You bring out my hypocritical ways every single day. You’re the bat-shit crazy girlfriend I know I should break up with but I just… can’t…do it. You fuel me with horrible thoughts on how to make people cry. You shed light on the lives of 600 people I impulsively named my ‘friends.’ You’re the apple of my eye and the poop-stains in my underwear. My letter to Facebook Nation:
To the man who told me how hard his job is in the most arrogant post of the month,
I’m not even sure how I know you. You must be the husband of the girl I never talked to in college. We met by mouse-click chance and twice a month, I want to punch you in the testicles. You had a tough business meeting. Good for you. I listened to a kid say “All done that” 132 times in four hours. Somebody had to do manual labor in the cold. Someone else has to sit at a desk for 9 hours and pretend to look busy. I’m not arguing whose job is harder. I wouldn’t last a fucking day roofing on a hot day. I’m sure many others wouldn’t last a day chasing an autistic kid through Hannaford. It’s what we do. We do what we do and usually we have a choice in the matter. If your job is too hard, either get better at it or find something else. I’d unfollow you but I already forgot your name.
To the cat people,
I don’t get you as a species. I mean the cats and you. It’s become so cliché to make fun of cat people but I can’t help but join the party. I can at least see dogs as somewhat cute animals without souls but once I’ve seen one cat, I’ve seen them all. I’ve went out of my way to never remember the name of a single friend’s cat. That would imply that they mean something to me and deserve acknowledgment. The women on Jeopardy don’t help your cat-loving cause. They are weird and so are your cat-posts. Cats make up the trifecta of Facebook: ANIMALS, FOOD, AND NEGATIVITY. Again, I cut myself with hypocrisy with this negative rant. I’ll sacrifice 10 cats for my sin, though.
To the people making general observations and statements about daily living activities,
Telling me you’re about to take a nap serves no purpose whatsoever. If you’re looking for me to ask why you’re so tired, I’m not going to do it. Let’s go ahead and put ‘it’s snowing’ as general observation that seems a little anticlimactic when I live in a place that has windows. And if you tell me about your pre-bed ritual of having a glass of wine, watching a movie, and going to bed I’m going to kill another cat. I’m not mad, I’m just confused. I’m not sure what Facebook is for (to persuade, inform or entertain?) but that doesn’t count as information.
To my friends posting mystifying song lyrics,
It appears you are sad. It appears those lyrics were meant for someone. Go tell them how mad you are rather than concern your relatives with Coldplay lyrics. I call this the artistic cry-for-help. I’m not helping. I do like Coldplay, though.
To the girl(s) changing their profile picture 4 times a week,
Your behavior is screaming for help. Maybe you’ve put on a few pounds–that’s why your picture is from 2008. Maybe we can carpool to Planet Fitness? I don’t know. I’m worried about you.
To the guys going to the gym and/or posting exposed body parts,
It’s embarrassing. Somehow I’m embarrassed for you. It’s like I’m watching the Bachelor and wondering how the hell women are subjecting themselves to competing for a rose. I’ve unfriended at least 3 guys this year already due to testosterone-fueled posts. I one time did 14 pull-ups in gym class and really want to shout it from the rooftops but I still exercise a little self-control.
To Buzzfeed, and all the other websites that keep popping up with lists and WHAT ______________ ARE YOU?
I can’t stop clicking you goddamnit. I hate myself for it. I took time out of my day to figure out which US state embodied me. Rhode-fucking-Island. I don’t know what’s stranger—being upset I got Rhode Island or thinking that another state was going to make me happy. And how about this new trend of marketing with intriguing headlines? I want that job:
What This 10-Year Old Did With A Stray Dog Will Leave You Happy To Be Alive.
After This Grandpa Died, His Family Discovered He Wrote His Own Obituary. And It’s EPIC.
What This Man Did With An Eraser, A Napkin, And Gun Powder Will Change The Way You View Science.
That last one is MacGyver. Season 1, MacGyver. So good.