We used to have nine planets (Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune, and Pluto), but Pluto became a dwarf planet (an object in space). Facebook has since taken its position. With over one hundred and fifty million active members, Facebook has earned its place in the world of legendary planets. The only difference between Facebook and the other planets is that Facebook is virtual…and like all virtual worlds, it is full of surprises.
I was never going to join Facebook. I just thought it strange and unnecessary. Eventually, I joined for the sake of networking, or at least, that is what I told myself. Since joining Facebook a little over a year ago, I have found some old friends I never thought I would find again, and I have made some new ones too. I currently have two thousand, six hundred and eighty-two friends on Facebook. The weird thing is that I did not receive two thousand, six hundred and eighty-two perfumes (or Range Rovers) on my birthday. I really do not like this friendship. It is not quite beneficial to me – at least, not in the way I would prefer.
But like I stated earlier, strange (and funny) things happen on Facebook. In the profile section, every member has the option of declaring his/her relationship status. Your status could either be single, in a relationship, engaged, married, in an open relationship, or the funniest one of all, ‘It’s complicated.’ Facebook goes further to give you the option of declaring the person with whom you are in a relationship. For example, Joe’s profile might say, “In a relationship with Mary,” and Mary’s profile will say vice versa.
I can understand why a person’s relationship status might be single, in a relationship, engaged, or married. I can even try to understand (more like accommodate) a person’s relationship status being ‘In an open relationship.’ But why will a person’s relationship status be ‘It’s complicated?’ What exactly is complicated? Does it mean ‘we are divorced but still playing husband and wife?’‘we own a home together and have six children but are not married?’ Does it mean ‘I kinda sorta got my wife’s younger sister pregnant?’ Or worse, does it mean ‘I’m pregnant for him and I just found out we are first cousins?’ Do not tell me it means ‘my boyfriend does not know I used to be a man.’ Seriously, what does ‘It’s complicated’ mean?
No matter how complicated it really is, why does Facebook need to know? It has been quite a little while since I have been in a so-called relationship, so perhaps, I have forgotten how it is done. Pardon me for thinking that having a ‘It’s complicated’ status on Facebook will further complicate things. What do I know anyway? I am just a girl who owns a laptop and an imaginative mind. It becomes even funnier (and troubling, of course) when a person’s relationship status moves from ‘In an open relationship’ to ‘It’s complicated.’ One begins to wonder what might have happened. Did one partner decide to have a close relationship? Is one partner having a baby with someone – other than the one whom he/she is in an open relationship with? Has one partner caught a sexually transmitted disease and now unable to figure out where it came from? The possibilities are endless!
Speaking of relationships, Facebook does the most dramatic thing when a person’s relationship status changes. It is so dramatic that sometimes I am so sure that Facebook must have some Nigerian blood in it. When a person’s relationship status changes from being in a relationship (or married) and becomes single, Facebook alerts all the person’s friends. Example, it will tell everyone that “Joe is no longer listed as ‘In a relationship.” But that is not where it ends. It goes further to add a broken heart next to Joe’s name. Most of my Facebook friends are Nigerians, so you know they cannot help but be dramatic. People start leaving comments like “Oh, don’t worry Joe, your own will come…” or “Eyaa, poor you. Hope you’re coping sha…” or “What happened? I thought you were ready to pop the question.” Someone might even say, “Don’t tell me you got dumped again!” These comments never cease to tickle me. But what makes people (and Facebook for that matter) think that the end of a relationship means a broken heart? Is it not possible that the end of the relationship spells freedom and joy for Joe? Or maybe I am the only one who experienced that.
On the contrary, when a person’s relationship status suddenly becomes attached (in a relationship, engaged, married, etc), Facebook puts a heart – not a broken one this time – next to the person’s name. Of course, the busy bodies are always there to comment again. “Oh, congratulations, Mary! Who is the lucky fellow?” or “Ah, me too, I go love oh!” Once in a while, you will find an ignorant one like “Ah, ah, Mary, you’re in a relationship already? This babe, you no dey waste time o!” Now, I have to wonder; does being attached mean the person is in love or happy? The person might have just made a grave mistake by accepting to be in the relationship. But then again, maybe I am the only one who experienced that also.
Still on the topic of relationships, I have heard horror stories of people’s partners (husbands, wives, boyfriends, girlfriends) being stolen on Facebook. I cannot say I am surprised. I do not think there is anything wrong with putting pictures of one and his/her partner on Facebook, but remember that one hundred and fifty million people may be watching. So before you embark on such a treacherous journey, it is imperative that your relationship is solid. When I say solid, I mean SOLID – not the we-just-met-yesterday-and-we-feel-like-we’ve-known-each-other-forever kind of solid. I mean the I-know-how-many-times-he-breathes-in-a-minute kind of solid – although some might call that obsession. It only starts with one friend poking your partner, and before you know it, all three of you are in a ‘It’s complicated’ status. All it takes is a poke. In retrospect, of course, only people who want to be stolen can be stolen. That is my story, and I am sticking to it.
