Archive for February, 2011

In which I play the Facebook number game

So a bit ago there was a thing going around Facebook where people were supposed to text you some random number, then you would use that number to tell that person, through Facebook, what you really thought of them. I decided to play, kind of, and for your edification and possible entertainment, I have compiled all the entries here and presented them in the order they appeared. If you vote for your favorite in the comments for this post, then you may win the chance to tell me which entry is your favorite!

#64. When our eyes met across that crowded bar, I felt the bullet of destiny penetrate my chest and tear its way through my heart. Unfortunately, at the time you were–and still are–with someone else. So I friended you on Facebook as part of a larger campaign to stalk you. Surprise!

#178. I was intrigued by you from the moment you said you’d give me some candy if I’d just step into your van. It’s nice that a series of modern online databases allow me to track your current address, as I always know where to send your Christmas card.

‎#25. Okay, look, I know we’ve known each other for 30 years, and we were totally like best friends for a while and all that, but that was a long time ago. I just friended you so I could get stuff from you on FarmVille. Let’s not make this anything more than it is, all right?

‎#192. My fondest memory of you is when we discovered the Lost City of Guatzlepenango together. It was magic as we stood on the rim of the hidden canyon and looked down at those gleaming bronze domes. Then that little mutant griblikk stole you away and carried you into the city. I’m glad they’re finally giving you internet access.

#81. Look, I can forgive you for posting all those “intimate home videos” online. I can even forgive you for the fact that so many other guys–and girls–are involved. But not giving me my cut for the ones where I was camaraman? Not cool.

#1988. Ha! We stole a baby from a stuuuuuupid daikini! Hee hee hee!

‎#25. You were the only one on the spaceship who explained to me why the probes were necessary. Also, you were the only one who did not store his probing tongs in the refrigerator. Those little things endeared you to me.

‎#92. We talked. We laughed. We danced until the sun came up. Then you asked me where my pants were. I wish I’d had a better answer.

‎#137. There have been so many movies about hitmen falling in love, or hitmen finding redemption, and I thought a real-life version of those stories was happening when you and I struck up a conversation while waiting for <NAME REDACTED>’s convoy to pass. Then you shot me in the kneecap. Oh well.

#74. I left you a voice mail yesterday that packs more profanity into 90 seconds than Scarface has in its entire running time. And you’re wondering what I really think about you? Come on.

‎#59. When I saw you carefully ordering the socks in my sock drawer, I thought it was a very touching gesture of affection. Then I realized you were setting up a bear trap in there.

‎#99. I remember every detail. The Germans wore gray. You wore blue. I wore a large fluffy bunny costume, which kind of ruined the moment.

‎#232. When I first saw you, I thought “Wow, that third arm must really be useful!” At the time, I didn’t realize it was actually a trunk.

‎#22. I remain impressed by the breadth and scope of your ambitions. That does not mean, however, that I believe orange HiC, roller skates, a live cat, and a turkey baster should be put to use in the way you intend.

‎#45. That time you convinced me that my parents were werewolves wasn’t as funny as you thought it was. Luckily for me–and for them–it turns out that it’s tough to find someone who sells silver bullets.

#117. I didn’t want to re-hash this argument, but you seem to not be able to listen. So here it is again, for the last time–I’m not saying it’s not okay to eat brains. I’m just saying it’s not okay to do it in front of me.

‎#3.141592653589. I’ll always be impressed by you. I have total respect for the unknowable wonder and majesty that is your very essence.

Note: This is not part of the number game. This is just me expressing my love for the number pi.

‎#70. I regret that you continue to feel anger toward me ever since I informed Inspector Grayson that I had seen you in the pantry the morning Lady Shrewbury was poisoned. If, however, your actions are as innocent as you continue to claim them to be, you should have nothing to fear when your whereabouts receive greater scrutiny.

‎#45. You came into my life like a cold winter wind, but left like a warm summer breeze. That was when I figured out you were actually an air conditioner.

#88. I admire how forthright and direct you are, always willing to tell people just what you think, no matter how painful it might be for them to hear it. I also admire your ability to take a punch.

‎#105. I realize you believe that if you told people you were a vampire, you’d suddenly be cool, because everyone loves vampires. But trust me–you, by yourself, have the power to make vampires uncool. So keep those fangs tucked in.

#225. I’m going to use this to tell you something I’ve wanted to tell you for a long time: Everyone knows that those are not real teeth in your mouth. They’re Chiclets. You’re not fooling anyone.

‎#228. When we met, I thought Stockholm Syndrome was some sort of disease. But in the months I was held captive in your basement, I grew to truly appreciate your point of view. Then you disappeared. I still have all your pamphets, but I lost the names of the people I’m supposed to mail them to. Call me.

#160. Remember that summer when we went hitchhiking in Nepal? When we hiked above the clouds and the air was so high, thin, and clear? And then we saw that large, hairy beast, who picked us up and introduced us to his clan? And then he made us Clan Chieftains, and gave us the gift of a golden Slinky? You _do_ remember? Really? Because it never happened. This is why people tell you that you should take your meds.

#133. When we first met, I was enthralled as you provided a detailed explanation of Asimov’s Three Laws of Robotics. If only there had been a fourth one that said “Never break a human’s heart,” things might have been different between us.

#2. You’d look a lot cooler riding your Harley down the highway if it wasn’t for the fact that “Harley” is your great-uncle, and he looks really tired.

#49. Your profile gives you a name, but to me you’ll always be “That S.O.B. who posts nothing but Mafia Wars updates.”

#101. You said you’d walk across a desert for me, but then you wouldn’t even go to the convenience store. Specifically, the 7-11 in the middle of the Sudan.

#222. I understand it’s just an accident when you butt-dial me. I can even be patient those times when you drunk-dial me. But I’ve had it up to here with being deceased-dialed.

‎#99. The only reason I didn’t tell you that there was no such thing as a “professional kabuki nurse” sooner was that I really enjoyed your attempts to become one.

‎#150. I told you that my love for you was a star that would burn on for millions of years, fueled by the wonder of everything that is you. You asked me what my name was, then you slowly backed away. Perhaps my timing was off.

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