I worry about our country.
No, not the NSA peeking in my email or what’s-his-name in the White House.
I worry about Facebook.
I’m not a big fan.
In fact, I have many more important things to do besides social media.
For me a computer is a tool, not a life style.
I prefer to call someone or speak to them face-to-face.
I keep it short, though.
I use Facebook to note a new blog entry and then go back to whatever I was doing.
Usually a nap.
But I occasionally look around a bit because almost everybody in the world I know is on it.
It’s a way to learn who’s doing what and find something to worry about.
And what they’re eating.
Yes, I know that’s why most of you think you’re on it.
That’s probably as close as I’ll ever get to seeing it on the dining room table.
That’s not to say she doesn’t cook good stuff – just not what’s in the pictures.
I’m not sure why she does that except to torture me.
She’s a busy lady.
She’s on Facebook.
I worry about that.
I worry about where her tongue has been recently.
I worry this is how Justin Bieber will look in a couple of years.
Yeah, I prejudge too much.
I have to cut that out.
What I really find worrisome is what some people post.
Some guy updated his page while standing at the altar getting married.
Then, of course, there are the pictures of the underage drinking party you were at.
The police like those.
Maybe you should worry.
Bitching about how much you hate your work and the boss is another nice item.
The company that’s about to fire you likes that.
Your just-about former girl friend sees them 10 minutes later.
Feeling a bit dumb?
Welcome back to the single life.
I worry when the wife announces we’re going out-of-town.
I would think it would be helpful to print a map to our soon-to-be empty house so the burglar knows where to go.
Warning – big time alarm system with video.
Hit another house.
Then my biggest worry are the posts that are so stupid I can’t believe they’re for real.
The sad thing is – they usually are.
I worry this country’s going to hell.
I don’t expect anyone should be what other’s expect them to be, but good grief.
This whole thing makes me grumpy.