GAWD DAMN! I need this button badly. Just thinking about it is enough to make me pee and poop myself silly with glee. My productivity would go down, but my Facebook usage would go way up because I’d be on it 24/7 and partying like an awesomely awesome passive-aggressive Facebook-hater-drunk-on-Haterade of awesomeoness!

And I already know which posts I would use it on most.

Sick-Baby Posts

I can’t draw, so you’re going to have to imagine the black tornado of death is a picture of a sick baby.

I hate these…Well no, sorry, I don’t hate them. What I feel is actually worse than hate, but there isn’t a word to describe it so I’ll just go with hate^hate. That’s right: hate to the power of hate. And what’s not to hate^hate, people? Some asshat got a picture of a sick and/or dying baby that has a breathing tube in its mouth (cleft lip), an IV in its right arm (left one was amputated), and is surrounded by ominous-looking monitors and medical equipment.

Freakin’ Stevie Wonder could look at that picture and would know immediately that the poor kid needs a doctor or two. I mean, it’s not like there’s anything in there that screams, “The spring of eternal life is here!” You can’t help but feel sympathy for the little guy, and you’re going to at least hope he gets the care he needs.

But then you read the next sentence and your hopes are trampled by a herd of rabid wildebeests…

And then some sort of bullsh*t quote is thrown in at the end because the poster really wants to sound deep and thoughtful, and not like the attention-hungry douchebag he really is.

Oooh! Three exclamation marks? Now I’m even more inspired…

…To tell you to F*CK OFF!!!

First of all, if you’re going to rely on these types of posts to get “Likes” then you might as well just say, “Please ‘Like’ my post because I need copious amounts of attention to validate my existence.” That’s the message the Sick-Baby Post gives off anyway, but at least you’re upfront about your douchebaggery. I’d actually be more likely to “Like” the upfront post because I find honesty refreshing.

Secondly, how retarded are you for thinking the rest of us are so retarded that we can’t see through the sheet o’ sh*t you’re trying to pull?

No, really, how the hell would this scenario make any sense?

And this scenario doesn’t make sense either!

Who the f*ck is this doctor? Dr. Pepper? Doc Martens? Oops…almost got caught being a motherf*cker who forgot about (Dr.) Dre!

No one is buying your sorry excuse for altruism, dumb ass, so either post something worthy of the “Likes” you so desperately need to survive or F*CK OFF!

TIRED-ASS QUOTES

I’d probably be a lot more receptive to Tired-Ass Quote posts if the quotes weren’t so tired-ass, i.e., they weren’t the same ones that were already posted millions of times over. Seriously, if you built your world around Facebook, you’d think the Bible only consisted of the book of Genesis, ten Psalms, and pages with nothing but one-liners or “Moses” written all over the place. You’d also believe Gandhi was the only person who ever said anything inspirational, and that Romeo and Juliet was Shakespeare’s only play. Another way to put it: If you played a drinking game where you took a shot of Mike’s Hard Lemonade every time someone posted a tired-ass quote between the hours of 8 a.m. and 9 a.m., you would die of alcohol poisoning. Alcohol poisoning from Mike’s Hard Lemonade, people, a beverage in which the only thing hard about it is the bottle it came in!

You know what quotes I’d like to see? Engrish ones—like, the really bad, doesn’t-make-any-sense English that’s haphazardly thrown onto Asian products. The best ones I’ve ever come across were on fireworks labels. Don’t tell you me you wouldn’t be all over my page-nuts if I put up something like this:

Get some new quotes or F*CK OFF!

Honorable Mention: “So True!” Comments on Tired-Ass Quote Posts

It’s only two words, but it’s still tired as hell…and that’s “So true!”

PICTURES OF FOOD

No one gives a sh*t about what you’re eating, so spare us the photos of your breakfast sandwich, the apple you had for lunch (especially if you’ve got some pathetic caption like, “My sad-ass lunch! 😦” because if you can work a cell phone, you can grab something to go along with that apple, okay?), the candy you had as a snack, and whatever the hell else you ate throughout the day. No one gives a sh*t about what you’re eating, period.

The only time someone might remotely give a sh*t is if you’re eating an ice cream sundae made of Chupacabra blood and has Tyrion Lannisters dancing on top of it because (1) who wouldn’t love some Tyrion Lannister on ice cream? No one, obviously, and (2) that would be a f*cked up sundae that most people have probably never seen before (unless they live near a Mexican drug town).

But the ice cream sundae you posted a picture of isn’t made of Chupacabra blood, is it? And it doesn’t look like there are any Tyrion Lannisters dancing on top of it, does it? No, it’s just regular ice cream topped with some sort of regular syrup, regular nuts, regular whipped cream and a regular cherry—i.e., the same f*cking sundae everyone else has seen many times before.

I get it. Some people may be thinking “But this sundae was huge!” or “This is how they do sundaes in Vegas!”—but to them I say, “F*CK OFF!” No Chupacabra blood ice cream + no dancing Tyrion Lannisters = no giving a sh*t!

*sigh* The dream that Facebook might let us have a F*CK OFF button is one that will never come true, so I guess I’m going to have to rely on the next best thing:

 ┌∩┐(◣_◢)┌∩┐

 Ugh…it’s just not the same…

Count me out. I just took my do-I-want-kids litmus test and the results came back a resounding “HELL NO”… By “litmus test” I mean “I met my cousin’s one year-old daughter,” and by “HELL NO” I mean “I would rather drive a rusty nail through my left eyeball than spend another second with that.” And my left eye is the one that doesn’t have astigmatism! Yes, it’s the good eye!

But I’m not kidding when I say this: My cousin’s kid was a freakin’ monster. She was super demanding, always trying to grab at things and throwing awful screaming fits whenever she couldn’t get her way. It was a nightmare being around her. And this little girl is related to me by blood, people, by blood! So I went in already liking her just by virtue of our family ties–and yet she still managed to not only make me dislike her, but also dislike the prospect of having children of my own.

Seeing as how I can’t stand kids I’m actually related to, I take that as a sign that I’m not ready to be a parent. It’s going to come up eventually, though. That’s usually the way things work after marriage, right? Great…

I’ve got a few ways of handling it though…kind of like conversational ninjutsu that lets you say “yuck” without actually saying “yuck.”

THE CONVERSATION

I imagine it will start out like this…

(Yes, I drew him as a hamburger and not a half-assed stick figure. Why? Because I love hamburgers!)

Strategy 1: Wait it out and then answer the question you would’ve preferred to have been asked instead.

Strategy 2: Get all social issue-y and then bust out  the Discrimination Card.

Strategy 3: When in doubt, there’s always Halle Berry.

BWA HAHAHAHA! WIN (?)!