Facebook With Mom
A lot of people ask me, “Hey, asshole. Where do you get your blogging topics?” Good question. Using today as an example, I had an early morning Facebook chat with mom. Later, I decided to write about it. See? That’s how it’s done. -Ed.
I don’t use the Facebook a lot. It’s mainly for poking. And, way less often, liking. I’ve been patiently waiting for the HATE button. I’d settle for DISLIKE. Maybe then I’d use it more.
For me, the primary purpose of Facebook is that it’s a place to post selfies I’ve taken during urban riots when I’m standing atop overturned police cars that are on fire. With my shirt off.
Other than that I have little use for the thing.
Then there’s mom. You respond to a message from mom at your own peril.
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Facebook is the new creepy
Click image to see the rest of this funny from The Joy of Tech.
Facebook. The nightmare that won’t go away. Even the name gives me the heebie-jeebies. Let’s break it down.
“Face.” Bingo! Right out of the gate they reach in for the jugular and pull the ripcord hard. So we know straight up this isn’t exactly going to be the most subtle experience around. The face is the one part of myself I hate the most. Don’t look at me! I am an animal!
“Book.” They want you to think tomes here. As in a dusty librarian gettin’ all up in the grill of knowledge. That’s what they want you to think. That it’s a noun. In actuality, however, it’s a verb. An ominous motherfucking verb. As in: “Make an official record of the name and other personal details of (a criminal suspect or offender).”
Check it: People who use Facebook are voluntarily lining up like pigs to the slaughter to check themselves into jail. Fact: The original name proposed for Facebook was Lemmings-R-Us.
No wonder Facebook is in the news so often.
Now you must poke the jump if you ever hope to find your way to the like button for this post.
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Shouts from the Abyss 
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