.45 Caliber Headspace

I decided last week to dump my personal web profiles from MySpace and Facebook. This wasn’t, as one would naturally assume, because I wanted to stick it to The Man. Though these corporations are owned by republicans, I was really just tired of ex-psychos looking me up and finding me on these “social” networks. I used to make a practice of littering my personal information around in the hopes of having my identity stolen. My identity hasn’t been doing me much good and if some Nigerian con ring wants to assume the insurmountable debt and FBI record, they’re welcome to it. Take my life, please—cue cymbal crash.

I was especially afraid for this life, however, when a psycho I went out with fifteen years ago contacted me recently. These fifteen years ago, I had to get a restraining order against this chick. This is very difficult to do in our gender-biased legal system. It wasn’t that I was afraid to have to step into a ring with her or some nonsense, which is what the courts roll their eyes about. I was afraid of her putting the SARS coronavirus on my mailbox, because she was psycho and that’s how psychos roll. I would think this to be evident; but in the eyes of the legal system, all women are harmless, until they go Bobbitt on you, which is just too fucking late. So, I got the restraining order after having sex with the judge, but it was just like a band-aid on a gushing knife wound. The psycho still hunted me down in three corners of the country. I almost wanted to move to the fourth corner just to have allowed her to complete a cycle of terror.

Now I’m hearing from her all these years later just because I’m on these stupid websites. Psycho: “Hey, how’ve you been? Where EXACTLY are you living now?” Me: “I bought the old Kaczynski place and had some new landmines installed. Swing by sometime!” She’s not the only one either. Fuck these websites. I’m much safer in my anti-social network, even though I will surely meet less misunderstood strippers. So I deleted my profiles.

Deleting MySpace is straightforward enough. You hit the delete link and it’s Gone Baby Gone. Facebook is a bullet of a different caliber. When you try to delete your “Facebook”, it tells you, “We will continue to save all your personal information and you can log back in at any time.” This isn’t because they are trying to do you a favor. This is only so they can continue selling your personal information to anyone that asks for it, including ex-psychos and the government. I already have enough trouble with the government without their trying to sell me more teen pregnancy enhancement products. Government Analyst: “Why don’t we dub this new generation we’ve been engineering ‘The Crack-baby Boomers’, or just simply, ‘Cha-Ching’? Either way, we’ll own them and keep republicans in office.” I’ll be telling my bastard grandchildren; “Things were much easier in my day. We didn’t have to think for ourselves. We were just brainwashed into buying everything our credit limits would allow. Those were the good old days of excess and sweet ignorant bliss.”

Well, I don’t want to be a Cha-Ching anymore either, so I logged back in to my “deleted” account and manually trashed every bit of personal information I ever entered. This took 87 days. Now that it’s done, I’m sure there is more hidden TOS that claims: “If you really want to delete all your bits of personal information, you must login with Osama bin Laden from a hidden missile silo in Afghanistan. To initiate this process, you must first add Osama as a ‘friend’, then send him a ‘hug’ and a ‘poke’. Once friends with Osama, you will be protected by the governement.” Though it is tempting to be protected by the government for once, I don’t want to be in a silo with Osama. He doesn’t bathe.

Okay, maybe I’m stretching it a bit. Google Intel reports that Osama bathes once a year in June (in the blood of democrats). Also, if I disappear suddenly, please write Congress or my ex-psychos and demand that my mutilated pieces be returned for a proper scattering of ashes over the Playboy Mansion.