Fishing on Facebook

I’m a Facebook whore.

I’ve loved it since day one.

I’m nosy.  If you’re my friend, know that I’ve looked at all your photos.  Probably more than once.  I know your kids names, and what they look like.

My personal page is reserved for my personal friends, or people I’ve actually met.  Or saw.  Or passed by in the hallways at school 20 years ago.  You know, people I’m close with.

For somebody with anxiety and social awkwardness it’s a perfect platform to jump into conversations with people.  Not that I would know personally…*whoo whoo whoo (that’s the sound of me whistling-except I’m really just blowing and spitting out my pie hole because I can’t whistle. And that’s NOT why I hate the sound of whistling-in case you thought so. Dennis)

I keep it real, except…there are a few of you that make me want to punch you in the face.

You’re always fishing on facebook.  Fishing for attention, and comments for your comments.  You’re writing cliffhangers… “Well that was the worst moment ever in my life…I can’t believe that just happened…”  If we care about you, we will comment even if you tell us the ending without forcing us to ask.  "Aw“, what’s wrong.  PLEASE tell me what happened, the suspense is KILLING me.”  If you’re doing this, I’m ignoring you and telling Dennis you’re an idiot, so stop.

And maybe you’re all “Is this thing on? Tap-tap the microphone. Is anybody out there?”  Look.  Nobody is commenting on your stupid comment because it was stupid.  Or you left us with a cliffhanger and we don’t really care about what happened.  We all just tried to forget you said it and moved on, but here you are fishing.  Stop it.

And shut up about you’re dirty laundry.  I’m being polite when I say dirty laundry.  What I’m talking about is your train wreck of a life.  Don’t write a fucking novel about how the dude you’re with is cheating on you.  Again.  Then write a novel about how you’re back together two days later.  “Like, Oh my Gawd…I have the Best. Boyfriend. Ever!!!<3<3”  No.  You don’t.  He’s a douche bag.  He fucked some other chick, and you found out about it.  He is not the BEST.  He’s an asswad.  I’m not happy for you.  There really are guys out there who would be the best boyfriend ever, but you’re too busy wasting your time with this jackhole.  Get a grip.

And you Debbie-Downers.  WTF.  I’m here to have a laugh and snoop through your photos, not be forced to ride shot-gun on your roller coaster of a life that apparently has no ups, or at least you’re not sharing that part of the ride.  Everyday it’s the same shit, but about different shit.  Shut up.  And give me one of your Xanax.  You’ve depressed me.  And they’re obviously not doing you any good.

You know who you are.

Knock it off.

 

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