I absolutely hate Friendster. It is a world of superficial acquaintances, a place of insincere empathy, of shallow love affairs and a preying ground for stalkers, weirdos, and 15 year olds who’d orgasm seeing text containing any combination of words with dick, shaft, hole, mountain, cyclops, ice cream, salt or bicycle in them. It is the realm of the pretentious, the pseudo-intellectual, and more often than not, the aesthetically challenged.

With that said, I shall now turn my discriminating gaze on the afflicting horrors of Friendster and its denizens in a brand spanking new column aptly titled: The Atrocities of Friendster.

Case 1: Marvin

It’s funny how Marvin’s shirt says "Justice League" when the only type of justice I want to deal upon seeing his picture is the type which involves me rearranging his face using my vengeful fists and a tire wrench. Surprisingly, for someone who looks deceivingly amiable and tender, his Interests are disturbingly carnal. I mean people who look like Brad Pitt can probably get away with saying stuff like "Yeah, I’m into Orgies and dripping wet pussies, big deal" but when people like Marvin over here who looks about as hideously malnourished as those Somalis in "Black Hawk Down" say it, it makes me want to commit genocide and throw a party afterwards.

For some reason however, I cannot hate Marvin. He reminds me too much of something or someone from my childhood that makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside. I can’t seem to point a finger at it…

Oh, right.