I once signed in to Facebook only to be visually accosted by a picture of a clump of something an acquaintance had removed from her cat’s asshole. [1. True story.] That sort of sums up how I feel about Facebook. Of course, the privacy issues are an abomination and also, I’d rather count the dust particles on my laptop screen (and then catalog them by color, texture, size, and taste) than plow a field on Farmville.
I randomly signed in to my account the other day and found I had a forwarded message in my inbox from a girl I swam with in high school (and haven’t seen or spoken to since). She was an incredible freestyler and could easily have gotten a scholarship to swim for almost any university in the country. It appears that instead, she smokes several packs a day, drinks excessively, cares for her infant son, and spends an inordinate amount of time on Facebook. (Carpe diem.)
Anyway, this was the message:
Okay ladies, here is another game, like the bra color game which was a total success and we had men wondering for days what was with the colors and it made it to the news. Well, this game has to do with your handbag, where we put our handbag the moment we get home…for example “I like it on the couch”, “I like it on the kitchen counter”, “I like it on the dresser”, well you get the idea. Just put your answer as your status with nothing more than that and cut n paste this message and forward to all your FB female friends to their inbox. The bra game made it to the news. Lets see how powerful we women really are!!!!! REMEMBER DO NOT PUT YOUR ANSWER AS A REPLY TO THIS MESSAGE, SIMPLY PUT YOUR ANSWER AS YOUR STATUS, THEN FORWARD THIS MESSAGE TO YOUR FRIENDS
Temporarily blinded by the run-on sentences and exclamation mark/Caps-Lock abuse, I had to read it twice. I honestly thought it was a joke. But I should’ve known better.
Evidently, the age of technology has brought feminism to staggering new heights. I was not privy to “the bra color game” which apparently threw men everywhere into a blinding fog and left the poor darlings bewildered and in general turmoil. But perhaps posting thinly-veiled sexual innuendo about our accessories on a social media site really will to bring the hateful patriarchy to its knees.
The original author of this “crossyourheartandhopetodie you won’t tell the boys!” message, no doubt updating her status hourly from her bedazzled Blackberry, seems to think it’ll go something like this:
And yet I can’t shake the suspicion that it’s bound to go something a little more like this:
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Hahaha. Ah, Chicken. I love you, too!
you are hilarious. and the more and more time i spend on Blogger, the more i am starting to feel this way about Facebook as well. I actually received the SAME bra message…
Why thank you, Caitria. And welcome to IB!
I’ve spent very little time on Facebook, but I figure discovering the rest of the internet (Twitter, cool-ass blogs, etc.) is roughly like “going black.” At least as far as never going back.
I have a word for you to create a definition for…Facebookocide. Because if I get one more wall post about Farmersville I am going to commit it.
Facebookocide: noun.
1. The act of ending one’s life, fueled by any undesirable Facebook notification, including but not limited to: Farmville/Mafia Wars requests, inane forwarded messages, and status updates the likes of “just saw these cute shoes at the mall! lol bet your wishing you saw em first! lolol”
2. Facebook genocide. The act of murdering all those who perpetrate any of the above listed crimes.
Hmm, previous attempt to post vanished.
I have FB for four reasons:
1. Too many friends have abandoned their real journals, so if I don’t bother to go there, I have no fucking idea what’s going on, as opposed to the minimal baseline awareness I’m usually cruising with.
2. Sanity break from the cube gig
3. Pictures of hot friends, or friends’ hot friends
4. Lexulous, the Scrabble analogue to which I am shamelessly addicted. If anyone wants a butt-kicking, I’m your man.
I can understand having a Facebook profile. I do have one after all and I actually have it to thank for finding a few old girlfriends I would never have found otherwise. That’s about it, though. I could go without knowing what my acquaintances had for lunch and there are plenty of other places online I can go to for pics of hot people. As for Scrabble, I’ve played fewer than a dozen games in my life. It’s actually pretty embarrassing.