Facebook: The Slum Lords of Social Media

By Ren

At some point in our lives, we've all lived in a shit hole. Whether in the projects of Boise or the academic ghettos of off campus housing, they all have one thing in common: the people who own it don't give a shit if the toilets flush in reverse or a family of possums set up shop in your underwear drawer. If you don't like it you can leave.

Pay your rent on time or you will be evicted from this paradise.

This is the 21st century (no shit). Slums aren't limited to real life anymore. There is "virtual" everything- virtual dating, virtual marriages, virtual mafia, virtual prostitutes, and even virtual homes. That's right, many of us have a particular place we "live" on the web. MySpace used to be the best neighborhood to hang your hat, but it's degenerated into the Old Detroit of social media.

Badly in need of ED 209.

The only really universal web community anymore is Facebook. I'll give you Linked In, but that's really more for business types who want to keep tabs on their competition, secretly looking for new jobs, or exploring another avenue of sucking up. OK, there are other social networks out there, but I think it's safe to agree that Facebook, for the time being, is the most popular and well used. I guess we can say Facebook is our interwebs home and landlord. Sure, everyone loved their digs. There weren't as many bullshit applications and outright spam like you would find on MySpace. It seemed more orderly and user friendly. Something about it make you feel comfortable and at home. But, behind that civilized, Norman Rockwell image, lurks one of the most corrupt and negligent slum lords you'll ever meet.

Something even worse than this.

Like millions of people who lack anything else to do, I built a Facebook page a few years ago. I fiddled around with the settings, privacy, and aesthetic shit. It wasn't without its charm. Then, the other shoe dropped and Facebook started ball tagging everyone with their random acts of bullshit.

1. Dicking with your profile settings:
This has happened to thousands of faithful users. One day, everything's hunky dory. You just finished joining every Jonas Brothers fan page that exists. You feel fulfilled. After changing your status message for the 50th time that day (everyone needs to know when you poop) you sign off, secure in the knowledge that your profile is worthy of some sort of Internet award. Something useful, not like that Pulitzer Prize crap. Maybe a lifetime supply of Irish whiskey, Trojans, and douche. I'm spit balling here.

Do they have whiskey scented?

Who are you kidding? You can't wait until morning to take another spin on Facebook. You're addicted, just like the rest of us. Go ahead. You know you want to. But, something is awry. Why the hell is only half my profile information showing? Why aren't the settings registering? Shit, none of the privacy settings I chose are working. No, asshole, I don't want my pic to be seen by people in federal prison. NO, do NOT give my address out to those serial rapists! For the last fucking time, STOP showing OJ Simpson as my grandfather! Who's fucking with me?

You've become the latest victim of something I like to call, "The Facebook-fuckedya." Sometimes it happens randomly. Other times it seems like you're the victim of a vendetta. All of the time, it sucks a mountain goat's ass. There's no rhyme or reason to it. It's Russian roulette. Sometimes the chamber has the bullet. Sometimes the revolver just goes "click." Once the Facebook fuckedya lands on you, it's hard as hell to escape it. It's a free social site. What the fuck do they care? You're not paying them. Maybe your profile was hacked. Maybe the server is fucked. Maybe Facebook hates your kind.

That's what I thought. Eat shit pug nuts.

2. Dicking with your pictures:

What's the equivalent of being robbed on Facebook? Having your pics swiped. No, no one hacked the system and stole your pics so he can print and show them off at the annual "Guess the bodily fluid stain" con. Facebook just decided to fuck with you.

Oh, fuck you.

Just one night they were gone. Again, no rhyme or reason. It lands on you like a glob of seagull shit. Go ahead, check. It won't do any good. Facebook has done its job well. Does this sound familiar?

Why can't I get into my photos? Horse shit! I just uploaded 5000 of my friend streaking through Mass after he got trashed on Listerine! What? "You do not have any photo albums." WTF? The hell I don't, mother fucker!

Or, better yet:
Why? What's wrong? Come on! Too much bare ass in it? Not enough? Fucking answer me!

3. Dicking with your access:
The aforementioned issues are bad enough. At least, you could gain access to the system to find out there was a problem. You can't even get in now. Correct screen name? Check. Correct password? Check. OK, I'll just reset the password, just in case. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Holy tap dancing Irish Jesus, what the fuck is taking Facebook so long to email me that confirmation code? Finally! OK, new password. SHIT! It's still cock blocking me.

