Tag Archives: Facebook

5 things I wish I didn’t do on Facebook

Ah, Facebook. It’s like that really attractive friend of yours you suspect might be partially retarded.

Sure, she looks great on a dance floor in deliberately-laddered opaques and a boater, but you sometimes wish she didn’t go all glaze-eyed and giggly-in-a-bad-way when you want to talk about something that’s not fashion-related, or, um, anyone for jaeger shots?

She also slept with your boyfriend last year but didn’t really mean to do it and, um, that’s ok, right, we’re cool, you know? I was practically unconscious at the time ROFL…

 That’s right. Come to think of it, you basically HATE her, because she’s always making you:

1. Get excited by quizzes promising to tell you what kind of movie/crush/taxidermied animal you are, only to realise you will never have the answers because you will never forward said quiz on to twelve ‘friends’.


2. Check who’s RSVP’d to events you’re planning on attending. Obsessively. As in, ‘Attending’, ‘Maybe Attending’ AND ‘Not Attending’. Even though you know these RSVPs mean little and you regularly select ‘Attending’ when you REALLY mean ‘Probably not going to bother’ or even ‘I’d rather eat my own poached eyeball with chopsticks than go to your pretentious excuse for a (non-)event’.


3. Appear constantly in photographs ‘blasted, blind, blithered, blotto, blued’ even though you know your boss and several other professional acquaintances, ex-boyfriends and other undesirables have total access to said photos due to your resolute laziness with privacy settings.


4. Regularly make yourself want to drink salted bleach by checking your ex-boyfriend’s public profile and voyeuristically analysing all evidence of ‘women’; then gaining perverse and ludicrous satisfaction from the scanty evidence of ‘men’ to be found on your own even though you’re well aware that said ex has neither the means nor inclination to perform similar acts of masochistic stalker-sleuthing.


5. Check it every five minutes for ‘updates’. Nothing has happened. Nothing will happen. You should do some work or write a blog or get a dog or something. Intellectually anaemic, fetid and obsolescent, you should have learned by now that Facebook will do ABSOLUTELY NOTHING to relieve your taedium vitae (which is why I’ve decided to consecrate WAY more time to virtuous occupations like reading the thesaurus, clearly, and learning how to spell Latin words like ‘taedium vitae’, ‘via’, and ‘Ricky Martin’). 

ricky martin

Now Masebook, that’s something I’d LIKE to spend time on….



Charmaine Wilson declared THE ONE!

Spirit whisperer and down-to-earth lady Charmaine Wilson last night scooped the nation’s spookiest tiara, being chosen by the good people of Australia as our most gifted psychic. This was after her rivals, housewife and non-professional psychic Amanda Roussety and spirit speaker and “humble  man” Ezio De Angelis both predicted, in a final, chilling test, that she would.


As a precognitive dreamer myself, I know how hard it can be to grapple with “the other side”. Traffics a bitch, you run into all sorts of people you normally avoid on Facebook, the Grim Reaper’s always hogging the Scrabble board, and the constant wind-chime soundtrack can get a bit tiresome.

Still, when you’ve got the gift, you gotta do what you gotta do.

I wish Churchill had listened when I precognitived World War 2.

Not to mention the shock win of the Logan twins, Big Brother 05.

And the great alfalfa crisis of 1931. IF ONLY WE’D INVESTED IN MUSHROOMS!

So, to be taken seriously in the most serious of arenas, a game show hosted by a Daddo, is no mean feat. Congratulations Charmaine. I knew you could do it. I said, I KNEW!