Homegirl!: to the window, to the wall...ah skeetskeetskeetskeet skeet

Facebook - i hate you and your assface, too

So I was tot psyched cos I was going to create a FB profile for Homegirl! (her name was totally gonna be Homegirl! on FB to distinguish her from all the other FB Homegirls, but FB don't recognize that name as legit, can you believe it?) cos I thought it would be fun and I've been working all week and I'm bored bored bored. Homegirl could have her own friends and Homegirl could tot update her status with all the inappropriate things I want to but can't cos a bunch of my relatives, not to mention the rents, are friends with me on FB.

Things like:

Homegirl! is horny.

Homegirl! wants to see yr naughty bits.

Homegirl!'s hungover & puking up last night's 'ros cos she's classy like that.

Homegirl! does it doggy & does it better.

This was gonna be her profile pic:

Or maybe this:

But not this:

cos that's just too cute...

even if we all need a montage every now & then
(guess the movie & I'll be your FB bff).

What if my name were really Homegirl!, tho? Fuck you, FB and your normatizing normalizing sanitizing commodifying homogenizing bullshit of telling me my name ain't legit. & I give you bastards a plug in my new novel, Homegirl!, in the very first fucking chapter no less.

Yours against the MAN (who's everywheres),
Ry

P.S. Sam Pink, if you're bored and reading my blog, be my FB friend, please. I know you will do a tot awesome job at writing the intro-poemy thingy for my chapbook. I know cos my astrologer told me so, well, she wasn't really an astrologer she was just a lady on a bus who smelled kind of pukey and was twitching and talking bout 2012 and the Mayans and how only you, Sam Pink, can either prevent or bring the apocalypse by writing my intro-poem thingy, but she wasn't sure which...I will come find you to thank you in Chitown in November cos I'm going to see Nick Cave! and I will bring you a tshirt from the ironic hipster standing in front of me blocking my view & acting too cool. Maybe I'll bring you his/her overly large ironic glasses, too, if I can resist the urge to pulverize them with a tallboy of PBR cos in Milwaukee, according to Spin or some other guardian of cool, we Miltowners drink PBR unironically, & irony + anti-irony (me drinking the Pibber) + irony (using the hipster's ironic lager as a cudgel) = crying hipster crying crying crying all the way back to Lake Forest and mummy's pill cabinet.