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LAST WEEK I GOT KICKED THE FUCK OFF FACEBOOK. And I know what you’re thinking, what would such a lovely, mild-mannered human have to do to get herself booted off the universe’s premier online social networking website!? Well, I posted a personal ad about fart-sucking that someone reported as “nudity” and Mark Zuckerberg read it and was all, “BYE, FELICIA” without even giving me a chance to state my goddamned case.
Let me rewind the tape right quick. OK, so I write this dumb blog that’s basically about intact foreskins and artisanal cheeses, and because it’s the new millenium or whatever everyone I know was like, “Bro, you know what your blog needs? A FACEBOOK PAGE.”
So I’m going to let you in on a little secret: I am 34 years old and I am terrified of being the last guy to know about the new thing, welp. I don’t know how to use my Google calendar. I just found out what Dropbox is two days ago. I have a bunch of road atlases just chilling around my crib. I STILL HAVE A WORKING TAPE PLAYER. Basically I’m your Aunt Janice with cooler hair and way less money in my 401k. All this to say that when someone even remotely more learned than I am suggests something technolgical to me I: 1 casually act like I already knew about that shit then 2 go download that MFer immediately.
I didn’t even know what the hell I was doing, but I made the page anyway. I didn't have anything to post, as I generally write my blog once a week or so, so I that first day I basically posted a dozen pictures of Forest Whitaker (the love of my life, fight me) and a bunch of Dlisted links for the handful of my friends I could corral into liking the page to comment on.
The rest, as you can imagine, is how the fairytale generally goes: I continued to write about diarrhea and indie bands, the blog grew, the page grew. And as my virtual army gained more recruits I was pretty stoked? But then I was like, “What in the hell can I post for these people?”
And then I decided to maybe try to get laid on Craigslist. I posted a pretty simple ad in the “miscellaneous romance” section looking for someone interested in watching "Star Trek: The Next Generation" reruns on BBC America while engaging in some on-top-of-clothes sex. (Sidenote: this, in a nutshell, is all that I ever want. Why I am still single escapes me.)
NO ONE WORTHWHILE RESPONDED. But my trolling the sexual underbelly of the web yielded some hilarious ads, the best of which I started posting every couple days on my page. Between those, hot pictures of the designated boy- or girlfriend of the day, and links to incendiary dating articles and shit, I was able to make myself laugh (the point of this whole thing) and entertain my Internet homies.
This is what landed me in Facebook jail:
I want a big beautiful black lady here in Detroit to fart in my mouth with gas. I just want you to get on the couch and bend over so I can open my mouth and wrap my lips around your asshole. I need you to fart loud and long, filling up my mouth while I masturbate.
ROMANCE IS ALIVE, FRIENDS. Have you ever read anything sexier than that!? No, you have not. If the Amtrak were cheaper I’d be eating a bean burrito in the quiet car right now. So I posted that and then a picture of some celebrity beefcake and went on about my day, you know, taking hella personal calls and being that jerk who microwaves fish in the breakroom for lunch.
A couple hours later I checked Facebook on my phone only to be told that my ass was in time out. Straight up expelled to the corner to put on a dunce cap and think about what I had done wrong.
COME ON SCIENCE NERDS, WHEN ARE YOU INVENTING THE NEXT THING. This is not an injustice, nor is it an outrage. I’m just salty and want to push Facebook off the swings for banning me from the playground until I deleted what I wrote because someone too uptight for glorious sex fetishes happened upon my page.
I hate that my newsfeed is full of naked asses that my dudefriends like because they’re fans of pages with names like GLISTENING EBONY BUTTS and JUICY THICKSNACKS but I can’t post the sincere plea of a lonely gentlefellow in Detroit who just wants to rub one out while a voluptuous lady rips a long and low fart into his waiting open mouth.
Which is to say that I love those giant black derrieres, I’m just a hater and I want my eproctophilia post right there next to them. Aren’t there racist hate groups and baby murderers we should be reporting? I saw a thing today in which some group made a nasty meme about our hero Michelle Obama and someone reported it only to hear back that they didn’t find the post offensive enough to remove. Hmph.
I should get off Facebook, and I want to because no I am not happy about your recent engagement and man I think those quiz results you posted are lame, BUT I SIMPLY CANNOT. I don’t know anyone’s goddamned phone number. Plus, how would I know which important news I should be paying attention to if that one girl from my sophomore African studies class doesn’t post the best Atlantic links? How will I see your children? How will you know how good I look in this new shirt!?
Plus I still write this silly blog about obese housecats and anal sex, therefore marketing marketing advertainment infographic social commerce viral ideation earned media clickability. Which is techspeak for “I have no other ideas of how to get you to read it and I hate tweeting.”
So I’m still there, still posting Craigslist ads (although avoiding the ones that mention farting and/or masturbation, yawn) waiting for Aunt Janice to stick her nose in my business again, mostly because the cuties whose pages I enjoy stalking > hating-ass prudes fucking with my fun. But I’m kinda mad about it, Facebook police. Whatever. TEAM WINKLEVOSS.