WARNING: major sarcasm within

Oh hello there Facebook, what a pleasure it is to visit you on this fine day. I cherish the fact that every. single. damn. time I log in I have to change the order of posts on my feed from Top Stories to Most Recent. No, I don’t care that you have taken it upon yourself to have a default setting that doesn’t coincide with my personal preference. Why do I want to read what everyone else thinks is important anyway? I’d much rather trawl through the mundane and miserable rather than the same picture of a woman wearing a veil that you racist bastards have decided to flood my timeline with whilst sharing your ridiculous ideas about the world.

What a lovely day it is to find out that your eighth child has been sick all over your face. No, I’m not laughing, not laughing at all. Okay, maybe a little. What is the little darlings name? Oh, that’s unique…I can’t remember the last time I’ve heard of a Layland or Jack. Probably yesterday, or the day before, because you know, that name is just that unique. I didn’t really need to know that the contents of your child’s nappy are anything but ‘normal’, but thank you ever so much for informing me of such information. That will be so very helpful the next time I spend any time with your child.

Which. won’t. ever. happen.

What’s that? You’ve liked my post? How wonderful it is that you, my dearest friend from a long time ago who I never actually talked to, have liked my post. It’s wonderful to know how much you care about an event that happened to me, when you’ve probably never even heard of the people or the place involved. All the same, it’s just so wonderful to have you share your like of what I have put up for you to see.

Not that I ever share anything with you, or anyone else, anyway. I’d much rather inadvertently tell you that you can’t spell, that your grammar is atrocious and that what you consider to be English belongs somewhere like a book that makes fun of people who are perfectly capable of understanding proper sentences. And you like that do you? You actually like for me to tell you that you don’t know the difference between your and you’re?

Maybe I’ll turn on Facebook chat, because I’d love to answer the same question I’ve been asked three thousand times in the last few years by the same person. No, I don’t have a job. And no, I don’t actually care if you think you’ve found a job I’d be interested in, because no, that’s not something I’m interested in. Or even qualified for. But thanks, thanks a lot for wasting my time and the time of the employer I’m not at all interested in.

Oh look, little Jack Layland has once again been sick, all over you. Not only that, but you had to change his nappy sixteen times in an hour because it’s coming out of both ends? Oh how lovely. That’s just what I wanted to read at six in the evening, right when I’ve just sat down to eat my tea. It’s very much appreciated. No, really, can I give you a hug? This is the greatest thing that I’ve been told in so many years. I can’t even contain myself. Please, tell me more.

It’s really wonderful to see exactly why we’re Facebook friends, I can’t thank you enough for being in my life. I’d love to spend every waking hour of every day showing you how much I appreciate it. But actually, there’s a reason I rarely actually use Facebook and it’s not because I don’t have children. It’s because I follow people who I share so much in common with that I just have nothing left to say to them. That’s right, we’re like twins, best friends, and it’s such a delight to know that I don’t have to speak to you and we’ll remain such firm friends for the rest of our lives. It’s such a shame that I am Facebook friends with people I have met in recent years because they barely hold a candle to you people. Why would I want to watch people I met earlier this year cooking food with their partners and being happy? It’s a travesty to think anyone would care about such a thing. I’d much rather watch your rant about ‘dem tosers doin nuffink bt harrass mi kids’.

I’m only sorry that I don’t hang around more often.


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