Bikes an' Phones an' Shit

Turns out that the issue with my new bike being a twat (by ‘twat’ I of course mean ‘cutting out at 70mph on the M5’) was easier to remedy than I initially anticipated. I visited a dedicated Suzuki Goose fan site and managed to download a pdf of the Japanese owner’s manual. Inside, there was a really helpful diagram showing how the petrol tap should be aligned...and it transpires that having the tap turned to ‘on’ actually puts the bike in ‘reserve,’ and turning to ‘reserve’ allows the main tank to be accessed. Those crazy Japs and their upside-down petrol tank markings! I extend a thousand thanks to the people at www.suzukigoose.co.uk for uploading the manual...although the site doesn’t seem to be updated anymore so I’m not sure they’ll ever know how much I appreciate it. Maybe I could somehow deduce where the webmaster lives by analysing the backgrounds in his photos and cross-referencing against the entire Google Streetview image library, and then turn up at his gaff with a cake and a card. Bit much?

As usual though, another slight problem has arisen – the headlight is held in place by the indicators screwed into the sides through a bracket...but the indicator threads are a bit worn and loose, so there’s quite a bit of play in the angle that the headlight hangs at. This means that it’s pointing at more towards the floor than I’d like and isn’t much use as an actual headlight in the dark (as I found out to my disgust last night whilst riding through quite a poorly lit rural idyll). Hopefully I can remedy this with the replacement indicators I’ve purchased from Amazon. When they turn up I’ll have a go at securing the headlight with more...er...security, and hopefully that’ll be the end of the minor annoyances. These things are to be expected when you buy a used vehicle though, so I’m not too surprised to discover that I need to do a few jobs. And to be honest, I kind of enjoy tinkering with anything mechanical anyway so I don’t see it as a chore. What I do see as a chore is the sun going down way too soon now we’re heading into September, meaning that the work I’m doing has to be done super-quickly and right first time...or it has to wait to the next day. Fucking seasons. Fucking rotation of the Earth. Fucking sun. Fucking space. With futility bordering on the ridiculous, I shake my fist at you all.

Speaking of shit just going wrong, my phone has decided that it no longer wants to function as a phone. Texting and internet browsing – fine, go ahead. Actually make a phonecall you say? Nooo. And that’s because it’s a piece of fucking crap. For a start, it’s made by some tin pot organisation that probably has it’s head office in a back street in Kowloon walled city: Huawei. It’s a pretty basic and budget priced Android phone called the Huawei Blaze, and my initial impressions were that it was quite a good gadget for the price. I think it only cost about £70 and was pre-unlocked so I could just pop my GiffGaff (more on those cunts shortly) sim straight in and start using it. Only after a few weeks did I realise just how shoddy the thing really is. There are massive delays between you pressing any icons on the screen and anything happening, and it constantly locks up. The thing just doesn’t seem to have the power to handle the operating system (Android 2.3.5). Texting is a nightmare due to the lag between screen presses and letters appearing, and most of the other features you’d expect on a smart phone are either complete arse or just don’t work (e.g .the camera is bollocks and the radio doesn’t work). Now, the thing has decided that letting me hear someone when I call them is not within its job description, so all I get is silence through the earpiece. The caller (or called) can hear me, I just can’t hear them. So this thing is getting slung as soon as I can afford a new phone. Trust me – do not buy a Huawei handset, no matter how cheap and enticing they seem: they’re fucking trash.

Moving on to GiffGaff. I wrote about this new(ish) mobile phone network a couple of years ago when I first discovered it and I was full of nothing but praise. How soon things turn sour. I really don’t want to sound like I’m exaggerating but GiffGaff must have the worst network infrastructure on the planet: at least once a month (at least!), the network goes down. Either you can’t send texts or the data isn’t working or you just don’t have a signal, and the first you know about it is when you can’t send a text or whatever and then go to have a look at the GiffGaff website. Because it’s the network ‘run by its customers’ (utter tripe), they don’t have a customer service line – just a forum where you can ask questions. These questions are generally answered by forum moderators and they can be helpful sometimes...but most of the time, if there’s a problem with the network and it’s causing you a major headache (because y’know, you need to use your fucking phone to get stuff done), they’ll just post a generic ‘corporate reply’ with some piss-poor pseudo-apology. If you then write something in reply that is deemed ‘unfavourable,’ all these forum-lurkers who would apparently die for GiffGaff just jump on you and attack your forum post! It’s really fucking savage and one gets the impression that you should never question the shitness of the network or suffer at the hands of the forum campers.

