Tag Archives: FarmVille

Hey, can you Google that for me? Thanks …


Hey does anyone know the number for the take-out place down the road? No? Fuck. Maybe you know the movie schedule for Friday? Perhaps someone would be kind enough to answer for me what “Google” is, or better yet, tell my fucking wife.

Pardon that rude introduction to this blog. It was rude only because I’m at my wits end. Some of you, well a few of you anyway – OK, probably none of you – have to deal on a daily basis with a technophobe. If I’m somehow mistaken and you do have a spouse like mine, you have my sympathy and we should start a support group.

Hello, my name is Beers and my significant other thinks Tumblr is used for drying the laundry.

It’s fucking driving me insane.

As some of you remember, I bought my wife an iPhone 5 and WOW was she excited. Her old phone was manufactured by cavemen, had a battery life measured in seconds and weighed as much as the Apollo 9 space capsule. The new phone has unlimited calls and text messages to the U.S. and that shit excites her. She and her daughter can be “Chatty Cathys” all the live-long day and that’s “fucking awesome,” I’m told.

Seriously, with what is arguably one of the best smart phones on the planet today, she’s still no technically wiser than understanding that ; plus ) equals a winky face.

I had to explain what ROTFL meant to her yesterday. If you don’t know what that means than please leave the internet right now.

I recently received the following “instant message” from my wife Picture1

“Can you look up the community bank hours and tell me when they open?”

Now I shouldn’t bitch, prior to the iPhone purchase the concept of an IM would have been the equivalent of landing a man on the sun for her. Text messages were what all those damned kids were doing to “sex-up all their friends” on Friendster and MySpace. So the very fact that she can now text at all is a vast, vast improvement.

But for fuck’s sake, that message was 14 words long. By simply opening whatever shitty browser Apple shoves down our collective throats and typing “community bank hours (city name)” into the fucking search bar the answer would’ve magically appeared. When I suggested that the aforementioned method is really faster than asking me to do it (on an inferior phone, no less), I’m accused of being an asshole.

The emoticon that would convey the eye roll I just did doesn’t exist. It will never exist. It cannot exist. It was an epic eye roll.

This is the second example.

During a brief period of unemployment after retiring from the U.S. Army in 2009 my wife became acquainted with Facebook. I was proud of her. She never once sent me a Farmville request to water her marijuana plants or whatever the fuck it is Farmville players do, but rather made a few witty comments here and there and did the general shit we all do on Facebook. “So glad you had a good birthday,” and “the baby looks so cute” or the occasional, “Sorry about the penis cancer.” I mean, she got it. She avoided the bullshit that we’ve all occasionally succumbed to on Facebook. You know what I mean — click here to see who unfriended you (you fuckers), find out about the 18+ Facebook, and grow a larger penis in just two weeks — the type of crap we’ve all clicked on. You’ve clicked on that shit too, right? I’ll just assume you have.

Anyway, she picked up a job a few short weeks later and from then on Facebook could go fuck itself. Her hours of free time shrunk back to normal and Facebook died when matched against her desire to watch American Idol.

Fast forward to the new iPhone 5 purchase and the installation of the Facebook app. Just days after its purchase I get a concerned look from my wife.

“Honey, can I talk to you,” she asked almost in tears. “Why are so many people mad at me on Facebook? Why are they posting mean things about me, about me being negative and mean?”

This weird question, and you’re all thinking the same thing, is the equivalent of her asking me why dinosaurs had sex with Elvis Presley on the White House lawn. I mean, she hadn’t been on Facebook for more than four years if you discount the occasional quick check to make sure I wasn’t posting photos of my testicles willy-nilly.

I looked at her with confusion. I didn’t really check her status that much anymore because her last update was literally July 16, 2010. She’s my wife on Facebook and, this is the odd part, also in real life. I get notified when she farts on Facebook. Who the fuck was saying negative shit about her? I was failing miserably as a husband for not bringing to bear my considerable 74 Facebook friends to e-beat the fuck out of whoever the fucktard was that was talking shit about my wife on Facebook!

Still though, it made no sense. In order to have an interaction on Facebook you have to, well, interact on Facebook. As a guy who’s been called an asshole many, many times on Facebook, trust me, I know this fact.

“Honey, show me what you mean,” I finally said.

Yep.  It's personal.
Yep. It’s personal.

She pulled out her phone, opened the Facebook app and showed me. I know I didn’t laugh, but I kind of chucked a bit.

