Saturday, August 29, 2009

First Name: Jeremy

Hey fuckin' you. Yeah, you. I'm sick of your stupid MySpace surveys. They were cool, like, ten years ago when MySpace was new and I gave a shit about you. But now we don't even talk anymore. I should probably just unfriend you, but I can't because maybe you'll notice and tell everyone what a dick I am for unfriending you. I'm so glad I can have a Top 452216 now, because don't even ask me about how much goddamn drama arose with only being able to pick EIGHT of my favorite people on the internet. I never even fucking talked to you anymore, how in the hell was it a big deal that I replaced you with some guy from Fresno that pretended to be Jared Leto?

Why the fuck am I still on MySpace anyway? Everyone's moved to Facebook now, and that's only got a half-life of about two more years. I got on fucking Twitter to appease the internet gods, but they'll just invent something dumber and more poorly coded in the next month that I'll have to join too or fall under the crashing tidal wave of pro(re?)gressing social networking. I'll tell you why I'm still on MySpace: because I don't have enough to do during the day. I already can check my all my email accounts, messageboards, networking sites, and even walk out to my mailbox and back in ten minutes, and the rest of my day just involves repeating that cycle with snacks in between. If I get rid of MySpace, it'll only take nine minutes. Then what? Do the math! I'm awake for about 18 hours a day, so that's 1080 minutes. Divided by the ten minutes for each cycle of pointless refreshing, that's already 108 times I've checked if anyone wanted to talk to me (they didn't). If it only takes me nine minutes, it follows that I'd have 108 extra minutes in the day to kill, which I would spend either snacking more or checking my email another 12 times. So either I'll become exponentially more fat, or exponentially more bored. To those of you that say, "Why don't you get a job?" I can only respond by saying, "Why don't you go suck an egg?"

But that's not the point. I'm not the one at fault here. It's you and your stupid fucking surveys. Guess what? Shut the fuck up. I don't give a shit about who the last boy you kissed was, because I don't give a shit about you. I don't care if you're my cousin. If I wanted to know who the last boy you kissed was, I'd ask your high school's entire rugby team, because I hear you're kind of a slut.

Editor's Note: I chose rugby right there because I don't think any of my real life cousins go to high schools that have rugby teams. That is to say that I don't know if any of them are sluts, no matter what I may have heard about them. I don't even know if any of my cousins read this blog, but I'll guess that they probably don't. A thought, however: if you, reader, are in fact a cousin of mine, and find yourself offended by such sentiments, it is likely that you actually are a slut. You should consider getting tested. Safety first!

But here's the thing about you, survey-writer extraordinaire, who constantly fills my bulletin update box with your stupid fucking surveys, and has, incessantly, ever since I made the mistake of accepting your friend request: you don't even answer the questions! It's bad enough I don't give a shit about you already, but you aren't even giving me anything to not give a shit about at all!! Really, what's the point of filling out a fucking survey if you're just going to skirt around the questions?

Q: "Who's the last person that you let finger you?"

Your answers are things like "Not telling," or "That's not very nice," or "I absolutely have no idea, what with all the fingers I've had in me recently." What the fuck is that? YOU MADE THE COMMITMENT TO FILL OUT THIS SURVEY, SO FILL IT THE HELL OUT. Some of your stupid surveys even have a first question that flat out asks you, "Will you fill out this whole survey no matter how embarassing it is/obviously creepy the author happened to be?" And you answered YES! With a winky little smiley face! So don't go skimpin' on the juicy details just because you can't remember if it was Ridge or Tanner or your bio teacher behind the bleachers after detention. Just own up to it. We all already know anyway, because it got around school faster than you do. Who cares if it's embarassing, it's just the internet. No one reads this shit anyway. Let's try again, shall we?

Q: "Who's the last person that you let finger you?"
A: "Technically, my father. But I didn't LET him."

That's more like it. You've got to be honest with yourself. You also might as well pack your bags, because you're off to a foster home. I was kidding when I said no one reads this shit. Everyone reads it. Even your dad. So if Child Services doesn't make it to you first, get ready for the ass-whoopin' of a life time. Plus, you're gonna get grounded. Maybe even lose your cellphone. And then how are you going to be able to text Tanner that you missed your period? By the time you're allowed to go back to the mall and see him, you'll already be showing! Boy oh boy, the proverbial shit's gonna metaphorically hit the allegorical fan!



1 comment:

  1. Funniest thing i read for a while, and it to bothers me when people don't fill out answers correctly.