Listen Facebook, we’ve known each other since 2004, and I think we have gotten to know each other pretty well by now. In fact, the way I hear it, you’ve gotten to know me really, really well. It’s just that, well, I think you may have started to get the wrong idea about me. There have been some things you’ve been saying to me, and it’s just, you know, I’m not sure how you got some of these ideas in your head.
I’m talking about your ads, Facebook. Look, I know you’re just trying to help. You think you know me, and are just trying to point me towards some stuff I’d be interested in, but this isn’t helping, and you’re starting to make me a bit uncomfortable. Like, ok, I know that in my profile I’m listed as single, but that doesn’t mean you need to plaster my page with dating ads. Does it say “single and desperate?” No, it doesn’t. It says “single.” And another thing, why do all these ads exclusively feature skanky teenage girls? I know you know how old I am Facebook, you made me tell you, so what kind of weirdo do you think I am? Does it say “Single, desperate, and super creepy?” It does not. I just checked.
And recently, it’s just been getting worse! You’ve been getting awfully specific, and I’m not entirely certain where you’ve been getting these ideas about me. You’ve ditched the teenage girls, and are now just throwing fetishes at me at random. “Hey, Chris,” you say, “Would you like to date some Big Beautiful Women?”
“Wait, so you mean fat women? What would make you think I’m seeking out—“
“What about Cougars? Want to date some Cougars? I’ve got 6000 Cougars just waiting for your call.”
“What? I haven’t even explained the big girl thing, and now you think I want to date—“
“Big Beautiful Cougars, Chris. Thousands of retired chubby chicks, just the way you like it.”
It’s getting unseemly, Facebook. It would be one thing if you ever let me explain myself, but all you do is ask me over and over again if I “like” stuff. Well, what if I don’t “like” stuff, Facebook? What if I “dislike?” I don’t know what makes you jump to these conclusions about me, and I’m not certain how to fix it.
Wait a second. Fat girls, and old women…this is because I fucking told you I like Billy Joel, isn’t it? Well, fuck you, Facebook. First off, you don’t get to make fun of me. I’m not the crappy social networking site that’s getting more and more inept and difficult to use with each redesign, abusing the trust of its users, and becoming more and more bogged down with useless features, all while your basic chat functionality is still an exercise in torment and frustration. Second, Billy Joel is fucking awesome, and you aren’t worthy to shine his booze-soaked shoes. His early work is amazing, and if you don’t feel at least a little moved by “Piano Man,” then your soul is nothing more than a cold, shriveled lump of shit.
Christ it’s just…look…I’m sorry I blew up on you there. I’m trying to be cool about this, but you’re starting to fray my nerves a bit. For the entire time I’ve known you, you’ve become nothing but more and more useless. You’re regressing. I’m not going to delete my account or anything, in fact, I’m not even sure if I can. I’m stuck with you. I made a bad decision a while back, and now I’m stuck with you for the rest of my life, checking in every day just to make sure you that haven’t gotten completely out of control. You’re like the herpes of the internet, Facebook.
Ok, ok, that was rude, I apologize. How about, you just try to shape up, huh Facebook? I remember when we first met you were this clean, uncluttered alternative to Myspace. Now…now you’re just as bad. You have to shape up Facebook, and I believe that you can. If you don’t…well, I mostly just like writing status messages, and I hear Twitter doesn’t make me put up with this of shit.
I’m just saying.