I have a serious problem, well actually I have more than one, but today I want to concentrate on this one because it scares me. I'm being stalked online by a buxom young woman who is scantily clad - to use a popular journalistic phrase - wearing a cavewoman outfit and wielding a club. OK, it's only a plastic club, but still. She must be into the kinky stuff or maybe she's into paleontology or possibly she's a state employee at Dinosaur Park in Rocky Hill. I think Big Data or Big Tech or one of those other sinister "Bigs" is responsible for this because every time I open a website for news, she pops up like Wilma in "The Flintstones" and tries to sell me lingerie. I know you're thinking I've probably been snooping around websites where a geezer has no business snooping, but I swear I wasn't. At least I don't think I was. Anyway, don't tell my wife, my daughters or my pastor because it could ruin my squeaky clean reputation. You see, when you open up those digital ads, they'll follow you until the day you get cremated and maybe even after. This particular advertisement is for a "sexy lingerie, intimate apparel store," which wouldn't be the first place I'd visit on vacation. But as Dylan once said, "If my thought dreams could be seen, they'd probably put my head in a guillotine." The store shall go unnamed because I don't want to encourage this kind of behavior, although I think it offers substantial discounts to retirees and has a complete collection of "fantasy lingerie," featuring get-ups or get-offs or whatever they're called, of women dressed as French maids, students at Hogwarts wizardry school, Catwoman, Santa, Nurse Ratched, Aphrodite, P.T. Barnum, Albert Einstein, and a really provocative one of a woman with green hair and a purple outfit, who looks like a Marvel Comics misfit. As my mother would say, "What will they think of next?" The woman stalking me is called the "Cave Babe," and she wears a "romper with leopard velvet details, a matching headpiece, a faux lace-up bodice, a built-in 'bone' belt and matching furry boot covers." The club isn't included, which is a relief because if I got that outfit for my wife, the club could end up over my head or elsewhere. Men, don't feel neglected. There's something for you, too. You can dress up as Pharaoh, Tarzan, Popeye, Blackbeard, Aquaman, the Joker, Al Capone, the Cowardly Lion, Dracula, John Travolta in "Saturday Night Fever" or Tom Cruise in "Top Gun." My personal favorite is a blue-faced alien with a head that resembles the Elephant Man or one of those beings from "Close Encounters of the Third Kind." That must be a heck of a turn-on in the bedroom. I suppose I never had enough fantasy in my life so maybe it's time to explore my inner self. It would certainly stir up the neighborhood if they saw me on a lawn tractor dressed like a Martian with a blue head and humongous eyes. An outfit like that is sure to get a woman's attention - so much they'll be calling the cops or Project Blue Book. However, my immediate problem, after I decide whether I want to buy the Chippendales costume or the Joe Biden presidential ensemble, is how the heck to escape this ad, which follows me everywhere. I'm certain Big Data is behind this, and if you don't understand Big Data, that makes two of us. All I know is it can't be good, especially if they know more about me than I do and they keep track of everything I do. Companies track what we do across websites and constantly bombard us with ads tailored to our personal interests. They must be sharing the results with Big Brother, Big Mother or Big Government. We have a serious problem in this country and it's not inflation. (Well, maybe it is inflation, but that's a topic for another day.) Our privacy is gone and snoopers are everywhere, including an emerging breed of cyber-criminals who are so smart they probably have degrees from MIT. They're constantly trying to scam you, phish you, hack you and crack into your bank account. You don't think the Cave Babe in the leopard-skin romper went to MIT, do you? Joe Pisani can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org.