Do you know that Facebook is also a proof of love, pride, and commitment in a relationship? Picture this: girl wants to ‘go public’ on Facebook, and boy does not want to. All of a sudden, girl begins to bear grudges against boy and overanalyze everything he does. Why does he not want to go public? Is he ashamed of her? Does he have someone else? Is he not committed? Does he not love her? Well, maybe he just does not want his business on Facebook. But girl refuses to see things this way, so she gives boy an ultimatum: either you declare our relationship on Facebook, or we are done. Cruel, cruel world, I tell you.
Facebook – God bless its heart – also wants to know if its users are interested in men or women. You have the option of picking one, both, or none. I have picked none. I am shocked to see how many people have indicated interest in both men and women. Does this mean that so many people do not understand what is being asked of them and therefore do not realize the implications of their response, or do we just have a rising number of bisexuals? Either problem is disturbing as it is bewildering. In spite of its obvious lack of sense, I will go ahead and believe that Facebook malfunctioned and mistakenly assigned both sexes to so many people. Honestly, that helps me sleep better at night.
Need false validation? Facebook is the place to get it. This is why girls who have been fearfully and wonderfully made by God constantly feel the need to post half naked pictures of themselves on Facebook. They put the pictures up and leave nauseating descriptions like, “I know I look hot.” Sex-starved men creep by, take a peek, and write what the girls want to read: “You go, baby girl! You look so sexy. I wish I could take you home right now.” The ignorant girl responds with a capital “LOL. Thanks!” Everyone else who has a functioning brain looks at the picture and virtually spits in disgust. Why do people leave false compliments on Facebook? Why tell a girl who obviously looks like she has just been used for a money ritual that she looks edible? Edible to whom? Vultures? A pack of wild animals? A ferocious beast? I wonder.
I have been told to never assume things, but I cannot help but assume that anyone who is on Facebook wants to be found. If that is the case, what then is the point of being on Facebook and changing your name every few weeks according to your mood in the morning? People that already have you as a friend on Facebook will find it difficult to find you; people that do not already have you as a friend will never find you. I assume, once again, that people who engage in this must not know the enormity of the confusion they cause for people like me. But then again, maybe I just do not understand the ways of the Facebook Citizens. Perhaps, I am still just a resident.
Anything and everything that can have a group and should not have a group has a group on Facebook. I have been invited to join the most ridiculous groups on Facebook. Out of courtesy and respect (and fear of being beaten up), I will not mention any. I have to wonder though; must there be a group for everything? Before one forms a group (virtual or not), it is imperative – in my opinion – to have an aim. One should not form a group just because the world wide web provides the unlimited space for it. I realize that some of these groups are for fun, but a lot of them were born out of the creator’s boredom – which is why you hardly see even the owner of the group participating in it. The poor group dies a slow, unnatural – though predestined – death before it gets a chance to even be ill. Such is life.
Everything happens on Facebook. People meet on Facebook. People fall in love on Facebook. People reconnect on Facebook. People get introduced by mutual friends on Facebook. Hearts get broken on Facebook. Hearts get mended on Facebook. Money is made on Facebook. Money is lost on Facebook. Spouses are stolen on Facebook. Fame is acquired on Facebook. Virtual fights break out on Facebook. Cheats get caught on Facebook. Employers spy on their employees on Facebook. Lunatics and psychopaths stalk people on Facebook. From the way things are going, I expect that people will soon start getting pregnant on Facebook. I shudder to think of the kind of virtual community my future children will belong to. I doubt if I will still be on Facebook by then. I even doubt if Facebook will still be in existence. By the time my future children are old enough to belong to a virtual community, Facebook must have gone to Virtual Planet Heaven. Or maybe Virtual Planet Museum. Unless, of course, the future will give birth to strange children who will join virtual planets at age one, write novels at age three, and – heaven forbid – get married at age five.
Ah, the possibilities...!
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Showing posts with label Funny. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Funny. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Thursday, August 23, 2007
Nothing Has Ever Felt Like This
No, I am not talking about love (though that would be good), or money (even better), or fame and wealth (oh, best), but what I am actually talking about is what none of you will see coming. I’m talking about the greatest feeling ever…I’m talking about having the power to get rid of your frustration. I’m talking about having the physical and mental ability to expose a portal from which your burden and frustration can be let out. To be more specific, I am talking about shitting. Yeap, that’s what I’m talking about.
