Um, Friendster? No, I haven’t heard of it.

Oh, I see. Well, obviously this is just some online dating thing. I don’t get it – why do you want me to sign up? I’m married, you know. And happily, thanks.

Yes, I know, I received your invitation to join. Yes, I took the tour. Yes, fine. Still, no, I’m not interested. I don’t care if it’s not only a dating service. It’s still, at best, a hookup service for losers. Yeah, sure, I keep up with my friends just fine on my own.

No, really, I don’t want to do it. I’ve heard what it’s done to people. They sit around, look up ex-girl and boyfriends from high school, and then delve into peoples’ personal lives (people they wrote off long ago) that they have no right to be snooping around in.

Of course, all of them willingly put their profiles online, so aren’t they expecting voyeurs? Aren’t they practically asking for them?

But, NO! I refuse! No! Wait, you’re joining too? Maybe I’ll find out what it’s all about. Oh, look: Everyone I’ve ever known – in my entire life – is signed up. That’s weird. Maybe I’ll give it a quick spin…

I can’t think of any goddamn movies I like!



later

Fare thee well for tonight, Lord Friendster. Minions await for ‘sign-up.’ For now, I must away. Until next we meet, please sell the whole of my personal marketing information and all the names of my friends to the Old Navy database. I await further instruction.