During that network wide O2 outage a few months back, I dared to suggest that GiffGaff sort their shit out. I wish I’d never bothered question the all-knowing GiffGaff moderators. It was like the gates of Troy had opened and twenty thousand armour clad soldiers, prepared to shed blood for their beloved network had just poured out. I logged off and didn’t go back for a week...and when I did, the number of replies destroying me was unbelievable! So combined with the way the network is always offline due to a burst water pipe in a server room (yes, they’ve used that one about 3 times that I know of), the savage way disgruntled customers are treated by these forum cunts (forunts?) leads me to strongly advise against joining GiffGaff. I know that the network ‘piggy backs’ O2 and they usually blame O2 if there’s an issue...but I know plenty of people on O2 who never seem to be constantly without an operational network. So yeah, I’ll be leaving soon I think. I clearly need a new phone and I want to go with a proper network again, so I guess I’ll maybe move to Tesco mobile or something.

Cafe Racer

Finally decided I needed a faster motorbike this weekend. Sure, the CBF is a really comfortable and easy to ride machine...but it's lacking something. And that something is this: excitement. Yes, it's reliable and yes, it's superbly cheap to run...but it's just so pedestrian in the pace stakes. I never thought the 80mph top speed would ever be an issue for me, but last Monday I was traversing the M5 at a steady 75mph but still feeling like I was holding up inpatient twats in cars...and something inside me just snapped: I knew I needed a faster bike. So this weekend I put my CBF up for sale and took some cash out of my savings and bought a new ride:

It's a Suzuki Goose 350. I say 'new,' but it's actually a bike from 1992 so not that new at all really. It's also quite a rare bike in the UK due to the fact that Suzuki never launched it here - all the Geese in the UK are grey imports. So I'm now a Goose owner, and my initial impressions of the bike are positive. Firstly, it goes like the clappers: 90mph is easy...I didn't want to go any faster, but I'm pretty sure it'll do more than 100. Also, it's got such a comfortable riding position - completely different to the CBF and more of a forward-leaning position, but it feels really natural. Because of this riding position, the way you can throw it around corners is incredible - I'd never be able to get the CBF around a roundabout at the same speed as I can the Goose - and the noise of the engine. Jesus! It's only a 350 but it's so throaty it could easily pass for a bigger bike.

Sadly, I have neither goggles nor bandanna

I believe that this style of bike, with the swept back handle bars and low seat, is known as a 'cafe racer,' which sounds a bit camp to me...but if that's what it's called, then who am I to argue? I suppose there is a slightly cool retro feel to the bike and the image associated to it, but I doubt I'll be buying a skin-tight leather jacket or goggles to go with it. Yet. It's not all been perfect though - I did have a problem with the engine cutting out at high speeds (not fun), and was advised by a passing mechanic that there could be a problem with the fuel line...but that's an easy thing to remedy so I'll look into it over the next few days. Once I've had more time to play around on it and get to the bottom of the niggling 'cutting out' thing, I'll try to write up a proper review. The volume of stuff online about the Suzuki Goose isn't that great to be honest, but hopefully I can change all that with a few hastily written passages of dross. Watch this space.

Went out on the piss on Saturday. Was just me and my flatmate/landlord but was quite a good laugh as we went to a really crap nightclub and took delight at watching the chavs mingle and attempt to dance after necking several pints of Blue WKD mixed with Strongbow. Seriously. Due to this endeavour, Sunday was a bit of a write off, but it wasn't all bad - I just monged out and watched Inglourious Basterds. What a film that is. I'd actually forgotten how good it was, and special mention must go to Brad Pitt's turn as Lt Aldo Raine. Quality movie and full of really memorable sequences...oh, and Mike Myers as a British General. Like I said - quality.

Cheapocrite

Not me, yesterday.

Well, it’s almost September. Where has 2012 gone? It only seems like two minutes ago I was packing up all my worldly possessions (all one suitcase of them) and heaving my ass through the gates of the naval base I called home. Those were dark days, I must admit – why anyone with half a brain cell would want to endure a lifestyle of constant degradation like that...sheesh. And then there was the whole business with the motorbike training, and the moving and then starting my new job – it seems to have all flown by so quickly.