What is it about shitting that has you feeling like a new person at the end of it? You go into a room (also known as the bathroom or the toilet), sit on a commode, expose this bizarre portal (also known as your anus) and before you know it, some slices, or tubers, or pieces (whatever you decide to call them) come sliding out. You sit there and just push and push and have all kinds of grimaces on your face; so much that if one did not know what you were actually doing, he or she would think you’re having an orgasm.
Bathroom time for me is a very sacred time. I go in there, relax and let all my troubles unwind (physically and mentally). I even have magazines to entertain myself while I’m in there handling my business. Most times, I do not read the magazines though, so I take a novel in there with me, and I also take any other thing I may need while I’m having my private spa.
I’m talking about things like the cordless phone, cell phone, earpiece, etc. I have recently upgraded to also taking my laptop in (with cords and all); after all, I do have to check my mails…right? If we are in the winter, I might take a cup of hot cappuccino. But when the brutal heat of summer rolls around, I might take a popsicle or two to cool me off while I’m working out (you know it’s a workout trying to squeeze the slices out, right?). Oh, and let’s not forget my lip gloss. One’s lips can get awfully chapped after working out for a long time.
There is something so fascinating about one’s own shit that you never feel like it stinks. In fact, you think it is the best smelling shit ever (if there is such a thing). I mean, I can talk, eat and do any thing at all while I’m shitting, and I will relish every breath I take of my shit, but when it is someone else’s shit, I would not even dare go close to that place because it stinks! My shit smells so good that I do not even feel the need to spray an air freshener when I’m done. If anything, I will go back a few minutes later just to get one last sniff before it completely dissipates. Oh, the joy I feel!
The smart people (also known as scientists) who came up with the theory of matter coming in three states (solid, liquid and gas) are very smart people indeed! Think of it; shit is solid, urine is liquid, and fart is gas. Brilliant! I find it very astounding that you can get rid of your excess luggage in three different states. I am yet to decide which one is my favorite one; they all seem to do miracles to my comfort level.
I do not know what kind of people you have in your life, but I think I have the weirdest people in mine. Whenever my father farts (which he does very often and quite loudly too), he demands that we hail him…and even clap for him. Every time he farts, we have to say, “Ogbuefi!” And then he answers. My mother on the other hand feels the need to describe to me in details, the fine points of her shit. It might have been long, maybe watery, or just plain ol’ hard. Till date, the only air freshener that has been mildly able to tackle the foul odor of my mother’s shit is Febreeze. As for my father’s shit, I do not think it can ever be tackled. It is one of those things we leave up to God, and hope that He will not let us down.
My friend, Funmi learnt the bitter lesson of one-flush-per-shit after she foolishly filled her toilet with long, hard shit. Can you guess what happened? Yeap, the toilet got clogged up by shit. Do not ask me who had to plunge it; she might not want that information disclosed, although I am tempted to do so. But imagine what the person had to go through; I mean, seriously, how cruel was that? Needless to say, she has never repeated such a careless mistake.
Now, what is it that makes shit so personal and private? Nobody ever wants to shit in someone’s house…unless it’s a very close friend or family, of course. What would you do if you are in the house of a new romantic interest and the urge suddenly comes? I’ll tell you what I do when I’m in a house where I do not wish the stench of my shit (however pleasant) to be smelt. I try to cover the whole commode with my butt and thighs, so that the stench does not escape, and then as soon as the shit enters the water, I flush, and wait for the next arrival. Brilliant, huh? Of course, I do not guarantee that this will work on your shit; stenches of shit do come in different flavors, you know?
The feeling of releasing a fart is absolutely phenomenal! There is an ah moment that comes after one is released into the world. It is a feeling of liberation! It feels so great to release one of your own naturally-made tear gas into the world to do some mass damage to some bad, bad people. It is quite unfortunate we cannot see it because I would love to see it dissipate and sleekly go up people’s noses. The vile looks on their faces would give me all the joy I need.
My lovely aunt, whose name I will not mention in order to spare her the shame, is always talking about the special shit she shits. It is the one where you take off your pants/skirt and underwear completely because you need the space to spread your legs apart. And while shitting, you have to put both hands on your head. I guess you must be going through an Oh-thank-you-Lord-for-this-miracle phase. Did I mention she has her eyes closed and her mouth open? Go figure!
It goes without saying that I have never said shit so many times in one write-up. It is even more interesting that I do not mean it in a bad way. Now that I think about it, how did shit even become a bad word? This is something that I have to investigate; I do not know how constructive this research will be, of course, but I will find out once I am done – if my interest in said research lasts long enough. Somehow, I doubt it.
As I end this baby, I can think of only one person who finds shit and all its components to be rather interesting. Do you?
