Go to jail, go directly to jail
As of right now I’m disabled. Please don’t cue any politically incorrect comments. You may think them to yourself but don’t even begin to utter them. My Facebook has been disabled because of explicit sexual content. Excuse me?
Oh that I had explicit sexual content to post. I think I’ve been hacked. Either that or the funny pic one of my friends posted on my page while I was logged in, of a pumpkin with a willy, has had me suspended. Suspended.
Ugh, it’s like being at school. Except I was never suspended when I was at school. I don’t think I even had a detention. OK, maybe once for being part of a bread run. That’s what living in the good ol’ boarding dorms was like. We’d risk our freedom to surreptitiously buy loaves in the wee small hours, from the bread delivery man.
I’ve been suspended from Facebook and Instagram. A double whammy. I can’t even imagine what they think I’ve done. I’m trying to recall if I bared my breast, showed a picture of a semi-nude baby, or wrote some tyrannical manifesto against my Gypsy ancestors. Did I post explicit photos of my neighbours down the road indulging in nude sunbathing? Ormaybe it was my stand on pro-vaccination. I have done a few of those. Not been taken off Facebook though, just trolled by nutbags from around the globe. [Assuming the globe is round.]
So I amleft with no way to show my breakfast choices, support mental health funding or skite about the
cuteness of my ‘‘Roseanna-bop’’ moko or my doggy Brian. That’s kind of my whole deal. Oh, and every now and then some slightly ‘‘offensive language’’, but hilarious memes. But, really, I get thrown into social no man’s land, Instapurgatory on an otherwise ordinary October morning and I don’t know why. Great. Guess it’s Netflix sans chill.
Something I have discovered, though, is that once suspended, expelled, exterminated, disabled ... [Terrible term. Almost as bad as disestablished] one cannot actually reach a human to ask questions or weep for forgiveness down the phone. Emails are no-reply and if you ask questions you get a list of
FAQs – about as helpful as lace gloves in a f...ing snowstorm. They are like the IRS in the United States. There is no way of corresponding with them, despite them knowing all about me and having my pictures tucked away somewhere in Northern California. I believe their address is 1 Facebook Way. I can imagine it probably guarded by amoat of hitmen, three Russian poison dart specialists and 80 Chinese military tanks.
It’s like I’m in Star Wars’ Rebel Alliance – but one of the guys in the background that gets killed by the stormtroopers, and Facebook is The Death Star. The Death Star doesn’t have to explain why I’ve been ‘‘dis-established’’, be it only for 30 days. This must be like ending up in a Thai prison for having a backpack that smells like weed. Actually, I’m sure it’s nothing like that, but I’m pissed.
They’re probably reading this and I’ll now have to go to solitary for an extra week. Facebook has put me in the pound. [If you know any human that works at Facebook would you please ask them to reestablish me please? Thanks so much.]
Signed, The Prisoner in cell #7823455672.
I get thrown into Instapurgatory on an otherwise ordinary October morning and I don’t know why.’