I’ve been on Facebook since 25 June 2007. That’s forever in the cyber world. I’ve been on Facebook for longer than most people’s relationships last; for longer than the amount of time most people, including myself, stay at the same job.

Over the last five years I’ve had my fair share of dramas on, and with, Facebook and I’ve learned that there are people on Facebook who have very serious mental problems.

Reflecting back on my sometimes tumultuous history with the social networking site I couldn’t help but wonder: are people really as fucked-up in real life as they seem to be on the web?

In the last five years I’ve been banned from Facebook twice. Yes banned! Twice! Both occasions were preceded by rather disturbing hate mail I received from some very fanatical religious freaks who took great umbrage at my mere existence. These were the same freaks who, in all probability, reported me to the Facebook gods who, instead of investigating the “complaints”, opted to disable my account.

On both occasions, it took weeks and a torrent of emails for the Facebook gatekeepers to come to their senses and to reinstate my account. Most recently, they threatened to banish me because I had too many friends.

You see, Facebook has a 5000 friend limit and I have reached that limit a couple of times. I was instructed by a message from a faceless bot to clean up my friend list OR ELSE. The last time I was threatened it took me a whole week to delete just over 300 people.

My criteria were simple. If you don’t have a profile picture of yourself, you were unfriended. If your name is “Gay Love”, “iFuck a Lot” or “BJ King” or anything along those lines, you were gone. And if you have your private parts as your profile picture, you were unfriended. This leads me to my next point. Why do some people think you are on Facebook to hookup?

My Facebook profile clearly reads “married” under my relationship status. Surely the people who inbox me on Facebook can’t be illiterate? I have gotten countless messages over the years ranging from those who were soliciting sex from me, wanting to know if hubby and I were into gang bangs, asking how big my dick is, what fetishes I am into and the best ones were simply “ASL” (age sex location).

Now, if you need to ask me that on Facebook you are either retarded or super lazy! I mean honestly, don’t these people read your profile before sending you profanities and wanting to have carnal knowledge of your body? If I don’t know you chances are good that I also don’t want to play occupy the anus with you, especially if we are not even on the same continent.

“…while reading my news feed on Facebook, I find myself feeling so much more normal and mentally stable in comparison to some of my internet friends.”

And then there are the people on Facebook who firmly believe that their dicks are their best physical attribute. They are so very proud of their little sausages that they prominently display them as their profile pictures. If you invite me as a friend and all I can see is your erect penis pointing the wrong way, barely disguising your unkempt bush and hairy balls, chances are good that I will not accept your request. Chances are even better that I will report your profile to Facebook. I mean seriously, would you walk around in public with your crown jewels hanging out of your pants? Doing it on Facebook is pretty much the same thing, don’t you think?

Facebook doesn’t just have overly horny folks, it also has spammers. You know who I’m talking about. People who like to post products on their timelines, obsessively tag you in photos of brands or events, inbox 50 people at a time with “You can win a iPad 3” and troll groups and pages to post links to websites ranging from pornography to dating sites.

I believe there is a special place in hell for these fucktarts, right next to telemarketers, homophobes, Hitler and Robert Mugabe. I don’t know why Facebook doesn’t ban them. Most of their profiles are fake anyway. This is why I never accept friend requests from girls posing in sexy positions who have lots of friends but never post anything on their timelines, except for spam, of course.

Another group of people on Facebook worth mentioning are the folks that clearly need to be in therapy and seem to have no problem airing their dirty laundry in public. Sure, sometimes it is entertaining reading their status updates in my news feed. Following their mental meltdowns over the course of eight hours or reading how they’re trying to get rid of their one night stands the next morning is quite amusing.

But do these folks have no shame? Are they not aware that their friends are reading these status updates and are judging them? Some days, while reading my news feed on Facebook, I find myself feeling so much more normal and mentally stable in comparison to some of my internet friends. Watching their shit go down in real time feels a little voyeuristic but, hey, if they post it who am I not to read it?

My final Facebook gripe relates to a certain group of mine that I’ve been trying to close down for well over a year, but with little success. (Apparently, winning a war in Iraq is easier than closing down a group on Facebook.) I decided to close the group due to spam, people using it as their personal sex hookup spot, endless “add me” posts and a few other unsavoury reasons.

I have closed the wall, banned hundreds of folks and outright threatened people. Yet, the group continues to grow and currently has well over 22 000 members. It boggles the mind. Why would people stay in a group where you can’t do anything? Moreover, why the hell would anyone want to join the group anyway? The group is called “Gay” but should be called “Whores, Orgies & Spam” instead.

Yes, Facebook is filled to its cyber brim with some very messed-up people (and, lord knows, I too have my moments). It seems that only on the web can people truly embrace and express how fucked-up they really are; something they dare not do in their real lives. It’s a pity that sometimes, when they least expect it, the two worlds collide; often with less than desirable consequences.

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