Trust me. Pictures of actual cock blocking were horrific.

What?

What the fuck does this even mean?


That's the pot calling the kettle black, you sanctimonious assholes!

4. Outright not giving a shit:
Fine. Facebook is riddled with problems in the same way our national warning system it riddled with complete and utter ass pudding. We have a voice! We will be heard! Contact the administrators and give them an earful of your bitching.

Do it. Try to reach someone, fudge sack.

You follow the logical steps one would take in order to get to the "contact Facebook" page. The problem is that there is no direct route from A to B to C. If you want to get to the page with the feedback form, you first get dumped into what they call a Help Center.

All LIES!

Naturally, you select the "Contact Facebook" link. That's what they want you to do.

WTF? What does any of this have to do with contacting Facebook?

Nice try, but they've thought of that. Facebook and its bevy of third world tech agents don't want to actually speak to you. Instead, they throw you like a week old baloney sandwich into the trash that is their pre answered questions. Mostly, these FAQs are created to help the mouth breathing Velcro sneaker wearing mentally fuckedafied do basic things like log on and type. It's useless for the rest of us. No! I want real answers that don't read like Chinese stereo instructions, damn it!

Screw it. What's next? Hey, what's this?


Fucktastic. It's a Facebook users' blog chocked full of thousands of other confused and frustrated sons-a-bitches looking for a glimmer of hope. The blog is more of a sounding board about how much Facebook sucks leprechaun nuts than an actual helpful resource. Most of it of the posts are peppered with spelling errors that could technically put you in that windowless "special" class in junior high. Shit, shit, shit shit shit!

Me no git whi my profil cant be showed good.

The only way to contact Facebook is to stumble upon the "Hacked Profile" link. You saw it before, but you figured since your profile wasn't technically hacked, you had no business using it. Well, 45 minutes have passed and you're fuming with pipe bomb building rage! Fuck it! Fill the bastard out!

Why the hell would anyone want to be a "fan" of Facebook security?

You fill out the form and then Facebook slaps you in the face, yet again.

Working on getting this fixed as soon as you can?
When the fuck will that be?

Yuppers, they come right out and tell you that your problem is, in fact, your problem. They'll get to it if and when they have time to. Not a cotton pick'n moment before.

After some more wandering around the Help site, you finally find a bug report link. It's completely understandable why you were unable to find it in the two hours you've been trapped in Facebook help center hell. It's conveniently buried 27 aggravating pages in. Go on. Submit a "bug report" but the answer is the same.

"Although we're unable to reply to every bug report at this time, we may contact you for more details about the issue as we investigate the report. Thank you for taking the time to improve the site."

Translation: Fuck you.

Perhaps, one of the best examples of Facebook just not giving an elephant's shit comes from their own stock response. The same generic, automated script is posted to issues on the user blogs that are serious and can potentially deal the Dead Man's hand to your account and sanity.

"We are aware of the problem that you described and apologize for the inconvenience. Unfortunately, we do not have a specific date for when this issue will be resolved but hope to fix it as soon as possible. We appreciate your patience."

Thanks for contacting Facebook,
Catriona
User Operations Facebook

This is one of many automatic "piss off" responses spat out at the masses. This particular one was posted in October of 2007. The bug was posted in March of that year. The fucking problem still runs rampant all over Facebook over TWO YEARS LATER. Thanks for nothing Catriona, if that is your realy name.

Catriona?

What's the best thing to do when your Facebook profile is plagued with glitches, errors, and overall fucktarded problems? Well, this little Irish girl burned the city to save the people. My account is FUBAR? Fine. I'll level its ass.

Pictured: Lesser of two evils.

I deactivated my account and started over again. Sure, that was a complete pain in the ass and I lost a couple of years worth of electronic memories. Hindsight tells me that Facebook isn't a necessary part of life. Mankind existed before it, right? In theory, we don't need social media to function. Don't you remember what I said in the beginning of this article? Facebook is like heroin. I may not need it, but I fucking NEED IT!

Yes. Now give mama another fix.

4 Pieces of Tech That Mean Nothing to Gen Y

Every now and then (that is to say, never) the FWTC will have a guest writer to contribute "witty" commentary. This isn't one of those times. Basically, Roode and I have had the shit bugged out of us by Adel to give a this little bratty upstart an audition. Roode immediately gave her the finger and said "We don't need any more testicle-less columnists. One is enough." I was of like mind, until Adel bribed me with a commemorative Billy Mays shirt. So, without further ado, we yield the floor to Ren and her article about tampons or some shit.

