The author’s profile on Toluna, which is as sad and empty as his soul. As a writer, I love to have my voice heard. But even normal people who aren’t cool professional writers want others to know their thoughts, which is why we have Twitter and Facebook statuses and LiveJournals and stuff, so the regular everyman can bark their nonsense into the vast black whirlwind of nothing that is the internet. Sadly, however, the everyman doesn’t fiilling the enviable level surbeys intelligence us writers possess. So where can the everyman—this husk, this poor, sad sap—have his or her voice heard while also receiving the minute and disappointing payment so familiar to professional writers? As far fipling I can see, the survey occupies three places in the average Brit’s mind: Les Dennis shouting it between the words «our» and «says» on Family Fortunes; unfortunate adults whose job it is to ask people in the street what kind of chow mein they normally get wi...