I hope it continues to do so actually, as April 2013 marks the end of my current job (it was only ever for a year) and the start of my planned 3+ month backpacking trip to Australia. Or possibly India. Or maybe Peru/South America. I’ve not really decided where I’m going yet, but it’ll be one of those places...and Australia is winning at the moment simply because it a) looks epic; b) is sunny; and c) the least amount of fuss is required in order to do some exploring, seeing as they already (quite handily) speak a form of English there. I know Australia is a bit of a cliché and the indigenous people (well, the ‘new’ indigenous people) must get sick of all the English who turn up at their airports sporting backpacks...but fuck it. I want to go there so I’m going. Australia is also top of my list (so far) because a few of my old school friends have gone out there to start new lives, and meeting up with some fellow Mancunians on the other side of the planet just sounds ace...even if they are Man City fans. 

So 2013 then. The year of my great excursion Down Under. Goodbye England, with your miserable weather and even more miserable population! I know the old phrase ‘the grass isn’t always greener’ blah, blah fucking blah...but in this case I really don’t give a toss. I’m putting all my shit in storage, putting some clothes and other assorted stuff in a bag and then fucking off for a few months: bliss. I know I’ll have to come back at some point and that will be another grim day...but I think a break from this isle will do me good and maybe help to shift my perspective of life here. I know I moan a lot (even though a lot of it is meant to be tongue in cheek), but I know that the quality of life in the UK is amongst the best in the free world: we’ve got the NHS, clean running water, freedom of speech, electricity, the internet, roads, a free press...loads of stuff a good chunk of the rest of the world doesn’t have...it’s just that the constant greyness of everything, well – it gets me down. And I need an extended break. So I’m taking one. And I’ll more than likely document it here on this very blog so people back home can see what I’m up to...so there’s also that to look forward to, you lucky lot!

In other news, the Paralympics had its opening ceremony last night. I didn’t watch it though – I was too busy listening to the bombcast (Giant Bomb’s vaguely games-related and funny as hell podcast), while playing NOVA 2 on my PlayBook. I seem to have become a massive fucking hypocrite in recent weeks: if you’d suggested to me, in say June, that in August I’d be playing on a tablet PC whist listening to my iPod, I’d probably have spat bile in your face. The June version of me would have said that tablets were a waste of time and that iPods are a piece of shit because they break so easily (I’ve owned several – look through the archived posts of yore for details of their individual demise). So yeah, I’m a hypocrite – but the facts of the matter come down to me also being a tightwad. The PlayBook was £129, and the iPod was £30. Bargains, I think you’ll agree. If I’d been offered either device at their full price, the aforementioned bile would again be raging up my oesophagus with a view to landing on the facial region of the seller. So, with that in mind, I’m not simply a hypocrite – I’m a cheapocrite. Which is something else entirely. So there.

Iron Lion Essex

So the lion that several people saw and heard roaming the Essex countryside has been explained away by the police as a large cat. Not to be confused with a ‘big cat,’ just a ‘large’ common or garden cat. This has been backed up by a woman who claims said cat is hers – and it is indeed a big cat...but big enough to be confused with a lion? I’m not convinced. Regardless, the search appears to have been called off...but what if all the unconnected witnesses who are adamant that they saw a fucking lion rolling around and cleaning itself in a field; and the other unconnected witnesses who say they heard a lion roar...what if they were right all the long and there actually is a lion on the loose in rural Essex? There haven’t been any reports of people being mauled yet and no reports of mutilated cattle or sheep being discovered, so maybe the police are right in calling off the search – after all, keeping two helicopters in the air and having 30 coppers occupied by walking through woodland is probably costing the taxpayer a pretty penny.

I remember a similar story some time last year. Apparently somebody had spotted a leopard/tiger/lion in a field (can’t remember where exactly) and the police went into overdrive sending a freaking  SWAT team and a load of helicopters and shit down there...only to find it was a particularly large stuffed toy. I also recall a story from my youth that has echoes of all this shit – apparently somebody in Wigan had reported seeing a big cat with a cub in some trees whilst out dog walking. You know the drill – police launch hunt, local news gets involved...and lo and behold they find a dead lioness by a reservoir. They didn’t find the cub though.

So the Essex lion (as it’s now known). Fact or fiction? Who knows...it’s got a Twitter feed though, so it must have a WiFi connection or a mobile. 

