Facebook strikes again. No YouTubing/social networking at the party, please. Although, I like the part about holding in your fart the best.
To the girl who thinks her Facebook is more interesting than whatever Billy Corgan has to play: I paid $50 to go to that show. I got there early and staked out a spot near the front. And then three songs in, you came. I wouldn't have minded so much if you were the Awkward, Overly Enthusiastic Dancer, or Abnormally Tall Person, or even Blatantly Drunk Guy Who Loudly Sings. I know that standing in a cramped, hot room where alcohol is being served is an open invitation to lose a little love for my fellow man. But then you came, in an altruistic effort to prove my cynicism correct, and squeezed your way up there into my face and onto my toes and turned to your friend in the middle of a fucking song and talked about Facebook. Loudly. And extensively. Assuming ignorance, we let you know that we all did not in fact pay $50 to hear about what some person you only tangentially know posted as their latest status, or how many fucking cows you've got on your virtual fucking farm and you replied "Well I'm betting you have a Facebook too, don't you?! Huh? I bet you do!!" Yes bitch, I too have sold out to the social networking phenomenon, given the fact that even my fucking parents are on it, I'm guessing it's a safe bet that most of the crowd that night had a fucking Facebook. Someone there also likely shared your genital warts, daddy issues, and overwhelming desire to let out that fart you were holding in, but no one else shared your need to FUCKING TALK ABOUT IT IN THE MIDDLE OF A GODDAMN SHOW.