You know all that shit you (we) all post? The meme’s about, “If all you have are negative people in your life blah, blah?” or “Mean people are <insert retarded Facebook meme here>”? She — I’m not kidding — literally thought people were posting that about her. It was just her normal Facebook feed.

I don’t know if I should laugh or cry …

I’ll just have another beer.

Hit like or nothing will happen… another rant about Facebook. Posted on Facebook


“Hit like or God smites a puppy with a hot curling iron on a farm in Wisconsin in 2.3 seconds, 2.2 seconds, 2.1 seconds, 2.0 seconds, 1.9 seconds,” or some such shit.

Yeah yeah, I’ve bitched about Facebook before, and will again, but I only do it because it’s easy it’s the patriotic thing to do.  If I don’t bitch about Facebook the terrorists win.

Also, that whole “If you don’t do X, the terrorists win,” thing is over right? How about crossing out words that show what you truly mean? Is that okay still? I heard it was over, but I can’t be sure.

I can’t keep this shit straight.

But yeah Facebook, fucking Facebook, here we are again with me bitching about Facebook.

I’m to blame, I know this. I do know that if I wasn’t such a friends whore this wouldn’t be an issue.  But I am a friends whore because currently it’s pretty much the only way this blog gets read (from my Facebook feed, I mean). So that means if you ask to be my Facebook buddy on the first date, I’ll say, “Hell to the YES!”

You’ll also catch a virus, but that’s what you get for friending a whore.

131b0_2ebc

Are we even sure Jesus is on Facebook? Do they have wireless up there or what? Also what if I don’t like this? Does it count against me? What’s the official position on these sort of questions?

But fuck, really, come on. Most of you are fucking up Facebook with a passion I cannot conjure the words to describe.    I’m not even talking about those of you who change your cover photo to show a happy moment with your family or post status updates about a pregnancy.

That shit is honestly awesome and I love reading it.

I don’t mean the ones who go on about this or that current event.  Hell, I’m guilty of that myself. And I actually love reading other’s thoughts and perspectives on different issues.

The ones fucking it up are those fuckers who play games, invite me to games and share fucking retarded photos.

“Hit like if you love Jesus. Scroll past is you want to burn in eternal hell fire …” Eleventy million of you fuckers took a second to hit fucking like.

Anyone who has ever hit like on a photo telling them to like it or else should be grounded from the Internet for a day. Myself included.

Also can you go ahead and like this blog?  Here’s the link. If you don’t like it, no harm, no foul.  I should warn you though — if you read this and don’t like it, the nail on your left pinky toe will become infected in May and that’s like just in time for sandal weather so, I’m just saying, I’d like this shit if I were you.

Then there are the games, the fucking Facebook games. Who the fuck plays these things? Don’t answer that question, I don’t really want to know.

I’ve been playing computer games since 1991 when in the first “Civilization” you could wake up the settlers on the transports and order them to irrigate the ocean. Yeah that “Civ 1.”

To every reader who didn’t get that, which I think is like all of them, I’m sorry.

This is where I quit.  There isn't a machine gun or diplomatic advisor anywhere.   All I have is a purple pony and I'm pretty sure ponies are never purple.

This is where I quit. There isn’t a machine gun or diplomatic advisor anywhere. All I have is a purple pony and I’m pretty sure ponies are never purple.

Trust me though, had you played Sid Meyer’s “Civilization 1” in 1991, that joke killed.

The point is, I know computer games and I don’t get these games.

I’m going to pause right now (while I’m writing this, not while you’re reading this because how annoying would that be) and go try “FarmVille.”…………………………………………………

I tried it. I’m sure it posted 18 million messages on my Facebook feed about who knows what. Fuck, I don’t get it.

Thankfully you can block every Facebook game ever but the newest one.

But you know what pisses me off about Facebook the most?  It’s that the alternative to Facebook is urfucked.com. Don’t even click that, it’s not a real link. But really, what is the alternative?  Google+?   Please, that shit sucks. Though to be fair, the absolutely hippest of my hip friends posts there and though I won’t name him, trust me the dude is cooler than cool and he’s there all day long.  But he’s also on Facebook, so what the fuck?

There’s some no-shit original good stuff on Facebook too though. Original funny stuff which is what I’m normally looking for.

Just to plug a few pages: WTF Army moments, the duffel blog and, because he’ll soon think I’m stalking him, Oh god my wife is German never fail to make me laugh . So add your own in the comments, I’ll read them and I’m always looking to follow something original and funny.

Anyway, enough about Facebook — at least until the next time Facebook pisses me off which will be like as soon as I’m done posting this.