Because our lives are more interesting than yours.

I’ve been receiving a lot of complaints about the content on my site. Apparently I’m not family-oriented enough. Lucky for me, I had a rich and fulfilling childhood. So, without further adieu, I present to you my favorite bedtime story: The Ballad of Greg Nickbill.

‘Twas a cold winters day,
Quite dreary and boring,
and little did I know,
That my friend was out whoring.

My phone started ringing
and I jumped from my chair,
But it was only Greg Nickbill,
and little did I care.

“Your e-mail!” he demanded,
“Is your inbox stocked?”
“Why, yes” I retorted,
and then I was shocked.

I opened the email,
and what I saw there,
Was Gregory Nickbill,
All naked and bare.

“What the FUCK!?” I proclaimed,
“You’re sick in the head!”
“It’s not my fault!” he refuted,
“‘Twas a virus, instead.”

“But still,” I reasoned,
“I am entirely appalled,”
“For these actions aren’t normal,”
“and your cock is quite small.”

“Great Scott!” he exclaimed,
“Who all has received this?”
“Melissa and Johnny,”
“And your co-worker, Chris.”

“That’s not bad, I suppose,”
“If it was sent to no other.”
“Oh shit!” I cried out,
“It was sent to your mother!”

So he hung up the phone,
All worried and pale,
But little did he know,
‘Tis not the end of this tale.

The virus rampaged onward,
To which there is no end,
To embarrass that slut,
In front of all of his friends.

For three weeks have gone by,
and I’ve received emails galore,
Of pictures of Greg Nickbill,
because he’s a dirty, mangy whore.

- Lawtonic out

Sonofabitch where has the time gone? I stop blogging for 3 months and God exacts his revenge by pig-raping Facebook. Hardly seems fair. I apologize for not updating — I have so much to rant about, and so little time.

Facebook pulled an about-face this week and turned their site into Facebook: Twitter Edition. There’s a reason I belong to Facebook and not Twitter — it’s because I don’t want to read status updates 8 times a day. There’s a 5/10 chance that if I’m friends with you on Facebook, it’s because I secretly hate you, and thus the only reason I’m friends with you is to watch your inevitable failure at life. Therefore, I could’ve died without knowing that bran muffins make you horny, or that the family cat gave you scabies.

It angers me that Facebook changed the “status” box to the “What’s on Your Mind?” box. Even if you are my friend, I still don’t want to see into the deep recesses of your brain. I have looked into the eyes of Matt Coldsmith and seen nothing but pure, bitter darkness. What Facebook failed to realize is that their user base consists of uninventive morons who use Picnik to sub-caption their “polaroids” with Sex and the City quotes, which means every third status update I read is either a song lyric or a sad attempt at being a poet. Country music mainly consists of getting drunk, beating your wife, and having sex with your dog. I hardly find that to be a suitable status message for my mother’s Facebook account. And as for the poetry? No one took Edgar Allen Poe seriously until after he was found dead in a gutter. Take a hint.

Also, my Facebook account glitched and nearly killed itself over winter break. I got to the point where I’m tired of rejecting friends and ignoring application request. I let the number build up to over a thousand to the point that it actually cleared everything. So I’m going to say this once — stop friend requesting me if I’ve already denied you 6 times. Take a hint — I don’t like you. And if you insist on sending me Application invites 12 times a day, I’m going to strangle a box of kittens. There’s one App called “Let’s Make a Baby.” I understand that you’re sad and lonely, and that the only way you’ll ever make a baby is through the fictitious world of Facebook, but I still have a reputation to uphold and even the mirage of conversing with you over an open forum does enough damage to what little dignity I have left.

Speaking of dignity, posting awful pictures of yourself online is an easy way to lose yours. Posting pictures on Facebook pretending to pour a 64 oz. bottle of vodka into your mouth makes you look like a giant dumbass. I get it, drinking alcohol is our generations social lubricant, but posting pictures of yourself ingesting a lethal dosage makes you look childish and stupid. You only think it’s cool because it’s illegal to be drinking while under the age of 21. You know what else is illegal? Mexican cockfights. Maybe you should go hop the border and let a rooster peck your eyes out.

Goddamn, it feels good to be back.

– Lawtonic out