If you're the kind of character who loses all inhibitions after a night on the sauce and regularly makes an arse of yourself before last orders. Imagine the level of stupidity you could reach if you're pissed, sat in your pants and able to instantly message everyone you know in the blink of an eye.
You might be passionately in love with your friends partner, the boy next door or some random stranger you recently took a shine to at the chip shop, but even when you're smashed on a cocktail of powder and punch and unable to form complete sentences or stand up straight, most people will manage to reel themselves in and not reveal their inner most thoughts in public.
Facebook, conversely (and perversely) allows you to dispense of that essential social awkwardness and so you tap away on some keys and swig from a glass, happy you are finally pouring your little heart out to whoever has taken your fancy and convinced that they give a tuppenny fuck about your soggy ramblings. After messaging, you merrily click off the computer, slip into a coma and dream a sweet dream full of sunshine and lollipops. All is well with the world and everything is peachy.
But! When you wake up the next morning with a mouthful of fag-ash and a pillow soaked with drool, the first thing that hits you is the headache, but hey, that's OK. You've had a hangover before, no problem. A barrel of coffee and a fat bacon sandwich and you'll be as right as rain - but then something stirs in the back of your mind. Something you did last night maybe, but you can't quite remember what. Your brain slowly goes through the check list.
Did you leave the gas on?...No
Did you urinate through a church letterbox...No
Did you masturbate to two girls one cup...No
Did you send a message on Facebook.... oh shit….Bastard!
The horror of the situation hits you like a ten ton truck with spikes on the bumper. You stand for a minute, frozen stiff, but the mind is spewing out options. When is the next plane to China leaving? Shall I fake my own death by drowning or house fire? Is time travel technically possible and if so, where is the nearest DeLorean dealership?
Suddenly you achieve clarity and race over to the computer, open up facebook and look at your sent messages.
It's much worse than you thought. Not only did you send the message but your spelling and grammar was appalling. Now the recipient is going to think you're an illiterate psychopathic stalker, rather than just a common garden psychopathic stalker.
Oh Jesus....
You click on Google and type in 'Can I delete a message I have sent on Facebook?'
The results appear. Resounding "no's" all round and hilarious comments from people mocking the kind of chump who would get drunk and send a message they regret the next day.
You slump into a chair dejected. If you had a loaded revolver at hand, you would put the barrel to your head and pull the god damn trigger. Finally you reach the conclusion that the only option available to you is that you never leave the house again. You'll hole up, embrace the hermit lifestyle and when you are forced out of your seclusion, to go to work or get provisions, you'll adopt an elaborate disguise.
Then you glance at the screen. You have a message in your inbox, a reply to your ramble. You realise that a small part of your brain still held out hope that they had been struck blind or lost the ability to read, but no. They got it, they read it and now they have written to tell you that you're a sad lunatic and to never go within 500 yards of them again or they are calling the Police.
Or maybe not.
Maybe they appreciate your flattery, feel the same way and wondered if you fancy a dirty weekend in Morocco. Maybe they want some excitement. Maybe we all want some excitement and that the expression of feelings for someone, however brief or long lasting. Can never be a bad thing? You delete the message without reading it. Deciding it's better to dream someone said I love you, then to read someone calling you a cunt.
You might be passionately in love with your friends partner, the boy next door or some random stranger you recently took a shine to at the chip shop, but even when you're smashed on a cocktail of powder and punch and unable to form complete sentences or stand up straight, most people will manage to reel themselves in and not reveal their inner most thoughts in public.
Facebook, conversely (and perversely) allows you to dispense of that essential social awkwardness and so you tap away on some keys and swig from a glass, happy you are finally pouring your little heart out to whoever has taken your fancy and convinced that they give a tuppenny fuck about your soggy ramblings. After messaging, you merrily click off the computer, slip into a coma and dream a sweet dream full of sunshine and lollipops. All is well with the world and everything is peachy.
But! When you wake up the next morning with a mouthful of fag-ash and a pillow soaked with drool, the first thing that hits you is the headache, but hey, that's OK. You've had a hangover before, no problem. A barrel of coffee and a fat bacon sandwich and you'll be as right as rain - but then something stirs in the back of your mind. Something you did last night maybe, but you can't quite remember what. Your brain slowly goes through the check list.
Did you leave the gas on?...No
Did you urinate through a church letterbox...No
Did you masturbate to two girls one cup...No
Did you send a message on Facebook.... oh shit….Bastard!
The horror of the situation hits you like a ten ton truck with spikes on the bumper. You stand for a minute, frozen stiff, but the mind is spewing out options. When is the next plane to China leaving? Shall I fake my own death by drowning or house fire? Is time travel technically possible and if so, where is the nearest DeLorean dealership?
Suddenly you achieve clarity and race over to the computer, open up facebook and look at your sent messages.
It's much worse than you thought. Not only did you send the message but your spelling and grammar was appalling. Now the recipient is going to think you're an illiterate psychopathic stalker, rather than just a common garden psychopathic stalker.
Oh Jesus....
You click on Google and type in 'Can I delete a message I have sent on Facebook?'
The results appear. Resounding "no's" all round and hilarious comments from people mocking the kind of chump who would get drunk and send a message they regret the next day.
You slump into a chair dejected. If you had a loaded revolver at hand, you would put the barrel to your head and pull the god damn trigger. Finally you reach the conclusion that the only option available to you is that you never leave the house again. You'll hole up, embrace the hermit lifestyle and when you are forced out of your seclusion, to go to work or get provisions, you'll adopt an elaborate disguise.
Then you glance at the screen. You have a message in your inbox, a reply to your ramble. You realise that a small part of your brain still held out hope that they had been struck blind or lost the ability to read, but no. They got it, they read it and now they have written to tell you that you're a sad lunatic and to never go within 500 yards of them again or they are calling the Police.
Or maybe not.
Maybe they appreciate your flattery, feel the same way and wondered if you fancy a dirty weekend in Morocco. Maybe they want some excitement. Maybe we all want some excitement and that the expression of feelings for someone, however brief or long lasting. Can never be a bad thing? You delete the message without reading it. Deciding it's better to dream someone said I love you, then to read someone calling you a cunt.
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