i’m gonna add you. and then delete you. i’m gonna add you.

Strangers are just friends waiting to be met. Lets just be strangers.

Strangers are just friends waiting to be met. "Let's just be strangers".

today i’m going through my facebook friends list, and checking it twice. feel like some of your wide-angle profile pics aren’t really doing much for my reading pleasure. and now that marketing has reached glorious new heights, if i delete you, you’ll know. because i’m gonna get something out of deleting you. i’m gonna get a free burger. that’s right, a free burger.

Me and my best facebook friend. We have so much fun.

Me and my best facebook friend. We have so much fun.

it’s no big deal. we were never great friends anyway. i met you through a friend of a friend and you’d just read Hey Whipple and you thought we had soooo much in common. i accepted your friend request because i figured i might be able to use you for my own gain, some day. delete.

We had this amazing connection. Yeah. Its called the internet.

"We had this amazing connection." Yeah. It's called "the internet".

and it ain’t no thang with you either. we went to primary school together, back when it was still called ‘primary school’. i had a crush on you because i was limited for choice. now i see your insipid little face for what it is: white trash. delete.

Friendship is only real when the age gap is at least 15 years and you all sit on a bus together.

Friendship is only real when the age gap is at least 15 years and you all sit on a bus together.

as for you. i met you one night backstage at some band thing i was covering. back when i used to write for that cute little mag that liked to think of itself as a post-modern Rolling Stone. later that night you covered yourself in your own vomit. it’s the only thing we talk about, when i actually reply to your mails. delete.

Real friends like to get their digits stuck in finger traps for days (forces intimate conversation and sharing of living spaces, boyfriends, etc).

Real friends like to get their digits stuck in finger traps for days (forces intimate conversation and sharing of living spaces, boyfriends, etc).

and then of course, there’s you. i guess there was a time when i might have called you my ‘boss’. guess that was back before you revealed yourself to be a liar. you lied about the job description, you lied about company resources, you lied to your clients, and then you were caught plagiarising. real world’s a bitch. delete.

Youre not officially friends until you have an attic clubhouse where you can look at each others clothes and talk about having a yard sale.

You're not officially "friends" until you have an attic clubhouse where you can look at each others clothes and talk about having a yard sale.

hey. it’s you! we were best friends once. now we lurk around each other’s profiles, spying on each other’s friends, reading a little too much into everything. i still like you, though. you can stay.

Youre not friends until youre a band of white horses, running free and groovy through the electro orchards of contemporary Cape Town.

You're not friends until you're a band of white horses, running free and groovy through the electro orchards of contemporary Cape Town.

oh, but you. i don’t even know how i know you, though facebook says we have 15 friends in common. i don’t even know what you look like. you could be Sadam Hussein for all i know. but no. you are some arb with some arb name, polluting my news feed with your status updates and your photo tags and your notes. you send me requests to put me on your BFF birthday calendar, and you send me growing gifts. this isn’t healthy. i’m ending this for us. maybe some day our paths will cross and we will never even know that we were once fbook friends. until then, adieu. delete.

Were not friends until you adore me and carry me around.

We're not friends until you adore me and carry me around.

hey you. we once lived together, for a bit. we could have been best friends, but life – and a landlord – got in the way. every time i see your status i feel a little guilty because i should see you more. since i feel guilty about everything from putting an extra half spoon of sugar in my tea (bad G.I.) to not updating my blog to ignoring my phone on the odd Friday night (ok, every Friday night), i’m gonna scrape your name off my guilt platter, to give myself a break. love ya. delete.

Were not friends until we cross a cultural barrier and offend the people we love. So i can stroke your soft white feathers.

We're not friends until we cross a cultural barrier and offend the people we love. So i can stroke your soft white feathers.

oh, and you! we once worked together for that lame promo company. i was nice to you because everyone pretended to be nice to everyone. the truth is i think you’re bland, dull and gormless. delete.

*********************************************************2 more to go til burger time….******************************************

and then there is you, mr generic person who added me because all your friends added me. there’s no nice way to say this but…you’re lame. go tag a wall in Rondebosch or something. delete.

Were not friends until you take ambient shots of me with your Polaroid in your bedroom.

We're not friends until you take ambient shots of me with your Polaroid in your bedroom.

and lastly, we have you, friend of friends. you, who has not much else to talk about (not that we talk – by talk i mean ‘update your fbook status’) but how drunk you got last night. or how hungover you are this morning. it’s like being inside the Ground Hog Day of your Loser’s Complex. as fascinating as it is to read about how drunk you did / can / will / want to get, i’m sorry, it’s time for you to go now. delete.

Were not friends unless youre a little white bird that brings me dreams while i sleep.

We're not friends unless you're a little white bird that brings me dreams while i sleep.

and now. for my burger. mwah ha ha. see you in fbook hell, fuckers.


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