Facebook

Whitman just got on Facebook.com and everyone is shitting their pants. Literally. My pants are ruined, and they were a nice, expensive pair of Quicksilver khaki shorts. Now I have to throw them in the garbage can. God-damn you Facebook.com. It's pretty chill in that I have found some profiles of old friends from high school, even though I didn't really like them that much anyway. They probably have fond memories of me, but they will soon follow the link to The Monstro and find out what a huge butthole I am and never post a nice comment on my Facebook.com profile. The only thing I wish the Facebook.com had is a type of friend ranking system so that people could know what type of friend I thought they were. Say some old friend from home checks their rank and "Holy shit, I'm number 23, they must really like me." Or someone else I know right now at Whitman checks and they see that they are number 110, and they realize I don't really like them but I am just friendly to their face. This ranking system would be awesome, maybe I'll mail the Zuckerberg character in charge of the Facbook.com website.

In other news, there is a mouse living in Gus' room named Bob, and we have decided to raise it instead of 1) kill it with a mouse trap or 2) killing it with poison. The "let it live" idea came soon after we realized nobody wanted to spend money on fucking mouse traps or poison. It's important to note that more likely than not "Bob" is actually several hundred mice living in the walls, and we just manage to see one of them at a time, so "there's Bob" is really just another way of saying "there is another mouse." We have yet to see two mice, so they cannot be named Adam and Eve as was the original plan.