Facebook. It’s Over.

“Liberal” sounds like a brand of gelatin.


It’s not you baby, it’s me.

When we first met I admit I thought of you as a manipulative little gold digger, designed to learn all you could and then whore me out to the highest bidder, but I grew to relish our insidious relationship.

We’ve had some good times. And I’ll always treasure the way you nudged me to reconnect with people, opening me up to the idea of making new-old “friends.” Teaching me how to “like” again, and lately, y’know, even to “love” a little.

Plus, an occasional “wow” with its low voltage giddy, tingly feeling.

Wow. Just wow.

But I think we’ve both changed, emotionally and physically. It’s okay, I’ve come to appreciate your perplexing little metamorphisms; they’re cute. Even if you change your look more than Lady Gaga and keep moving my stuff around to places that only make sense to you, I’ve adapted, even looking beyond how you coincidently “showcase” products and services related to Google searches I did months ago.

It’s been fun reconnecting with folks from my pre-Internet days, only uploading photos I look good in, and allowing me to take an occasional stab at wit. Because if you can’t fail in front of your “friends,” who can you fail in front of?

Really, truly, you got me genuinely interested in their kids, their pets, even their pet peeves, but for the record, honestly, I don’t give a crap what airport someone just checked into or flew out of. It’s an airport. If they roll into the Taj Majal that’s worth sending up a flare. Oh, and unless they’re at Michelin four-star restaurant, I think there’s a limited audience for still-life pics of steaming entrees. An Olive Garden Lasagna? That’s just wrong.

But, I digress.

It’s not about a few personalized hits and misses, it’s just… It’s just I don’t like myself very much these days. After last November’s Black Tuesday event, wherever my better angels flew to for the winter, they booked one-way tickets and aren’t replying to any of my e-mails. Winter isn’t coming, WesterUS. Winter is here.

Truth be told, I feel like you led me into a seeping suck-hole of despair; give us this day our “our daily dread” kind of thing. You, me and the darker angels who stayed behind, fornicating, being fruitful, multiplying. The ones who say, “Keep reading,” or “Just one more click, this is really going to piss you off, but you’re not gonna believe this crap!” Lately, I believe it all. Like most cynics, I’m a big fan of irony.

Let’s say some unhinged, certifiably mentally ill Travis Bickel type buys an assault rifle and ammo from the discount gun table at the county fair grounds just off I-40?.. Whose name(s) do you think ought to be etched on those rounds? That’s better than irony, that would be poetic justice; Grade A karic debt collection. Yet, I’m still thinking about a Plan B, c’mon U.S. Secret Service, read the Suetonius chapter on Caligula, it wouldn’t be like you would be reinventing the wheel or anything.

See, darker angels talking, I just can’t shake ’em.

Who amongst us (here) has not sinned with the what-if-only scenarios, lately? That’s the thing, Facebook, your affinity algoritims have pretty much assured people like me, who more or less think like me, will get aggregated in a digital pixel-powered echo chamber. The same kind you set up for the kooks on the other side of the divide. So, this is sort of like preaching to the choir. Preaching hate, sure, but hey, hate is the new love, just turn on the TV.

If the medium is the message, collectively we’re all fucked.

For a while I felt like I was doing my small part by catapulting some stinky turds into the constitutional shitstorm that is, well, US. I felt like I was contributing in some small way to the greater good: “Houston (and every other U.S. municipality) we have a problem,” and hoping it would help a collective groundswell bubble up to something bigger, badder, with more tangible repercussions. It hasn’t.

I’m checking out of the #resistance for a while. I think it’s healthier for now. I do have some parting thoughts for my brothers and sisters in arms:


  1. “President Trump*” Always with the asterisk whenever spelled out. It’s the kind of thing that can become a thing. A festering boil on the fat ass of a fat-ass.
  2. If you happen to have a flag, fly it upside down. Burning one is sacrilege, flipping one over is a statement about the current state of things.
  3. To my friends in the 4th Estate: “That’s not true” is a deal-breaker coda you can try to stick on the end of someone else’s declarative bullshit but just gets you nowhere. Instead, try a doe-eyed, “Is that true?” It’s the chess equivalent of putting someone in check. Having it answered is like checkmate. Think about it.
  4. It’s not an “alternative fact,” it’s an “alt-fact.”
  5. “Redcappers:” Zealots who’ll go to their grave believing what they believe no matter how much proof they’re shown to the contrary.
  6. “TELL. THE. TRUTH.” If we’ve been dumbed down to three-word phrases like “Build A Wall” and “Lock Her Up,” that’s a good one to fight fire with fire with.
  7. “Liberal” sounds like a brand of gelatin. “Progressive” is the kind of word that makes someone look dumb and dumber with each pot shot they take at it. Time to change the lingo, folks.
  8. There are some amazingly talented people whose stock-in-trade is iconography. Recruit one of them to make the symbol that plays like Catniss Everdeen’s Mockingjay. I mean, this is not magical thinking.
  9. Fight fire with fire. You’re an easy target up on the high road, ask Hilary. When they go low, kick their teeth in. Bullies have a tendency to respect other bullies. See also: Thomas Jefferson on patriots, tyrants, and liberty.

So, Facebook we’re breaking up.

Sure, I’m killing the messenger, and maybe some day we’ll get back together and have the good make-up sex. Forgive my cowardice for just leaving this note behind, but I’m out.

Yes, I lied, it is you. There, I said it. You can still be friends with my friends even if you trash talk me.

I get it. No one likes rejection.