Hello there,
We’re your Facebook friends. Those Facebook friends. You know the ones. The moms who have recently gotten into CrossFit. The club promoters you went to college with. The ex-boyfriend who is legally contesting his firing from Best Buy. Your great aunt in Arizona who signs her comments, “With all my love, Your Great Aunt Marjorie.” The girl who appears to have stayed perpetually pregnant since graduation.
We have a lot to offer the Internet, and we’re exciting friends to have. For instance, we’re unpredictable. Who else is going to tell the corporate Applebee’s page to fuck off and die? Or post random, out-of-context Fall Out Boy lyrics as a status update? We don’t think there’s anything weird about reminding you almost every single day how great our troops are. Are you saying that they aren’t great? Did you see the picture of the Marines that reads, “OK, ISIS, come and get it”? Hell, yeah!
We have a lot of love to give. We’re pretty much constantly getting engaged.
We’re always watching the best videos, too. There was that hilarious grainy one of a Russian guy putting a firecracker in his butt. Or what about the poorly subtitled Chinese insurance commercial about a dog that kept visiting his owner’s grave? Very powerful.
Did we mention that we’re super-into CrossFit now? We also just bought a gun. And we have a brand-new, gigantic, and startlingly awful tattoo. Here are thirty photos of it.
We admit; we can be a little provocative. Maybe Obama isn’t secretly a lizard person. And, sure, he’s probably not controlling the global economy with telepathy, but how can we know for sure? And how outrageous is it, really, to argue that vaccines are making our children gay? Are you going to tell a mom that you know more about how to raise her kids than she does?
O.K., O.K., we’re getting a little off track here.
What we’re trying to say is that we are more than what we post on Facebook with seemingly zero understanding of grammar, boundaries, or tone. We have no idea what bitcoins are. We hate that they don’t play “real music” on the radio anymore. And we want to read local news stories about dogs. Is that so awful?
So meet us halfway! You never accepted our invitations to play Candy Crush. You never took the personality quizzes we shared on your wall. And you never participated in the ice-bucket challenge. It raised a lot of money, and, more important, awareness.
Look, sorry. We don’t want to sound aggressive. We’re just a little grumpy because of all the CrossFit we’ve been doing.
Why can’t we all just agree that, on Facebook, we’re equals? Are our drunk selfies from two-for-one Margarita Monday really all that different from your well-lit Instagrams of sushi from that pop-up that the Times won’t review for months?
And is it really crazy to think that Kanye West hates white people? Well, this is America, where everyone is entitled to his opinion, regardless of typos or JPEG quality. And where Facebook is big enough for all of us—for those who care about that “House of Cards” show and those who think that the Bachelor should have picked the dental hygienist from Tulsa and not the dog walker from Houston. Where you can listen to whatever a Haim is and we can listen to the Iggy girl who does the song about “Clueless.”
Where else are we going to go? Twitter? It’s full of journalists, and it moves too fast and everyone’s always yelling about someone named Kylie Jenner.
Let’s make a deal: if you agree to maybe cool it with all the updates about your rooftop garden and your breakfast raves, we’ll try to be less mad about every single thing that Nicki Minaj has ever done or will ever do. But no promises!
So, thank you all for your time, and remember: the dress was white and gold, everything in the_ Onion_ should be read completely literally, Kim Kardashian is actually a false-flag operation orchestrated by the C.I.A., and if you don’t share this with ten friends you will have bad luck for seven years.
