I remember it like it was yesterday.
“Click to confirm your Facebook account,” the e-mail read.
It was the happiest day of my young college life. Once I got that @uky.edu e-mail address, I went straight to Facebook to set up my profile. It wouldn’t be long before I could poke every sorority girl on campus, I thought. I couldn’t wait to write Beer pong tonite? on Skyler’s wall, to see if he and the guys over at Audubon wanted to get some games in before sundown.
The mouse couldn’t move fast enough. I frantically tapped my feet between page loads. I was officially a member of the exclusive Facebook world, then known as Thefacebook.
That was a long, long time ago; back when Facebook was restricted to students with e-mail addresses from a hundred or so colleges and universities. That was back when Facebook was fun and exciting; before it was flooded with opinionated bullshit, auto-play videos and links to TOP SECRET DIET SUPPLEMENT USED IN HOLLYWOOD.
No parents. No teachers. No employers. No redneck high school classmates griping about “the gays” getting married, in all-caps. Just a database of college students, looking to meet others like themselves and write short, booze-fueled posts they would one day regret.
Those were the good ol’ days.
Now, Facebook is my least favorite website on the internet — and, yes, I’ve seen Two Girls, One Cup. I’ve seen it twice.
Facebook is the internet’s trailer park. It’s where the dumbest are the loudest and the ugliest babies have the most albums. It’s where people complain to people who don’t give a shit. It’s where sick people die if their page doesn’t get 500,000 likes. It’s where I go twice a day out of habit, only to be reminded how much I don’t care what my “friends” think about Barack Obama or the new Wal-Mart.
Facebook is the world’s worst drug, and I hope its 1.44 billion addicts read this.
Facebook used to be simple.
Let’s go back about ten years, when Facebook was for college students and MySpace was for everyone else.
Back then, things were different. Things were simple. A friend request meant you were getting out and meeting new people on campus; or if you didn’t mind adding strangers, it meant you were trying to get out and meet new people. (Or you were a creep.)
Writing on walls was as common as text messaging. Last night was so much fun! was a perfectly acceptable thing to write on someone’s page. It’s how we communicated with each other. It’s how we made new friends. It’s how we flirted. It’s how Alex got those girls to meet us at Blue Line one night. Damn that was a fun night.
There were no shares or ads or links or grandmas or BuzzFeed cooking videos. It was simple. It was college kids interacting with college kids.
Those were the days.
Public access ruined everything.
From a business standpoint, opening Facebook to the masses was the only play. It was too popular to be limited to college students forever. Facebook needed to grow, and to grow it needed more and more people. Perfectly understandable. It needed to happen.
But all hell broke loose when it did.
Though we all use it daily, we’ve all said “I hate Facebook” at some point.
Whether it was after a crazy relative aired out family laundry, or when you wasted six minutes of your life reading about someone’s bad experience at Applebee’s, you’ve sworn off Facebook forever, at least once.
“I’m done with Facebook.” We’ve all said it.
If you haven’t, then you’re the problem.
We get it. You do CrossFit.
You know how I know you do CrossFit? Because you’ve been flipping that same tire every morning for two months and you’ve taken a picture of it every time. Seeing you and that tire has become a part of my daily routine. I bet you flip it again tomorrow. I’m sure it’ll get flipped again the day after that. The day I don’t see you flipping that tire is when I will assume you are dead, or the day you realized there is no direct correlation between Facebook likes and muscle mass.
First rule of CrossFit: Tell everyone you do CrossFit.
That’s a link to a fake news story, you idiot.
Hey dumbass, Arizona didn’t legalize meth because it reduces cholesterol. No, Jennifer Aniston did not die in a tragic snowboarding accident. And believe it or not, scientists still haven’t found a way to build invisible cars out of recycled aluminum cans.
So before you go sharing that story about the man who survived three years in a sink hole by eating his own elbow, take a second to check the source. If it checks out, do as you please. If you can’t tell, you don’t belong on the internet.
Can you elaborate?
Oh. You just wanted attention. Gotcha.
I don’t know any of those People I May Know.
That’s a photo of a dog and we have three mutual friends. I can’t say we know each other.
