Go into the Bedroom and Wait for Me While I take This Pill.

Well, it all makes sense on my exoplanet.