To be perfectly honest –
I don’t care who is friends with who.
I’m not particularly interested in joining a cause, flirting, rating a beer, or sending good karma.
Nor do I want to know who is playing scrabbulous or blackjack, was sent a love bug, received a friendship rose, or is having their mind read by the mystical mind reader.
I don’t wish to be hugged, poked (whether naughty, flirty, kinky, Kiwi, cocktail, voodoo or Bea Arthur) smiled at, High 5’d, or winked at.
And I certainly don’t care to spank, cuddle, massage, or nudge anyone.
I’d rather not receive best wishes, a greeting card, an ultimatum, a ray of light, a care bear, cheers, a love box, a jelly bean, a charm, karma, a sticky, martini kitty, a pet tarantula, happiness, a girlfriend, a teddy bear, or a Turkish Delight
And I’d sooner not get a lucky cat, a penguin, a handbag, a super car, a rose, a Turkish gift, a poppy flower, frogs, or, worst of all, an affirmation.
Please don’t update me on new comic books, fashion fortune cookies, the cat of the hour, my daily horoscope, the stupid celebrity picture of the day, or TopShop Fashion.
Or apprise me of the Swedish word of the day, Today’s Greek newspaper front page, or your goals and resolutions.
I have no intention of sending anyone a fairy kiss, a birthday balloon, a bomb, or a cockroach.
Or advising everyone of my profile player, my style, the languages I speak, what I’m watching, or that I am a Global Citizen, or the fact that I love Honda.
Or creating my own WWE superstar, fighting a duel, or collecting my favorite ballcaps.
Or letting people in on my mood ring.
And, for Godsake, I don’t want to play Crazy Market, Cash Point, Backgammon, factory, checkers, Asteroids, Othello, or Lucky Jackpot Bingo.
Or take a fun Trazzler, pop culture, famous movie quotes, will I ever be homeless, or business quiz.
No interest in taking part in a Bar Fight, a Dance Off, flipping my pics, saying I’m sorry, turning my profile pic into a funny caricature, showing my love for Fraggle Rock.
I don’t want to play sudoku, dinos, virtual chess, solitaire, bridge, or frogger.
Or participate in a crazy car parking game, flip cup drinking game, or Guess who? Game.
Or celebrate a Friend of the Month.
Or rate my friends as naughty or nice, sensing or intuitive, or interesting or not.
Or check my allergy IQ.
Or take a patience test.
Or add a testimonial, bling to my photos, or a cool new wallpaper.
Or bestow anyone with a Friend of the Year Award.
Or display my quick and dirty bookcrossing stats, my bookshelf, or my flickr gallery.
I have no desire to find out what kind of animal I am or which South Park character I am or what color I am or what kind of magical being I am or what is my wedding color or what is my party song or what is my weed song or what’s the best sexual position for me tonight or what car I am or which football player I am or what season of the year I am or where I will find my dream guy or how crazy I am or what kind of guitar I am or what kind of fruit I am or what U2 song best describes me or what is my girl’s night out song or what kind of lingerie I am or what kind of pizza I am or what kind of video game hero I am or what is my Disney song or what is the meaning of life or what is my happy song or whether or not I’m a shopaholic or what my cruising song is or when he will propose or whether or not I’m a fun drunk or who is my natural enemy or whether or not I’ll be a bridezilla or which mythical sea creature I am or my funny Christmas name or whether I’m an introvert or an extrovert.
Nor do I need to know how many ninjas I could take on in a fight, which Bon Jovi song best describes me, whether or not I would survive a plague, which Simpsons character I am, what is my falling in love song, which One Tree Hill character I am, how evil I am, which Sondheim musical I am, what’s my inner dragon, which women’s shoe I am, whether God loves me or not, what beer I am, what is my reggae song, which Spiderman villain I am, whether I am really Lebanese, what kind of crazy I am, which DBZ character I am, which Xena: Warrior Princess character I am, what kind of cake I am, or how Singaporean I am.
I’d rather not compare my reading attitude, throw a pizza party, or create a virtual woman named Jenny.
I do not wish to take part in a water fight, fly a fighter jet or a helicopter, save my archery scores, pimp my profile pic, plant a real tree, ride a motorbike, hunt squid, go AWOL, or profess my love for Burger King.
I have no plans to invite anyone to my bunker, rate my mate, share my dreams, spread the piece, or bubo anyone.
Do not challenge me to a Penalty Shoot-Out, puzzle war, snowball fight, or karate match.
I don’t care to vote for a top celebrity,
No to sloganizing!
No to color accents!
And, sweet Jesus, no to virtual babies!
I’m in the process of trying to extricate myself from the clutches of Facebook. Easier said than done. Just when you think you’ve managed to delete your profile, it turns out some pesky little residual element has managed to elude your best efforts. It‘s like a frigging brain tumor.
Today’s video: Bubba body slams Lulu. Twice.