The Two Fisted Bandit

 My Facebook now is just adverts, atrocities, Trump's latest horrors, Farage's latest calumnies and, lately, not sure why, pictures of sad eyed dogs who aren't being adopted from shelters. Oh, and David Stubbs talking about football. 

One of my friends posted 50 times in four hours about Trump. They are disproportionately represented on my time-line but even then I only saw one in five posts. Which still a lot of posts about Trump. I mean, I'm aware of what he's up to...

Apart from them, and one or two others, I never see posts by anyone I know anymore. Maybe they've given up. They say that they don't see mine and it's true I'm posting less often.

I used to be able keep up with friends, show off, have a laugh. I'd waste hours skylarking and shooting the shit, dozens of instant pen-pals posting nonsense all the time. Now it's a wasteland of rubble, bristling snouts, the half-arsed, heartless President, and people demanding we defund the BBC, dismantle the NHS, and torpedo the RNLI. 

It's exhausting. And I volunteer for this. 

People of the future - if there are people of the future - will be aghast. "You kept just refreshing and adding more and more content for free FOR DECADES, and you were rewarded with adverts, right wing propaganda, the plight of endless suffering animals, and some swivel-eyed grifter in a camel coat with a pint in one hand and the throat of the nation in the other?" 

"Er, yeah."

"Okay."

"Well, I don't do it NOW."

But that would be a lie. Because I'll still be returning to my own vomit.