Shame. Perfidy. Shonda. Disgrace. Dishonor. Humiliation. Guilt. Sadness. Betrayal. Ignominy. Mortification.
All these things and more will not sufficiently explain my feelings.
I come to you humbly, hat in hand, begging your understanding and your assistance in determining what went wrong.
This is very difficult for me to type, so please allow me some leeway....
My wife... has joined Faceyspaces.
There. I said it.
Here I am, Tin Foil Hat to the Stars, Number One Privacy and Security Guru, Winner of the 'I'm Not Paranoid - I'm Acutely Aware' Prize [1998-2014], with a wife on Faceyspaces. Everyone's laughing at me.
Don't believe me?
Approximately sixty seconds after her signup, my own brother send a foe request, asking if I knew.
I'm doomed, like a chiropractor whose wife wears impossibly high heels. Except the chiropractor's wife at least looks good in them. Nothing good can come of Faceyspaces.
I explained that nothing good can come of Faceyspaces. I explained that it's the front page of the NSA. That the NSA either wrote the software or wishes they did. That the mobile app eats data and privacy. That even with the highest privacy settings, it still sucks up all available data. That no one knows what the mobile app eats in terms of permissions because it's installed as junkware by the carrier.
Her argument? She wants to keep in touch with the nieces and nephews.
Do the nieces and nephews not have email? Even though that's also property of the NSA, it's not public.
Will she now be required to post selfies every time she goes to the bathroom? Report on what she ate for lunch? Talk about which tire is leaking this morning? Describe picking up after the dog using Poop Bags<tm>? Purchasing a selfie stick? Beating me about the head and shoulders with it?
Can anybody recommend a twelve-step group or a deprogramming center?
I feel so..... alone.
And it's getting cold.... so cold.
THIS WEEK'S SELECTION
How could I go any further without mentioning another hero of mine: Frank Zappa. Zappa has played the bicycle, gotten arrested for one of his records, run recording studios, made millions laugh, got in trouble for insulting Jewish women then went after Catholic girls, gays, influenced many artists, and knocked the heads off many a guitar player.
This is a love song. A family song. A funny song. A song that you had better not play too loud at work (or home). It's called Crew Slut. It's a love song to the ladies of the road. And here's Frank with a really nice instrumental called Watermelon in Easter Hay.
Sadly, Frank left us in 1993, due to prostate cancer. Get yourself checked, guys.