Tying in to all this bollocks, I saw a fantastic documentary on Channel 4 a few weeks back Called America’s Animal Hoarder, which told the story of some bloke in America (surprise) that had amassed this menagerie of lions, tigers and bears (oh my!) on his farm. He (Terry Thompson) was a bit of a local character by all accounts...and the population of Zanesville, Ohio discovered this first hand after Terry let all his animals out of their cages and then shot himself. Cue wild beasts of all description bounding through the countryside, through neighbourhoods and across the highway. When the local police dept started getting calls from people locked in their houses because bears were eating their garden fences, they rolled out and took back the streets in the only way they knew how: by emptying several thousand rounds of ammunition into animal flesh. It’s actually a really powerful documentary and I honestly recommend you watch it. Even though this all took place in October 2011 I can’t remember seeing it on the news, even though there are clips of BBC News reports in the programme. Weird.

It’s also interesting to note that the police conducting  the search in Essex for what was potentially a lion on the loose were armed with...well nothing, while the American rozzers happened to have assault weapons in the boots of their patrol cars. I don’t know why it’s interesting...but y’know. Comparisons and all that shit. In other news, I bought a second hand 30GB iPod classic yesterday for £30. It’s really cool. I'm actually listening to a 'podcast' right now. But that’s enough about iPods. Cough.

Phone Home

Ah, Bank Holiday weekends. Gotta love the free day off work...gotta hate going back to work when you’re completely out of the work ‘zone.’ And as per usual, it fucking lashed it down all day pretty much. Cheers, weather. Here – have a free day off work, but don’t even think about doing anything with it, as it’ll be pissing down and blowing a gale. Has it ever been nice on a Bank Holiday in the entire recorded history of Bank Holidays? I wonder. I wonder if some secret govt dept chooses which days to make Bank Holidays solely on the inside information the Met Office supplies: if it’s pretty much guaranteed to be the shittiest day of the month – Bank Holiday time. Yeah, we’ll give the proletariat scum a day off from pushing the futile millstone of life...but they’ll be fucked if they can actually enjoy it. 

Suppose I shouldn’t complain too much – there’s a fucker of a hurricane whipping up across the pond. It won’t be long before we’re getting them here though if the current trend of miserable weather continues. Can you imagine how we’d cope?! Jesus. This country can barely cope with a bit of snow...if we had to contend with hurricanes and the other bitch slaps that Mother Nature hands out to the rest of the world, we’d be shafted. Christ...just think about that. If an earthquake hit one of our major cities what would happen? Sure – the Great Britain of, say, the 1940s would probably stand firm and unite to rectify the damage...but today? Nah. Looting, rioting, uncontrollable malaise and general chaos. It’d be hell on Earth. 

Interestingly, I was reading something online the other day about this thing called the Brookings Report. The Brookings Report (also known by its proper title: Proposed Studies on the Implications of Peaceful Space Activities for Human Affairs) was a paper commissioned by NASA in the 1960s which, as the name suggests, looked at the implications of peaceful space activities for human affairs. One tiny chapter of the report is what makes it interesting though – the bit where the various egghead authors speculate on the effect of the discovery of intelligent extra-terrestrial life on the general population of the planet. Seriously – this thing exists. Google it and look at the entry on Wikipedia. The fact that a body as important as NASA thought to even contemplate such a study is very interesting and throws up all kinds of questions...the main one being: how the fuck would the hoi polloi react if intelligent life was discovered? Or if it discovered us? 

In my experience, most people scoff at the idea of aliens existing. They live in this confident little bubble of ignorance, reinforced by years of movies and mass-media demonisation of the notion of the existence of extra-terrestrial life. Anyone who believes in aliens is a bit ‘loopy,’ and all aliens are ‘little green men’ who fly around in saucers. But look at the facts: NASA actually took this shit seriously way back in the 60s, and numerous experts in the science world bemoan the way in which humanity is so desperate to broadcast our whereabouts to the stars, either through our radio signals or by putting gold discs on our satellites that actually point the way to our mineral-rich little world. 

The brain-dead morons who permeate our everyday lives and who blindly go through every day believing that humanity is alone in the universe are the ones who this report predicts will not be able to handle the discovery of a superior intelligence if (and when) it comes. Forget the hypothetical earthquake hitting Birmingham or London...can you imagine if a twatting mothership landed on Wimbledon common and a super-intelligent army of 4-dimensional fire-breathing puddles came sloshing out of the hatch? Full blown hysteria – that’s what. Sadly Apone, Hudson, Hicks and rest of the absolutely badass crew of the USS Sulaco haven’t been born yet so we’d probably have no choice but to be enslaved by these new inviscid masters; but at least NASA could take the moral ‘we told you so’ high ground. Which is nice for them. Bastards.

