A gang of Facebook fanatics–led by my soon to be EX friend Susan Anton, lol–are determined to see me get more fake friends, find greater chances for people to tell me they’re at the ballet, and welcome increased opportunities to plug the fact that I’m judging jockstrap sniffing contests in New Jersey at 2 in the morning. They want me to be on Facebook! And they’ve even started a group on that very cyberplace which has become sort of a petition of walking-dead zombies urging me to join them there.
In a moment of weakness, I recently told Anton that if 1000 of these pesky people joined the get-Musto parade, I would finally become a Facebook queen, but now that the numbers seem to be growing and the masses are frothing and beckoning, I’m getting nervous and I’m going to have to change the rules. A thousand DOGS are going to have to sign their names–and give complete contact information and submit to all sorts of body searches and rectal checks–before I’ll even consider making this audacious move into the future. I mean–humor me here–THEY’RE crazy, not me, right?