Some dude on the subway in front of me us wearing a book with the Facebook logo, except in its place it says “fakebook“. What’s he rebelling against, really? Did he recently undergo a traumatic identity theft case revolving around the use of the popular social media platform? Is this some greater statement on the fleeing insincerity of online communication? Drawing contrasts between the facetious digital contact in lieu of a more personal connection? Or has he just seen The Matrix for the first time and convinced himself we’re all living in a simulation, thus goading one of the world wide web’s most influential sites into proving its worth in a land of make believe? Or maybe, just maybe he’s a gormless milquetoast zygote with a rudimentary sense of humour. You know what? Fuck that guy. He’s a FakeMook.
Work was shitty and frustrating today, so maybe that’s why I’m picking on this bland dweeb. A major shift in protocol right in the middle of my vacation means I need to do a metric fuckton of work before I leave. Otherwise it’d be left to other team members to pick up my slack. I bet that’s what Fakebook Dipshit does all the time. Slack prick. I bet he paid full price to see The Emoji Movie in cinemas. Maybe just to see his cousin, the poo emoji, on the big screen. Actually, that’s kind of sweet. I don’t want to personify him like that. I hate this guy, remember? How’s about this? I bet he was one of those goons bitching about the women only screening of Wonder Woman a while back. Yeah, that seems like his M.O. You know, they’re doing a Clown only screening of It at The Alamo. I wonder if gamer gaters will shit themselves over that too? Probably not. They’re just misogynists. They’ve got no beef with Arlequino and his ilk.
I saw someone on the train that I thought was a local comic I saw the other day. I was just about to tell her how much I enjoyed her “Kid Rock grandma” bit, but couldn’t tell if it was her. So she saw me turn to her, make eye contact and open my mouth. No sound came out, then I blushed, closed my mouth then turned away. She may have thought that I was some form of human/fish hybrid that’d forgotten about my gills. I remembered the comedian had chipped her tooth on the mic, so I wondered if that’d be how I could tell if it was her or not. I darted my eyes back to her periodically before realising I was trying to look inside her mouth and if things weren’t creepy already, they were bound to get into Slenderman territory in T-minus five seconds. I spent the rest of the subway ride trying to burn a hole in the floor with my glare.
At least I can console myself with knowing I’m not wearing a fucking fakebook shirt. That dude is an anus.