12 hours ago
10 hours ago
facebook goes bleep
my heart skips
i look up
my finger clicks
my trousers twitch
So, I’m chatting, on Facebook, to this girl right, from like Germany or Russia or one of those countries, and she’s really cool you know, like funny and clever and proper dirty too. Anyway, I have quick look through her photos and find a hot one, with a lot of cleavage, and put it on my phone. Now, she’s forty-something, but she looks bloody good for her age.
In the morning, I wake up with a stiffie you could like choke a horse with, so I bring up her pic and have a good old five knuckle shuffle, a nice long one too, you know, stopping and starting, so as to make it last. I make a hellova mess, but fuck it, that’s what showers and cleaners are for, right?
Later, I tell her about it, and she’s like acting all embarrassed, but you can tell she’s as chuffed as fuck really. “Which picture?” she asks and I tell her.
Turns out I was whacking off to a picture of her daughter.
She was my best Faecbook buddy. We’d chat for hours and play silly games, like pick a music genre and then pop off to You Tube and smother our own and each other’s walls with music. Sometimes we’d find some banal or bigotted discussion thread and just bombard it with surreal comments.
When she had her internet cut off, I was lost. I didn’t know what to do, so I dug out some envelopes, stamps and a pad of paper and posted her a letter. I didn’t know what to say, so I wrote “Kyle poked you.”
we cried tears of words
on the day we had to say goodbye,
it wasn’t like you were dead
and you were always
ten thousand miles away.
we tried to 🙂 and lol
on the day we had to say goodbye,
poured out our tears of letters,
words and emoticons
and our love just scrolled away.
you’re still there on my sidebar
since the day we had to say goodbye.
i left an x
at the bottom of our thread,
that will never go away.
No one could understand why she had done it. She had seemed so happy. She hadn’t always been like that, she had always been rather a melancholy girl, but six months ago she had met a man online and from that point onwards her whole personality had changed. She’d seemed lighter somehow and would smile nearly all the time, she started taking an interest in her appearance and had even dropped 12 pounds.
She talked about nothing else, and we all kinda found it a little boring but we were just so glad to see her happy, that we listened. We got every gory little detail, the poems he wrote her, his confessions of undying love for her, word for word accounts of every IM he had ever sent and far more than we wanted to know about what they got up to on Skype.
We had been a little wary for her, after all this was some guy, thousands of miles away, that she had never actually met, but they sounded so well matched, they shared the same hobbies, liked the same movies and music and TV. Generally, we were all just delighted for her.
So why today? Why would she do something like that on the very day that he was going to fly in and they were going to finally meet?
As the paramedics took down her body, I noticed that her laptop was still on. I navigated my way to her Facebook page and found their thread, just to see what had happened to make her do something like that. My blood froze. There it was, six months of chat. Except it wasn’t, it was just her. There was nothing from him. Tens of thousands of remarks and LOLs and <3s but all from her, just one side of the conversation. I scrolled up and up until my fingers ached, just hoping for some sign of him, tears streaming down my face. It was all there, the poems she’d written him, her responses to comments he’d never made, answers to questions he’d never asked, an acceptance of a proposal he’d never offered. My spine chilled at the recollection of that day, when she’d bounced into work, bubbling with love, telling us all that he had proposed.
I kept scrolling up until I found it. The only comment he had ever made to her, right at the top, six months ago. “Who the fuck are you? You weird bitch!!!”
when we die
our web presence will remain
technology will allow us to animate our spirits
from beyond the grave,
they will continue to interact with the living
uploaded to the cloud,
we will be digital angels
when we die.
Every second 1.8 people die. There are around 500,000,000 Farcebook users. That means in the time it takes you to read this post eight of them will have died, four of them will have been logged in at the time. There are over 70,000,000 WordPress bloggers. One of them will have died while you were reading this. I bet you wish you hadn’t read it now, don’t you?
Why am I being sent all these panties? I don’t get it. Is it meant to be sexy? Let me say right now, it is not. I’m sure they were hot when you slipped them off and popped them in the post, but by the time they have travelled halfway round the world to get here they are just crusty. What am I, some kind of laundry service?
Oh, and while I’m at it, can you all please be a little more imaginative with your passwords? I am sick to the back teeth of your husbands figuring them out and waking up to find my farcebook wall covered in death threats from these limp-dicked excuses for men.
Me – 2 minutes ago
I love seeing your green dot pop up.
You – about a minute ago
Here you go sweetie x
Me – just now
Er, that’s not what I meant, and that’s red, but thanks
I meant the green dot on FB that tells me you’re online LOL