Tuesday, 27 November 2012

Facebook

It’s time to settle down for a cuppa and one of my lovely organic home-made blog posts (gluten-free). So close the curtains, get comfy on your favourite swivel chair and for God’s sake stop snooping in online photo albums entitled “Graham and Julie’s vow renewal.”

I am just as much a victim of online popularity deathmatch Facebook as you, you, and especially YOU over there, the one self-flagellating with a spiky branch because you got fewer than 20 likes for your status about how you have the best Granddad in the whole world. For although I like to make believe that I spend my time online reading serious news and serious articles whilst stroking the long, white, wizard beard that all we educated people grow naturally,  I am more than likely checking up on you and whether you got tagged in any more photos of you  looking hot on holiday in Belgium. That, or I’ll be on Youtube watching stuff like this:

Facebook isn’t really a social network- it’s an elaborate setup for spying on your crushes and exes, a kind of ex-espionage. (Or if you want your day improved by use of an incredible pun, “expionage”). It comes in particularly useful for when you want to check up on whether your old boyfriend’s new slapper has less acne than you, so you can take appropriate action. (Slashing her tyres in your mind’s eye.) However, this practice can be even more risky than choosing to fly a rickety Victorian bi-plane piloted by a blind man with no hands over the Bermuda triangle-  as accidentally ‘liking’ an old photo is the virtual equivalent of trying to sneak past a sleeping guard and instead stepping on a comedy car hooter.

It comes as little surprise that this shameful cabaret of the complete violation of human privacy should have been created by such a clammy-fisted, Kermit-voiced man-child as Mark Zuckerberg; who, if my impression of American high school hierarchy is accurate, would have been subjected (by ‘jocks’) to such nastiness as being hung up in his own locker so he’s late for comic book club; having his lunch tray knocked out of his hands in front of a ‘cute girl’,  and being called a ‘dork’. He then had two options: run screaming through the school in an orange jumpsuit taking out as many people as he can with a large firearm; or create a digital weapon so powerful that he could have half the world’s population under his control and watch them poke, like and frape each other into mindless oblivion- like a boy watching his Beyblade toys do battle- as he gulps and sweatily pulls his hoodie strings tighter around his neck in ecstasy.

All that being given wedgies on the way to ‘Math’ class must have been worth it though, as being as minted as Zuckerberg is now must feel like being star quarterback AND prom king combined. Picture the obscene number of dollar bills lying around his house he must use as hamster bedding, or give to his wife to use as tampons; or maybe he’s sent them to a craftsman with the request that he makes of them an exact replica of the Bayeux Tapestry, we’ll never know. But as share prices in Facebook begin to fall, and there grows an ever-increasing number of sadacts such as Charlie who need Twitter more than they need air, it looks as though Zuckerberg’s empire may be in trouble. But I wouldn’t feel too sorry for him if he ended up in queue for the Salvation Army; Tom from MySpace would be there as well to share his soup- and maybe even promise to add him as a friend.
-Emily

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