The Stayt of Play

Hello. I feel like a fucking zombie. Woke up at 3.30am this morning and couldn't get back to sleep, so I just fired up my PlayBook and spent the next few hours watching retro games reviews on YouTube and playing the really rather excellent port of Duke Nukem 3D. I knew this would happen though – as soon as I got to my desk at work I knew I’d feel like shit and want to close my eyes, if only for a second, and drift off. I've just had a cup of coffee and I feel no different. What is it with coffee? Don’t get me wrong – I fucking love the stuff – but why are we constantly told that it’s a stimulant? Every time I drink it because I need to stay awake...I just end up falling asleep. Same goes for energy drinks – I rarely drink them, but when I do, I don’t feel any different. They’re a scam. Actually, just while I’m thinking about this subject, I do recall watching a documentary on TV a few weeks ago (Panorama, BBC 1) that investigated the murky world of ‘sports’ and ‘energy’ drinks, and it found no conclusive evidence that they have any beneficial properties whatsoever. What the journalist conducting the study did find, however, was that the vast majority of them are full of sugar (shock!)...and the ones that claim to be ‘low calorie’ (like Powerade Zero et al) are actually paradoxical by design: they offer an energy boost but contain either low or zero calories. Interesting, and well worth a watch if you can find it on iPlayer.

Still on the subject of energy drinks, what is with those massive ‘Monster’ cans that people from a certain social strata always seem to be carrying around these days? Surely, life on the dole (c’mon, it’s usually chavs you spot drinking the foul-smelling shit) can’t be that physically demanding that you need to walk around Primark with a half-litre can of Monster Energy, just in case you collapse from over exertion? Saying that though, most of the females usually have huge hoop earrings weighing their heads down, massively over-laden prams and a gaggle of hyper-active, fatherless screaming brats to control, so maybe their reliance on Monster Energy is justified.

The same Panorama episode also investigated whether or not specialised running shoes actually had any bearing on the quality of a runner’s exercise...again, the answer was inconclusive...which I can kind of appreciate, as over the years I have spent an inordinate amount of money on various brands of running shoes. From extensive experience, I can confirm that in the main, they’re all pretty much the same and I’ve sustained injuries regardless of the particular brand I was wearing at the time. I currently own four pairs – a pair of Brooks, a pair of Adidas and two pairs of Saucony...and to be honest I can pick any pair at random and go for a run and not feel any benefit or disadvantage. Obviously, if I was a track runner then I suppose I’d get some benefit from wearing spikes, but just road running? I don’t think it really matters what you’ve got on your feet and this investigation by Panorama kind of laid bare the way in which sports companies dupe us out of our cash. Bastards.

When I eventually put the PlayBook down this morning and put the TV on, I was confronted by the usual glut of non-news on BBC Breakfast, but one item caught my attention: basically, so the story goes, Tesco has finally conceded to the other supermarkets and agreed to start putting those colour-coded ‘health meter’ things on its own-brand food packaging. To be honest, I didn’t even notice that they didn’t, but hey. BBC Breakfast thought that this was a big enough development in current affairs to devote a good 20 minute slot to it, and pulled out the full works for us news-hungry viewers: a load of vox pops of people giving their opinions on the food ‘traffic light’ system (filmed on Oxford Road in Manchester, I happened to notice (probably because they’re based at Salford now...sorry, just thinking out loud)), a special pre-recorded explanation of the colour-coding system, and finally a studio interview with some pencil neck from an irrelevant food-based government department and (I shit you not) a random woman who was simply described in her name caption as ‘a mother.'

It wasn’t all this over the top bollocks that bemused me though, oh no. It was Charlie Stayt (you know, the presenter who farted live on air a while back sending the guest into hysterics while he tried to pretend it hadn’t happened) struggling to get his ridiculously coiffed head around the notion of a ‘traffic light’ system on food packaging. Does he live in a parallel dimension or something? You can’t go into a shop without seeing these labels on food nowadays (unless it’s Tesco, obv), so how has Charlie Stayt not seen them? For fuck sake – there was a massive picture of the kind of labels I’m on about stuck on the monitor behind him! All he had to do was turn around and he’d have seen what everyone was talking about! For those of you who live on Charlie Stayt’s country estate (poetry!), here’s what I’m blathering about:

Yes? You see them on everything? Jesus Charlie – you should get out more. Stop sending the butler to Waitrose for your weekly shop, mate*. I’m clearly writing bollocks now, so I’m going to go for another coffee and a lie down. Zzzzzzzz.

