I Lub Having Rubber Chickens Thrown At Me

To all my Facebook Friends:

Thank you for all the hearts and hugs and flares and carebears. I actually really dig it when you 'poke' me with anything from Britney Spears to sharp purple shears. It makes me feel quite special. It's terrible that I don't return the favor and toss some Wisconsin cheese confetti back your way, or accept the endless (endless!!) green patch requests, I know. The thing is, if I start poking you back, then Bob over there will probably notice and will start poking me too. And then what do I do? I gotta poke him back again too, right? Otherwise that shiz is rude! And then someone else will poke me, and I gotta poke 'em back, and they'll poke me again... and the vicious cycle continues.

I know the vicious cycle is kind of the point of Facebook, but the thing is, I already have a ginormongous time pit right here (hello, blog!) that I don't give enough love to. And love, like jelly, becomes tasteless when spread too thin.

So, feel free to keep 'em rubba chickens coming, I love holding them to sleep at night. Just know that my love in return will not be in tangible forms like virtual Tiffany bracelets and Jimmy Choos.


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