The sexual predator-looking guy, with the glasses? File him under People I Don’t Want To Know, Ever.
I also don’t know the six people in that wedding party photo; that lakehouse; the girl I never talked to in high school; or the man swinging a golf club, although we do have four mutual friends, who I also don’t know.
What’s with all the ads?
Zuckerberg, chill with the sponsored posts. Don’t you have enough money by now?
I don’t want to join Trunk Club or Sock Club or Shoe Closet or Hat Pantry or any of these other startups you’re pushing on me. My NewsFeed is bad enough without the unwanted advertising.
One first day of school photo is plenty.
Cute kid. Love the backpack. He’s killing it in that new Polo.
It’s okay to be proud of Junior’s first day in the third grade. That’s a big moment and you should capture it. It won’t be long before he’s stealing cash out of the sock drawer to go buy booze from the gas station that doesn’t card down the street. Enjoy these precious moments while they’re here. Make them last and get as many He’s adorable! comments as you can.
However, one, maybe two photos are plenty — three max. One in the driveway and one outside the school is more than enough. We don’t need to see his entire classroom, his Lunchable or his new Hunger Games notebook. Upload a couple of little man ready to learn his cursive and then move along.
Sell your Zija somewhere else.
Couldn’t be happier for you that you lost 70 pounds and you make six figures pushing the product that helped you shed the weight. Seriously, congrats. I’m sure you deserve that BMW for outselling everyone in your territory.
But if you’ll notice, everyone on Facebook hates you. We would rather see a photo of the inside of your toilet after a 15-day cleanse than read another post about how we can make $5,000 in one week and live a healthier lifestyle if we give you a call.
You make me want to add more CrossFitters.
If you spoil a TV show within 36 hours, you give every one of your friends the right to kick you in the shin.
That Game of Thrones finale was pretty nuts, huh? I bet other people would like to enjoy it, too, when they get home from their busy lives to catch up on their DVR. Maybe wait to write R.I.P. (Main Character) in a Facebook status. It’s a common courtesy.
“Bob tagged you and 173 other people in a photo.”
Did I go to church camp last weekend and not remember it? Why am I tagged in a photo with 173 people? When was I within a camera’s reach of 173 other people recently?
Oh, it’s just Bob trying to sell his old truck.
Get CraigsList, Bob. People go there to buy old trucks.
You mean I’ll burn in hell if I don’t share this?
I think I’ll take my chances. Besides, I never knew Jesus to be so hungry for web hits. I must’ve missed that Sunday.
I can’t say that I do want to watch ISIS behead someone.
Nor do I want to watch a routine traffic stop turn violent.
I didn’t log on to learn the truth behind 9/11, either.
Believe it or not, I have exactly zero interest in seeing the world’s most brutal car wreck.
And though it sounds wild, I did not click my Facebook bookmark to watch THE VIDEO THE GOVERNMENT DOESN’T WANT US TO SEE.
Maybe some other time, guys.
No, I would not like to play FarmVille. In fact, I hope your fake farm dries up and your fake barn burns down with all of your fake livestock in it.
There are two types of people in this world: those who play FarmVille, and those who leave the house. The latter is 99.99999 percent of America — you know, people who do things in real life with real people. The other 0.00001 percent want you to water their crops and feed their chickens while they set a new high score in Candy Crush Saga.
I mean this in the nicest way possible: I wish awful, awful things on anyone who invites me to play FarmVille.
If you have a strong political opinion and feel the need to share it, glance down at your keyboard, then bang your head against it until you pass out.
If you take only one thing away from this rant, let this be it. I can’t stress this point enough. The moment you think it’s time to write a couple hundred words about your political views, put a hammer to your computer.
It’s Facebook. No one cares. Out of all those people on your friends list, zero of them care. Literally no one. Not one person will read your post and think, “You know what, my day is better because I know what Jeff thinks about gun control.” Never in the history of ever has someone said, “Hell yes! So glad Linda shared her thoughts on healthcare. So awesome. Day made.”
Let’s all try to be better.
And maybe, just maybe, what was once the best thing on the internet will one day be tolerable again.
Until then, I’ll be scrolling through my NewsFeed — and hating every minute of it.
See you over there.