-Tresckow

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By, Ren

I've never been good at figuring out who is what generation and why. Society gives these cute nicknames for each successive social generation that follows the old, out of date one. Specifically, I'm referring to Generation X and Generation Y. I'm a member of the latter and enjoy making fun of our predecessors. You Gen Xers get so irritated with us for "not having it as rough" as you had it as kids. Or, "taking the cushy techno lifestyle that "you" built for granted. What does that even mean? Did you have to walk to school, in the snow, uphill, both ways? Um, no. It means the internet was still a plot point on Next Gen and "LOL" didn't mean shit.

An outright mystery to the 1980's. Is it a code? A message?
The name of a new Buck Rodgers character?

Look, Gen X, we can't help that you only had the primordial ooze of what exists today. We grew up with Windows, cruise control in every car, power windows, digital everything, and air conditioning as far as the eye can see. The very idea that Gen Y has little knowledge of or respect for the technological "innovations" that set the stage for the information age seems to piss many of you off. When it comes down to it, the 80's might as well be the Dark Ages to us. We really don't give a shit about....

1. Audio Cassettes
I found one, once. It was dusty and warped. It was sort of like finding an arrowhead. Sure, it's completely useless compared to today's technology, but it was the best you could do waaaay back then.

I don't get it. What's the brownish stuff in that little window thingy?

I know this was a great the great leap forward in audio technology. God knows you spent enough time and money advertising these things as the second coming of audio Jesus.

All this for a mini reel to reel player?

It was crap. You know it and I know it. Come on, the previous piece of audio genius was the 8 Track. I don't even know what the hell that was. Sure, I've see vinyl albums being tossed around as collectors' items. But, I'm not really noticing a lot of 8 Tracks, let alone twenty year old Maxell cassettes flying off the shelves at antique stores the world over. Why would that be? Oh, that's right; for the same reasons we don't cherish used diapers and heavily stained jock straps.

Not being stocked in an antique store near you.
Festive on the outside, chocolate brown and lemonade yellow in the inside.

My brother had a Walkman. He loved that thing; it went with him everywhere he went. But, it was the devil's box. Tapes jammed, the controls were cumbersome, and the contraption was roughly the size of semi thick Sodoku book. Except much bulkier. We had to have an intervention for him a few years back. Tears were shed. Harsh words spat at each other. My brother was killing himself with a destructive addiction. He was hopelessly hooked on searching for, then purchasing new Walkmen; which were getting harder and harder to find. Whenever a new ablum came out, he would spend hours and sometimes days to find the cassette version of it. This was two years ago.

I'm sorry, Tom. Cassettes are only useful if you're making cheap table lamps.

Why it matters to Gen X:
They were portable, easy to come by, and you could record random songs from your favorite top 40's station. Let's not forget the sentimental value finding your old PM Dawn tape brings.

Why Gen Y couldn't care less:
MP3s, IPods, and other digital technology that don't require an occasional re-spooling with an eraser from a #2 pencil. We even use CDs as coasters now.

2. Nintendo Entertainment System

The original NES was like the discovery of fire to Gen x. Until that point there was Pong. It must have been awesome to have more than two lines and a square "ball" on the screen. Finally, you could play a game in color with "realistic" sounds. Beep, boop, and whup whup whup are realistic sounds, right?


It's catchy. I'll give you that.

This gray box of joy was on the gift list of every child. From what I hear, you might as well have hanged yourself if you didn't find this thing under your Christmas tree or um, Hanukkah bush. I guess the amazing duo of Super Mario Brothers and Duck Hunt were the equivalent of having a double orgasm.

Got a cigarette?

I've seen this plastic paperweight on ebay. The price varies, depending on how desperate the buyer is to relive his childhood. Some sell for as low as .99. Others, at the more ridiculous cost of $300+. For that amount you could buy a brand new WII and have enough money left over for a DVD of cable rated porn.

Not strong on plot, but excellent visual effects.

Why it matters to Gen X:
This brings back the proverbial "shit load" of childhood memories. This was history in the making. It was about time primitive gamers could vicariously live through a short, fat, mustachioed Italian stereotype. This was "real" gaming. There was no online competition (primarily because the www was considered a stutter, then). Who cares if Linx's key looks like a yellow penis? It was all about the game. It was about SKILL! Well, that's until Game Genie came out and every mouth breather was a gaming superstar.

