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Facebook? Phooey

"So, Tad, What's a BFF?"

Did I mention I hate Twitter more than anything? I think I did. Well, Facebook’s not far behind, and I say that with sincere apologies to all the people who I dearly love-and with whom I would have no contact whatsoever, were it not for that mind-numbing, brain-draining, time-wasting, ego-bloating little icon with the lower-case F.

For a year or so, I’d strictly limited myself to being “friends” with the people I stil quaintly call my “children,” as well as my “brothers” and “sisters.” And even my “dad,” who was born when they were still fighting World Wars with horse-drawn cannons, and who has now lived long enough to see a world in which Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address begins “4 scor n 7 yrs go…”

In all, I had about 15 Facebook “friends,” which turns out to be about one-eighth the friend count for your average death row serial killer, and that just didn’t seem right. So I expanded my cyber circle, and now I have, I don’t know, it looks like 166 friends. Could that be right? I guess so.

So now my Facebook “News Feed” is cranking out updates the way the old UPI wire machine used to when I was a cub reporter on the Huntington Park Daily Signal. Only instead of late-breaking bulletins about civil unrest or world events, I see a steady stream of the sort of stream-of consciousness communiqués that were once termed, oh, “scuttlebutt” or “this-n’-that”, or “damnable wastes of my precious time.” Facebook calls this its “News Feed,” and it is “news” in that it is about stuff that is happening to somebody, somewhere, right now, and it is “feed” in that it reminds me of the way they grind up spoiled beef and feed it to cattle, resulting in mad cow disease.

I don’t have time to write to all my Facebook “Friends” at once-how could I possibly accomplish such a thing?-so here, for your convenience, is a list of things I do not want to read about any more: