Facebook pisses me off me for several reasons and I know that although I can only think of a few of them right now, plenty more probably exist- they’re simply waiting to be thought of.
The reason I was going to write this was because of the friend requests I receive on Facebook. Please don’t think this is me shouting “look at me, I’m so popular on Facebook and everyone wants to be my friend” because I’m not saying that, I’m not popular and I don’t have many Facebook friends.
In fact, I only have 83 Facebook friends and not one of those Facebook friends has as few friends as I do. Fair enough; I’m a bit of a twat at times and there’s probably a fair few people who don’t want to be friends with me either on Facebook or in real life. However, I only have 83 Facebook friends because generally speaking, they are people whom I converse with regularly, whom I get on well with or whom I want to associate with. Oh, and some of whom I’m related to.
Family members are a given as Facebook friends and if you don’t add one or accept their friend request, you won’t receive a Christmas card from them the following year. Imagine if they’re one of those family members who places a fiver in there? You’re annual income would drop significantly. The problem with having family members as friends on Facebook though is that if one of your posts includes the occasional dirty joke or the word “fuck”, you tend to cringe a little when your great aunt ‘likes’ your post or asks if that particular word or phrase was really necessary.
The simple solution to avoid offending elderly relatives is to set your Facebook friends into groups. For example, I have three groups; ‘family’, ‘colleagues’ and ‘friends’. These group names speak for themselves and if I want to post a photo of me dry-humping a traffic cone at 2am whilst heavily intoxicated, I can avoid bringing shame to my family by posting it to the ‘colleagues’ and ‘friends’ group. If I want to have a moan about work or admit that it was I who turned the toilet lights off whilst the CEO of the company I work for was having a poo, I’d simply post it to my ‘friends’ group. I find that this system works incredibly well.
There seems to be an unwritten rule about accepting every friend request you receive, because some people have hundreds, or even thousands of friends. I’m willing to bet that when someone has that many Facebook friends, they haven’t contacted or been contacted by at least 75% of them personally in the last year or 50% of them in the last 6 months.
An old friend of mine met her boyfriend “through” Facebook. She never elaborated on exactly how this pairing came to be but I assume that at some point, either her or her boyfriend had to accept a random friend request to be able to start interacting and become a couple.
Isn’t that a little weird? And creepy? I wonder how that conversation went?
I never spend long deciding whether or not to accept a friend request as in my mind, it’s quite simple; would I converse with that person in any form whatsoever in real life if I had the choice not to? If the answer is no, then I don’t accept the friend request.
I receive most of my friend requests from people at work, whom I may greet in passing just out of obligatory politeness, but I wouldn’t want to see their endless baby photos or constant selfies.
Speaking of baby photos, I think that much in the same way every couple should be limited to having two children, those same couples should be limited to the amount of poxy baby photos they can post. To the doting parents, their offspring are the most beautiful creation ever to grace this earth, even when they’re wearing their dinner on their head, stroking the cat by pulling it’s tail until it screams and suddenly spreads it’s legs out in each furthest direction (ever seen that?) or even when they’re making pretty pictures on the wall with a fresh turd.
Guess what? Place your baby or child in a room full of other, equally smelly and messy children and not even your closest friends would be able to pick it out. Unless of course your baby was ginger, in which case shame on you for letting your child out of it’s cupboard.
Completely unrelated to Facebook (although I did get it from there) and on the subject of ginger kids, here’s something which made me chuckle the other day, although I did vomit into my mouth a little bit when I remembered that poor Princess Charlotte will have to get her lips around Kate Middleton’s ropey baps.
I’m a member of a few community groups on Facebook which are generally entertaining and informative, but that doesn’t mean you don’t get the regular fucking idiot or degenerate within these groups.
There was obviously a children’s photo competition in the local newspaper recently, where readers were asked to vote for their favourite, cute baby photo out of the ones which had been submitted. Two proud mothers had posted their child’s photo within one of the community groups, asking people to send a text message or click a web link to vote for their particular child. They didn’t specify what the competition was for and how their child was being judged, but guessing by the state of the photos and the ugly-factor of the kids in question, I’d say it was the “Least Likely to Be Befriended by Jimmy Saville” competition, in which case those two shockingly hideous children would have tied.
I don’t know if it’s a nationwide epidemic, but judging by my local community Facebook group, everyone is obsessed with fucking bootfairs. Come Saturday evening/Sunday morning, everyone wants to the know the times and locations of, and whether or not the weather has resulted in the cancellation of, various bootfairs. I know we’ve all got to tighten our belts a little bit, but who gets excited about going to a bootfair? Everything there is someone else’s shit- they’re selling it because it’s broken or smells funny and the council won’t come and collect it. You’re not a savvy bargain hunter if you get something from a bootfair- you’re a moron who got duped by a stranger standing in the drizzle at a knackered wall-papering table, which will be left there anyway at the end of the bootfair if it can’t be sold for £1.50.
A good example of this bizarre mentality is from a local lady who bought a hydrangea at a bootfair on Sunday. Apparently, it had looked “beautifully healthy” but by the afternoon, it looked like shit. She bought a potted plant from a bootfair and was disappointed by the quality of it.
Read it, take it in and think about that for a few minutes.
Of all things to buy at a bootfair, this lady bought a second-hand flower.
Finally, the last Facebook beef which I can think of as I type this is when a woman “works at full time mummy”. Being a full-time mummy isn’t a place of employment; it’s a lifestyle choice. A more apt employment description would be “sperm tester” or “drunken sex experimenter”. You chose to have sex without a condom (or you were so dry it split) and hey presto, you’re a mother. What do you want? Child benefit to match the minimum wage and for you to be paid that for the ungodly amount of hours you look after your kid each week?
Don’t send me a friend request on Facebook, don’t show me photos of your ugly, ginger kids and don’t ask me what time the bootfair starts at or if it’s been cancelled because of the sodding rain.