Pictured: The downfall of skill.

Why Gen Y couldn't care less:
WII, XBox, online FPS, and so on and so on.... Don't wax all philosophical about the carefree days of Super Mario Brothers. We can play it on WII and it still sucks. Even Mario has abandoned Super Mario Brothers. He spends his time racing his fellow multicolored goons for money and blood. Mario Kart is a little like Death Proof, only not.

God, I wish. I really, really wish.

3. Cordless Phones
Now, why would I rail against something we still use today? Hell, I'm within walking distance of one right now. How is it possible that Gen Y couldn't give a coyote shit about something we still hold dear?

We understand that the advent of cordless phones was liberating. No longer were people tethered to their button studded oppressor.

Shackles of
communication
oppression

Society's telephone
Independence Day.

The first cordless phones, not unlike the first cell phones, were pretty big. Carrying one was like walking around with a field radio in Vietnam. In order to get shitty reception, you had to fully extend the antenna. For the best reception, you pretty much had to stand next to the primary antenna. So, really, the maximum distance most of the early cordless phones was roughly three feet from its base.

Illusion of freedom.

The technology got a lot better and, suddenly, everyone had a cordless phone. Those who had a telephone line capable of touch tone dialing, that is. Today, the cordless is as standard as a fridge with ice maker and an indoor toilet (does not apply to Utah).

Why it matters to Gen X:
It was that technological innovation that allowed teenagers all over the world to to have phone sex without the phone cord leading right to your hideout. It would take your parents longer to track you down, at least. Of course, due to the whole shitty reception thing, you still had to stay relatively close to the base. That could make for awkward dinner conversation if it was in the kitchen. Also, from what I hear, the telescoping antenna made for some pretty good fencing.

Why Gen Y couldn't care less:
As far as we're concerned, this shit has always been around. We've even taken it a step further and applied the same technology to cell phones. We can have phone sex ANYWHERE now! That, and with all the features modern cells bring (text, web, cameras you can use to take pics of someone on the toilet) house phones are pretty much for decoration now. Can a cordless house phone play a Miley Cyrus song or a homoerotic sound byte from "Twilight?' Didn't think so.

4: VCR's
Now this was the pinnacle of Gen X's technological achievements. Yes, I'm including the Apple IIe and DOS.

A paperweight? Door stop? Blunt instrument? WTF is this?

No longer was society a slave to the MAN's schedule. Is Night Court airing at 9? Damn it! You're going to be out shopping for the perfect tee shirt to wear underneath that nifty pastel suit and loafers you can wear without socks. Not to fear! VCR is here!

Superhero!

I'm not going to get into the Beta versus VHS debate. Quite frankly, if you backed the wrong horse on that one, it's your own fault. No, despite the type (for a while, at least) you could watch your favorite episodes of Falcon Crest on YOUR TERMS. As long as you knew how to program the damn thing. Why the hell is the clock still blinking 12:00? Shit, why did it record The People's Court? I programmed this thing for channel 8 at 10:00 PM, but it recorded channel 10 at 8:00 AM. Why is my menu in French? FUCK, I had it set to SLP instead of EP! You son of a bitch!

Program this, mother fucker!

Why it matters to Gen X:
Again, it was about freedom. If you were technologically savvy enough, you could record one channel while watching another. Well, it helped if you were some sort of computer programming expert. Don't want to see the commercials? You don't have to! You can fast forward past them at a slightly faster speed. You even had a remote control... that was tethered to the VCR by 10 feet of black cord. Society can finally tape an entire season of Small Wonder and save it for posterity.

Why Gen Y couldn't care less:
DVDs, DVDRs, DVRs, Ipods, the Internet. We can pretty much watch any episode of any show whenever we want to. Want an entire series? Go to Best Buy and buy it. Need to catch up on this season's JAG? Go to the website and watch it on the computer. Then again, if you watch JAG, you have other problems.

VCR's are still hanging around. For the paranoid, there are plenty of VCR DVD combos to buy, just in case you really want to watch those old Rip Tide tapes. Throw a VCR and a Dell in front of a Gen Y'er, I guarantee he will be able to rig the Dell to auto search porn and hack into the NSA database. However, they'll look at the VCR in the same way modern civilization looks at chamber pots; with pure, unadulterated disgust. Sure, it's what they had to do back then. But, there is absolutely no excuse for it now.

