I refer here to myspace, which is a silly site made for kids. It reminds me of the time a friend of mine in college applied for a student credit card. He kept it in his wallet as a backup card, and after many months, decided to use it to pay for some food at a late-night Denny’s run. It turns out that the credit card had a 50-dollar limit on it, because it truly was an emergency credit card designed for students who never carried plastic in their wallets before. Needless to say, his pathetic tye-dye credit student card was denied because the meals he was paying for exceeded the card’s limit. My friend decided to take it upon himself to mail the card back to the company from whence it came. He did this by taking a crayon and writing on a paper napkin, “This card is for kids.” I think he wrote the ‘s’ backwards, too.
What I mean by this story is that myspace is for children, and only feigns to be a real social networking site (for which we have blogs on the god-damned Internet). Really, everything about myspace sucks, from its lack of real spam protection, to the buggy code, to the annoying embedded media, and mostly to the bloat. Let us not further forget the saddest problem of all: the users.
There was a time when I intended to write a mendax.org feature called something along the lines of “Picking up myspace girls”, which was to begin with a plan to create a fresh myspace account and fill it with hot girls as friends. I figured I could do so fairly easily, and I was so right, I got bored with the effort fairly early on. It turns out that getting girls on myspace to become your friend is as easy as getting AIDS in Africa.
I’m told that sites like Facebook are much better, but in truth, it’s not easy to be worse than myspace. And really, what’s the point? Considering how easy it is to set up a web page and/or blog these days, social networking sites are like finding port o’ potties in a bathroom. By that, I mean they are redundant shit-repositories. And the friends you “make” on them, aside from the friends that were already yours in real life, are what you leave in the port o’ potty after eating a bucket full of hot wings.
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