I’m a college student, somewhere in the sweaty palm of Michigan, and a lazy one at that. One who scoffs at physical labor for making him break a sweat, but who is paradoxically willing to spend hours in front of a computer, doing work so repetitive that Phil Connors from Groundhog Day would vomit. A friend turned me on to turking; now I turk for a few hours a day. I like to make at least $1.00 a day, but there are those glorious occasions when an easy HIT pays greater than a third-world-country corporation. I guess I’ll continue to turk until I get that fancy piece of paper that entitles me to make more money. Turking has made me question my world. Who is it that pays people a few cents for things they could easily accomplish themselves? Someday, if I get rich enough through mturk, I’m going to pay homeless people to go stare at a mailbox, and then describe it to me in a dialog box. What I do with this data is irrelevant, and the homeless people would never be informed. That would signify that my life has come full circle. Perhaps my life will come full circle on the day I conceive a child in the same campus apartments that my parents conceived me in. I walk by those hollowed out apartments almost every day. I’ll have to act quick, for they’ll be demolished soon. Their HIT is about to expire, I guess. Hit submit! Hit submit!