Just add urine.

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When not "writing" for the Fuse Was Too Cold, Ren... well, we really don't know what the hell Ren does. Don't get used to her. We may shit can her, yet.
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4 Bad First Impresions: Facebook Request Disasters

By Adel

More and more of us old farts are getting into social media these days. I denounced MySpace years ago, until I got bored and opened an account. It wasn't so bad, actually. Then the "war" between MySpace users and Facebook users heated up. I swore that one social media site was more than enough. Consequently, I was wrong and, soon, was assimilated by the Facebook collective.

Exactly like this, but without the constant surveys and fan pages.

Those of us born in the 70's were harder to turn to the dark side. We're naturally suspicious of computer technology (as 1984 and The Terminator taught us to be). Slowly, though, the ice melted and we began to dabble in the Facebook universe. Occasionally, we find old friends. More often than not, we end up "friending" people we speak to on a regular basis. Either way, I've learned that the friend request process is a very delicate one. Both the requester and requestee have to watch their steps. This is especially true if this person is someone you haven't spoken to in a decade. The first thing you type will immediately tell the person on the other side of that DSL line who you are today and what level of crazy you've reached.

It takes talent to type without using your hands.

1. Friend Request: Stalker
"Hey! I haven't seen you in a long time! How are things? Are you still single? Living alone? I heard you're living at the same house we all used to hang out in. That's two miles on the left from the Sunoco, right? Do you have an alarm system? See you soon!"

What this says about the person
Having given up his passive creepy staring at people from across the room, he's graduated to proactively peeping from the bushes with a pair of high powered binoculars. This just may be the time to up his game and start jimmying his long lost friend's back window with a crowbar and seeing for himself if the whole "Squeal like a pig" thing is true.

How funny running into you here! At your house. In your bathroom...

The Proper Response:
Erase your hard drive, move to Idaho, and live under the assumed name of Stanley Finklebottom. You might want to get in gear before he's outside your front door with a can of Cool Whip and Vaseline.

This wouldn't be a bad idea, either.

2. Friend Request Response: Suicidal
"Hey, thanks for the friend request. How are things with you? Things suck here. I've been married and divorced twice, out of work, and they're going to foreclose on my house pretty soon. To top it all off, my feet smell like cheese. The doctors don't know why. I use half a bottle of Goldbond in each shoe, but it doesn't help. I'm so happy you friended me. Just the other night I was sitting at my computer cleaning my loaded gun thinking, 'What is there left? Would anyone notice if I just painted the wall with my brains?" Then, BAM! I get your friend request! That is just awesome!"

Does this mean Barney Fife was trying to kill himself the whole time?

What this says about the person
You were just surfing the net at 2 in the morning, because you heard you should never go to bed drunk enough to choke on your own vomit. Hendrix died that way. In an effort to sober up you wandered around Facebook and found this guy you haven't seen since freshman year in college. What made him different than the six thousand other friends you have on Facebook and never actually speak to? Well, it seems that you've accidentally became this guy's only reason for living. You were just hoping to sober up and not blow chunks all over your keyboard. Your plan went awry. Enjoy getting dozens of daily wall messages from Suicidal Sammy and living in constant fear that if you neglect to respond to one he may cancel his account with a syringe full of Clorox.

Sucker

The Proper Response
Click the "like" button for every one of his posts like you've never clicked before. You better not forget to accept his gifts on Farmtown. Not joining his Facebook Mafia may end up in the police finding a week old decomposing corpse sitting at the computer, a mouse in one hand and gun shot residue on the other.

Why haven't you accepted my Farmtown cow yet?

WHY HAVEN'T YOU ACCEPTED MY FARMTOWN COW YET!!

3. Type- Friend Request: Obsessive breeder
"Wow, it's you! I haven't seen you in forever! I just had to friend you. Do you still see the old gang? I don't much, these days. My family keep me busy! We have four children with number five on the way! They are my life! I just don't have time to keep track of our old friends. It's just go go go with the kids. Timmy has soccer practice, Sally is our cheerleader, Ralph has hockey, and Billy always has some sort of performance. I don't know how I lived without them! Do you have kids? Will you? When? I hope it's soon so you'll be able to understand the joy and live a life of purpose and meaning! Keep in touch!"

I can't believe this bitch found me.

