Everything is wrong with me
Thursday, April 15, 2004
friendster = creepy
I love friendster, because it allows people like me to take their internet creepiness to a whole new level.

For those of you not familiar with friendster (www.friendster.com), it's an online community type thing, built around the old "degrees of separation" gimmick. For example, you get into friendster by being invited by a friend. Then you are connected to their friends, and their friends, and their friends, etc. You can also search by interests (if you have "penis" as one of your interests, you can click on "penis" and it will give you a list of profiles of people who also have "penis" listed as their interest). And of course, there are pictures.

This is not for computer nerds. It's big here in NYC, where people will jump on anything that means "community" in any way.

There is a lot of creative leeway with the profiles that users are supposed to fill out, as they ask such broad questions as "Interests" and "About Me" and "Who I Want to Meet".

Some people are pretty stupid with these, filling out their profiles ever so seriously or filling them with literary quotes. Some of the pictures are either corny glamour shots or attempts at being artsy-fartsy.

As crusaders of justice in our quest to bring every person who is on a their little pedestal crashing to the ground, my friends and I, after joining last summer, had a competition to see who could come up with the most ridiculous profile. Our goal was to create the most offensive and retarded profile imaginable and then send messages to people (you can send messages to anyone you are connected to, which is a lot of people) to see if they responded.

As you might imagine, I took this on like it was the sole reason for my earthly existence. I think I did a pretty good job. Here's a little "About Me":

In the spring of 1973, I was backpacking about 80 miles north of Vancouver. I came over a ridge and into a clearing, and I surprised a large mother bear with her cubs. In a matter of seconds, I was involved in a horrific bear attack. I lost half of my face, my left kneecap, the fingers of my right hand, my penis, and one of my testicles.

[The pictures really make it too. To see my profile, I think you have to sign up, but then you can type "Jason Mulgrew" in the user search function. If you want me to sign you up, send me an email. If not, I don't care - I don't get anything for having people sign up. Dicks.]

You have to remember that most people write things like, "I think I am a fun person!!!! I like to go out and party, but I also like to stay in and chill!!!!! I would like to meet someone maybe in a band!!!!!"

Anyway, we'd send out messages and believe it or not, some people actually wrote back! Admittedly, most (85%) didn't, and some that did said things like, "You are disgusting" or "That's very mature of you." Guess what? I am that disgusting and immature. By the way, it's fucking friendster. Lighten up.

I didn't mean for this to be a pitch for friendster, but it sure sounds like it. But fuck it - I owe it something, as it's given me hours and hours of trolling its galleries of pictures, sending messages to strange and unexpecting women, testing the boundaries of what is and what is not "sexual harassment."

Hey, a guy's gotta have some hobbies, you know?

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