In Your Face-Book

For the longest time, I've felt that - for all of the social media outlets we have - something was missing. I am not on anything beyond Facebook, so I'm no expert.  But, as far as I know, there is no social media site solely dedicated to bad news. One of my biggest criticisms about Facebook is how happy everybody is - strike that: how happy they say they are. It's disgusting. I mean, I am obviously fond of all of these people that are my 'Friends' - hence the 'friending' thereof. And I wish nothing but the best for them.  I just don't want to read about it everyday.

As thrilled as I am that your little offspring won the spelling bee, swam the English Channel and split an atom, reading about it makes me feel a bit more inadequate as a parent than I already do. And as thrilled as I am that you love your spouse, your soul mate, the love of your life, all I see in that photo you just posted is someone older, fatter and less attractive than I saw when I was at your wedding. And that's just you. I'm not even going to get into what happened to your spouse. And lest anyone accuse me of casting stones and glass houses and whatever, believe me, I know: in 2015 I resemble myself in 1993 about as much as Tom Brady resembles me now. I'm a fucking mess; so, I'm not knocking anyone.  It is what it is..

So, I'm proposing to some entrepreneur out there the idea of a social networking site dedicated solely to the shitty things happening to you. I haven't decided on a title yet, but In Your Face-Book is my working title. It would be a no-holds-barred opportunity to let everyone know just how bad things are going. You'd be kicked off the site if you posted anything that could be construed as remotely positive.  Even a posting that is neither bad nor good would earn you a five-day ban from the site.

I know how I would fill my posts. But how would others? Here are some samples:

Joseph Schmendrick: Spent $500 to take the family to the waterpark. What a fucking nightmare: it was 104-degrees; little Benny threw up on a priest sitting in front of us on the boogie-board ride; my lovely spouse Ethel bitched and moaned the whole time - when she wasn't screaming at my daughter for forgetting her pads even though she's menstruating; then got a $200 speeding ticket on the way home.  I told the cop I was speeding to "get the fuck away from the worst day of my life" - and Barney smiled and said, "I guess it just got worse." I hate everybody. Fuck off.

Edward Philipenis: What a fucking nightmare! Took my son to his first rock concert - some group called The Bloody Asses. OMG. Parking was $50, everyone in the parking lot was pierced, tattooed and in various stages of inebriation, and the music was so bad that not only my ears but my eyes bled. Then, all through the concert, my son - my underage son - was bitching that I wouldn't let him have a beer. After my 12th, I relented. I bought him one and when an usher saw me give it to him, two cops came out of nowhere, cuffed me and threw me in a 'holding' area in the arena where my cellmates were 20 people in greater stages of drunkenness than the ones in the parking lot - only now I was confined with them in a small 8x11 cell. Bloody asses indeed.

Jennifer Stein Lipschutz Mendelsson Steinberg: Last time I come home early from work: I walk in the door and there's John - my 'loving spouse' - cock-deep inside the mailman.  Neither wind, nor snow, nor anal sex shall delay us from our appointed rounds. I'm going to my room to masturbate and then I'll call a lawyer in the morning. Can't wait to share this story the next time some asshole asks me, "How's John?"  "Well, the mailman fell on his dick."

Elizabeth Smith Smith: I hate these fucking kids and if I have to spend one more minute with them I'm going to drown myself in the tub. I can stand having ugly children. I can even tolerate having stupid children.  It's ok, I've come to terms with that. It's having belligerent, ungrateful, foul-mouthed, ill-tempered little bastards that I can't tolerate. I'd love to post a great photo of the kids smiling with their arms around each other, but the only way I'd get that shot would be to chloroform them both and stage the photo by maneuvering their limp limbs, propping up their lips with toothpicks to get a smile. I wish I'd never married that prick. Happy Fucking Birthday, Elliott. You douchebag.