You know how some people often ponder life before Facebook – how much simpler and carefree it was, without that little blue icon demanding your attention and serving you up photos of so-called-friends sipping cocktails on the beach in Ibiza to feed your life envy?
Well, those people are fools.
That little blue f has not only spawned a social revolution, but it’s created the industry that is the very reason I have a job right now and am not spending my days working the Maccas drive thru. (Kidding, kidding. I’d totes be a Nando’s chick…)
We’re all so utterly addicted to the blue behemoth and like every good addiction, while we claim that we’ve totally got it under control and no-I-only-have-two-glasses-a-night-it’s-nothing-to-worry-about (have the third glass, girl, you don’t need any wine nazi negativity in your life), the truth is that we’re completely at it’s mercy.
And we’re completely blind to what it’s actually doing to us. I hate to be the one who breaks the beautiful little friendship you two have, but Facebook is lying to you. He’s sneaking around and cheating on you and doing some nasty little things about you behind your back.
Let’s have a look at some of the worst, shall we? (Just say yes, because otherwise I have nothing else to talk to y’all about today, and this could get awks…)
Once you log out, you’re free.
*bleeeeerrrzzzz* (that’s my very best game show ‘incorrect answer’ buzzer.)
We all know that our mate Zuck watches every move we make once we’re inside the kingdom. But what about when we leave? (If we leave. I haven’t logged out of my account since 2008….)
Yeah, he’s still watching. Like some creepy teen stalker in a bad American movie, the Zuck has his binoculars peeping over your fence and into who you’re talking to, what you’re doing and probably thinks that dress on ASOS will look great on you too and you should totally buy it, especially at that price.
Basically, the short version is that instead of deleting the cookies (sadly not the chocolate chip kind. The digital kind. I know, I know, I’m disappointed too…) when you log out, Facey simply modifies them. And then any website you visit with any Facebook functionality (like, sharing icons – you’ve seen them) can automatically make friends with those cookies (again, not the choc chip kind) to send personally identifiable info back to the FB over lords. Oh, but don’t worry – it’s only pages with Facebook plugins….so there’s still, like, 0.34% of the internet that’s safe to visit….
Oh, and this one’s been going on since 2011. That’s right. He’s been watching over your shoulder for the past three whole years, that’s totally not creepy or anything, right?
If you don’t press ‘post’, no one will ever hear you rant.
Hands up if you’ve ever typed a status update or comment or heck, even a nasty little somethin’ somethin’ on that photo of your ex and his new girlfriend? (Oh put your hands up very right now. Apparently 70% of us do this. And my money’s on the fact that the other 30% lie about it…) It feels good, doesn’t it? Very therapeutic. You’d never post it. Oh gosh no. But sweet baby fruitcakes it feels utterly satisfying to type those spiteful little words and then delete them. There. You’ve showed them and no-one is any the wiser. This is called the high ground! Chocolate icecream for everyone!
Well, I do hate to burst your little bubble (ok, that’s a lie. I actually really like bursting bubbles), but ol’ Zuck has employed someone to sit behind a computer and watch everything we post. And don’t post.
That’s right. Every keystroke you make is being tracked, no matter if you pressed the little blue ‘send’ button or not. It’s under the guise of some bullsh*t ‘Self-Censorship on Facebook’ project, but basically it just means that there’s a room in Facebook HQ that has a whole lot of secrets about us all. And if you’re watching, strange room creepers, I’d like it on the record that sometimes my cat writes very nasty things on Facebook but can’t post them because he can’t use the mouse without trying to eat it, and yeah…that’s what happened…
Pro Tip: If you’ve got nothing nice to say, then don’t say anything at all on the internet. Totes still fine to write in your diary – just as long as your pesky little bro can’t get his hands on it. Jerk.
In the grand scheme of things, you’re only worth about $4
Yeowch. Tough blow.
But sadly it’s true. While we all get on our high horse, threatening to boycott every time there’s a new update to the timeline, the truth is, our own measly little soapbox moment doesn’t really mean much to the main man. About the price of a cup of coffee. (unless you get a large like me, and in that case, can you spot me fifty cents??)
According to the deets released when Facebook went public (that’s IPO, they’ve not changed their profile privacy settings. Oh, I crack myself up sometimes), each profile is worth a little over four bikkies to the cause, so my temper tantrum when they took away my ability to throw cows at people is basically falling on deaf ears.
You’re not even a drop in the ocean, and the cold, hard, truth is that you don’t really matter at all. So basically, I shouldn’t hold my breath, waiting for those cow chucking days to come back because they’re all too busy hanging out on Farmville these days, making MZ a small tidy fortune. (Oh, you didn’t know how profitable that stupid game is? Wuh-ell. That’s a story for another day, dear friends, but let me tell you that it quite literally is what they meant when they coined the term ‘cash cow’. And no. I’m not really sure who I mean when I referenced ‘they’ either. I guess the peeps who invented the term cash cow. I wonder if it made them any money?)
Now, must away. I’m sure there’s some baby pictures to hide and cat memes to lol at….
Final Fun Fact: If you put a /4 at the end of the Facebook URL, it takes you to Mark Zuckerberg’s profile. You can’t add him as a friend though. Whateves, Zuck, didn’t wanna be friends with you anyways…
No This Is Really The Final Final Fun Fact Promise: I really like the concept of final fun facts. I think this might become my ‘thing’. Either that, or lots of puppies, I haven’t really decided yet…