What this says about the person
Her life completely revolves around her kids. She was living a shallow, meaningless existence until 8 pound children started shooting out her vagina. Now, it's no crime to love your children but, when it becomes a religion on par with Scientology, there's a problem. She's trying to make up for getting knocked up in junior year by immersing herself and living vicariously through her unruly, belligerent brats. Following this path could potentially lead to another Dana Plato or Michael Jackson. Yes, they may be successful for a time, but it ends in tragedy. Compared to this pompous baby factory, being raised by the totally heterosexual guys from My Two Dads would yield better results.

That's right, Mister Sweater Vest and Mister 80's Beard.
(Totally heterosexual)

If that wasn't bad enough, there's the end of message bitch slap. You cannot possibly know what fulfillment is, unless you have a few booger eaters. What's that? You don't have kids? Why not? Don't you feel useless? Shouldn't you throw yourself in front of a truck, then?

We do, so appreciate the subtle kick in the teeth.

The Proper Response
Tactfully remind her that you are completely aware that the father of her first kid was that functionally retarded guy from wood shop. Also, make sure to tell her that you can't wait to get together for a drink one night. Oh, wait, she has a litter of children. The closest she'll get to setting foot outside her house for a night on the town will be carting her brats to Chuck E Cheese's where their constant screaming will blend into the screaming of dozens of other whiny pizza eating bastards.

Pictured: fulfillment.

4. Type- Friend Request: Hopeless loser still clinging to high school
"Well look who it is. Mr. 'I'm too big to come to homecoming!" Just kidding. Man, you should come back! It's still crazy here. Nothing has changed. The old hangout is still nuts. Yea, I chill there most nights with the seniors. It's great. Just like old times! I'm still working at that 7-Eleven across the street. I'm so in with my buds, because I'll slip them cigarettes on the DL. Remember when we all hung out after that homecoming game in '94 when we all were like, whoa, and we totally stole that six pack of Meister Brau from Nate's dad? Shit, it doesn't get any better than that! Dude, I heard Nate got like a job being a doctor or something. Can you imagine? All that school stuff and no time to party? I hate it when guys lose their perspective like that. Gotta keep it real! You totally should visit! It'll be like old times. I'm pretty much free all week. Except for Saturdays. I have to take my mom to her electrolysis appointments then. Peace, bro! Seriously, dude, you can reach me anytime. I'm home right now if you want to call."

Before we get into the finer details, the office thought that it would be a good to present you with a simple, yet important mathematical equation. See if you can follow this.

This + That= Keep'in it real!

This + That= Complete sellout.

Or success, depending on you point of view.

What this says about the person
Saying this tosser peaked in high school is an understatement. There have been plenty of people who have done the same that, at least, managed to have families or hold down a job that doesn't require pumping gas or making change for a twenty. It's as if a space-time vortex opened over this guy and he is forever stuck in 1994. Only, he has a lot less hair and a lot more gut today. His class has moved on; even that functionally retarded guy that was in wood shop had a kid and works part time sweeping hair at Cost Cutters. Another issue is that a thirty- something guy probably shouldn't be hanging around 17 and 18 year old high school students. That's how one ends up running into that pesky Megan's Law.

Better study this map. It may be your only chance.

The Proper Response
Smile and nod. Who are you to judge, right? Sure, you work 50 hours a week, have a mortgage, and have friends over 18. Hell, you're even married to a real life woman. Maybe you aren't "keeping it real" like that poor Nate bastard that has been stricken with an MD and financial success. The sudden impact of your high school buddy's crash into the brick wall of progress surely left him somewhat brain damaged.

The truly tragic thing from the accident was that he is permanently stuck on 1994 colloquialisms, fashion, motivation, and events.

"Dude, what's the haps with the Lewinsky trial? Ehh, ehhh. Any more official late night presidential packages that need to be handled?"

*Sigh*

Throw the guy a bone and accept his friend request. Just make sure he doesn't get a hold of your email address or telephone number. You may want to keep your visits home under wraps, too. Be forewarned, sometimes this type of Facebook illness can be communicable. If you happen to run into him when you are in the area visiting your family, don't panic. Although, socializing with him for more than twenty minutes is a slippery slope. It starts out as a short catching up, but can easily turn to you hanging out at the gas station drawing penises on the Cosmopolitan magazines. Don't get too deep into this tar pit. Struggling only makes you sink faster.
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When not writing for The Fuse Was Too Cold, Adel enjoys slaving over research day in, day out to support her book. A book few will read. A book that may never be taken out of its original plastic.

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