Hello, dearest internet.
Like millions of other poor saps from every corner of this here interweb, I do that social networking thing. I don't do it very often, but I do. It's like a bad habit, only with typing. Anyway, those of you that use Facebook will probably be well aware of of this application they have for it called 'Are YOU Interested?', where you choose yes or no to a selection of pictures of women if you're interested in them or not, and if you are and they are then you get a notification that you have a match, and then you awkwardly approach each other in conversation and eventually have elbowy self-hating geek sex in a TravelLodge in Durham. Anyway, this particular application seems to be a favourite of pretty much everyone, and I thought I'd try it out just to see what all the fuss was about, clicked about a bit, got a match or two but could never really be bothered with it, so I stopped. That, I thought, would be the end of it. I was wrong. Terribly, unfeasibly wrong.
Then, the bloody thing started emailing me, telling me I had no matches. I am aware I don't have any matches, it notifies me if I have a match and it hasn't, so the logical conclusion I can draw from this behaviour is that I don't have any matches. You'd think it would realise that we can work out that little tidbit of information for ourselves, wouldn't you? But no, it continues to send them. Why? Bad coding? Logical oversight on the part of the designer? No. It's because it's taunting me.
I know it is. It's sitting there, laughing at my hideous Elephant Man face. Rubbing my twisted nose in the fact Mandy from Doncaster didn't return my match. It's mocking me with it's gnarled fingers and vicious, cathode-ray face. Taunting me with its writhing cables and low, suffocating hum. Sometimes, late at night, it whispers to me in the dark. Sometimes it sings songs of death and hate that no-one else can hear. Sometimes - the worst times - it just sits and stares at me with an almost infinite patience; a patience as deep and engulfing as Natalie Appleton's vagina. Waiting. Always waiting. Forever, eternally, waiting for me to refresh.
I'm just so scared that one day, I might log in, and never log out again.
Actually, I don't really give a toss, I just didn't have time to write an irreverent news roundup today as I was too busy faffing about dealing with 1&1 and the new layout.
Kiss kiss.
Like millions of other poor saps from every corner of this here interweb, I do that social networking thing. I don't do it very often, but I do. It's like a bad habit, only with typing. Anyway, those of you that use Facebook will probably be well aware of of this application they have for it called 'Are YOU Interested?', where you choose yes or no to a selection of pictures of women if you're interested in them or not, and if you are and they are then you get a notification that you have a match, and then you awkwardly approach each other in conversation and eventually have elbowy self-hating geek sex in a TravelLodge in Durham. Anyway, this particular application seems to be a favourite of pretty much everyone, and I thought I'd try it out just to see what all the fuss was about, clicked about a bit, got a match or two but could never really be bothered with it, so I stopped. That, I thought, would be the end of it. I was wrong. Terribly, unfeasibly wrong.
Then, the bloody thing started emailing me, telling me I had no matches. I am aware I don't have any matches, it notifies me if I have a match and it hasn't, so the logical conclusion I can draw from this behaviour is that I don't have any matches. You'd think it would realise that we can work out that little tidbit of information for ourselves, wouldn't you? But no, it continues to send them. Why? Bad coding? Logical oversight on the part of the designer? No. It's because it's taunting me.
I know it is. It's sitting there, laughing at my hideous Elephant Man face. Rubbing my twisted nose in the fact Mandy from Doncaster didn't return my match. It's mocking me with it's gnarled fingers and vicious, cathode-ray face. Taunting me with its writhing cables and low, suffocating hum. Sometimes, late at night, it whispers to me in the dark. Sometimes it sings songs of death and hate that no-one else can hear. Sometimes - the worst times - it just sits and stares at me with an almost infinite patience; a patience as deep and engulfing as Natalie Appleton's vagina. Waiting. Always waiting. Forever, eternally, waiting for me to refresh.
I'm just so scared that one day, I might log in, and never log out again.
Actually, I don't really give a toss, I just didn't have time to write an irreverent news roundup today as I was too busy faffing about dealing with 1&1 and the new layout.
Kiss kiss.
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