Comments are generously welcome
verastic@yahoo.com
http://verastic.blogspot.com/
http://veraezimora.blogspot.com/
443-834-7374
What is it about shitting that has you feeling like a new person at the end of it? You go into a room (also known as the bathroom or the toilet), sit on a commode, expose this bizarre portal (also known as your anus) and before you know it, some slices, or tubers, or pieces (whatever you decide to call them) come sliding out. You sit there and just push and push and have all kinds of grimaces on your face; so much that if one did not know what you were actually doing, he or she would think you’re having an orgasm.
Bathroom time for me is a very sacred time. I go in there, relax and let all my troubles unwind (physically and mentally). I even have magazines to entertain myself while I’m in there handling my business. Most times, I do not read the magazines though, so I take a novel in there with me, and I also take any other thing I may need while I’m having my private spa.
I’m talking about things like the cordless phone, cell phone, earpiece, etc. I have recently upgraded to also taking my laptop in (with cords and all); after all, I do have to check my mails…right? If we are in the winter, I might take a cup of hot cappuccino. But when the brutal heat of summer rolls around, I might take a popsicle or two to cool me off while I’m working out (you know it’s a workout trying to squeeze the slices out, right?). Oh, and let’s not forget my lip gloss. One’s lips can get awfully chapped after working out for a long time.
There is something so fascinating about one’s own shit that you never feel like it stinks. In fact, you think it is the best smelling shit ever (if there is such a thing). I mean, I can talk, eat and do any thing at all while I’m shitting, and I will relish every breath I take of my shit, but when it is someone else’s shit, I would not even dare go close to that place because it stinks! My shit smells so good that I do not even feel the need to spray an air freshener when I’m done. If anything, I will go back a few minutes later just to get one last sniff before it completely dissipates. Oh, the joy I feel!
The smart people (also known as scientists) who came up with the theory of matter coming in three states (solid, liquid and gas) are very smart people indeed! Think of it; shit is solid, urine is liquid, and fart is gas. Brilliant! I find it very astounding that you can get rid of your excess luggage in three different states. I am yet to decide which one is my favorite one; they all seem to do miracles to my comfort level.
I do not know what kind of people you have in your life, but I think I have the weirdest people in mine. Whenever my father farts (which he does very often and quite loudly too), he demands that we hail him…and even clap for him. Every time he farts, we have to say, “Ogbuefi!” And then he answers. My mother on the other hand feels the need to describe to me in details, the fine points of her shit. It might have been long, maybe watery, or just plain ol’ hard. Till date, the only air freshener that has been mildly able to tackle the foul odor of my mother’s shit is Febreeze. As for my father’s shit, I do not think it can ever be tackled. It is one of those things we leave up to God, and hope that He will not let us down.
My friend, Funmi learnt the bitter lesson of one-flush-per-shit after she foolishly filled her toilet with long, hard shit. Can you guess what happened? Yeap, the toilet got clogged up by shit. Do not ask me who had to plunge it; she might not want that information disclosed, although I am tempted to do so. But imagine what the person had to go through; I mean, seriously, how cruel was that? Needless to say, she has never repeated such a careless mistake.
Now, what is it that makes shit so personal and private? Nobody ever wants to shit in someone’s house…unless it’s a very close friend or family, of course. What would you do if you are in the house of a new romantic interest and the urge suddenly comes? I’ll tell you what I do when I’m in a house where I do not wish the stench of my shit (however pleasant) to be smelt. I try to cover the whole commode with my butt and thighs, so that the stench does not escape, and then as soon as the shit enters the water, I flush, and wait for the next arrival. Brilliant, huh? Of course, I do not guarantee that this will work on your shit; stenches of shit do come in different flavors, you know?
The feeling of releasing a fart is absolutely phenomenal! There is an ah moment that comes after one is released into the world. It is a feeling of liberation! It feels so great to release one of your own naturally-made tear gas into the world to do some mass damage to some bad, bad people. It is quite unfortunate we cannot see it because I would love to see it dissipate and sleekly go up people’s noses. The vile looks on their faces would give me all the joy I need.
My lovely aunt, whose name I will not mention in order to spare her the shame, is always talking about the special shit she shits. It is the one where you take off your pants/skirt and underwear completely because you need the space to spread your legs apart. And while shitting, you have to put both hands on your head. I guess you must be going through an Oh-thank-you-Lord-for-this-miracle phase. Did I mention she has her eyes closed and her mouth open? Go figure!
It goes without saying that I have never said shit so many times in one write-up. It is even more interesting that I do not mean it in a bad way. Now that I think about it, how did shit even become a bad word? This is something that I have to investigate; I do not know how constructive this research will be, of course, but I will find out once I am done – if my interest in said research lasts long enough. Somehow, I doubt it.
As I end this baby, I can think of only one person who finds shit and all its components to be rather interesting. Do you?
Comments are generously welcome
verastic@yahoo.com
http://verastic.blogspot.com/
http://veraezimora.blogspot.com/
443-834-7374
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