*This is a polite little notice to those people (I know of at least one) who will go and Wikipedia Charlie Stayt and then come back here to comment about his less than glamorous lifestyle and numerous previous jobs. They'll inevitably state (!) that he's done well for himself and that I should leave him alone. I agree. He's done well for himself and is a damned good interviewer. All the stuff written up there is written off the cuff as I see it unfolding. So kindly take your Wikipedia-searching app and shove it up your arse.

Be Free. Be Facefree.

Today I’m going to talk about Facebook again. Now, I’ve been off the Facebook radar for over a year now and I honestly don’t miss it. Fuck – I don’t even think about it unless somebody mentions it at work or I’m walking down the street and over hear a fat, bleach blonde slag shouting at her spotty, tracksuit-clad wastrel of a boyfriend about a status update he made. This is actually more common than you’d imagine. So yeah, in my absence, Facebook continues to control the lives of every semi-sentient being on the planet. After my yearlong self inflicted exile from the hideous construct, I feel that I’m a living and breathing beacon of hope for those people (i.e. everyone I know) who feel that their lives wouldn’t be worth living without being able to tag themselves, upload a ‘zany’ photo or comment on some boring drivel somebody else with half a brain managed to compose. You may (or may not) be aware of a damning summary I wrote condemning everyone’s favourite social networking site a few years ago, so I apologise if this post is covering old ground, but I just wanted to show you that removing Facebook from your life is possible...and even makes the arduous task of simply existing that little bit more enjoyable/less abhorrant.

The main reason retards give me for wanting to remain on Facebook is that it helps them stay in contact with people. I personally think this is a load of bullshit. Bullshit that has subsequently been put into a food processor and blended with used tampons and then poured into pie case made out of pastry where the water has been substituted for piss. And then baked in an oven in Fred West’s kitchen. In hell. What I’m saying is that this excuse is feeble. Look at the facts – I’ve been off the cunting thing for about 15 months and everyone I want to speak to, I speak to. I text. I email. Fuck – there’s people in Australia I speak to every other day! Am I on Facebook? No.

The other prize reason people give for maintaining a presence on the infernal thing is that you can keep track of invites to events. This is also crap – I go to plenty of social events and if people require my attendance, they’ll ring me or text me...or God fobid – tell me to my face!

You may think that this renewed attack on Facebook has just come out of the ether, but I’m writing it because of something that’s happened at work. Basically, I was asked whether I’d be interested in maintaining or setting up a Facebook page for a project that I’m a part of (seeing as I’m the ‘computery bloke’), and I refused point blank with a ferocity verging on the insane. This shocked most of my colleagues to the point that a full blown discussion erupted and people where generally aghast that I’m not ‘on’ Facebook and am such a staunch anti-Facebookist (another new phrase introduced to the English Language, right there people). I’ve even gone as far as deleting the inbuilt Facebook apps on my PlayBook and mobile phone, and decided not to buy a HTC ChaCha mobile because it has a Facebook hardkey on it. Yes, my casual hatred runs that deep.

Fair enough – I ‘do’ Twitter, but only because it’s still a little bit niche amongst the general population; quite a large proportion of people still don’t see the point, and of course, you can’t go snooping through people’s photograph collections making sarcastic comments.

I don’t think I’ll ever be completely rid of Facebook – indeed, a friend texted me yesterday to say he’d used one of my infamous sms-based diatribes as a status update – but I’ll do my damnedest to remain free from its evil grip and will continue to campaign that my nearest and dearest rid themselves of it too.

For me, there’s no more getting annoyed about something shitty somebody wrote on my wall; no more cringing at photographs I’d rather not have broadcast to the entire planet; no more feeling the urge to write a pathetic, attention seeking status update when I’m feeling a bit pissed off (I just do it on here instead). People, generally, are cunts to each other and Facebook gives most of them a shield to hide behind and a sword to attack with. The ignorance that not being a user offers is tantamount to sheer mental bliss. And it can be achieved with just one little click of your mouse. Do it now. Release yourself.

Be Facefree, like me.