Addictions are a strange thing. The field for addiction is both wide and vast in it’s endless glory. There are the always hilarious Heroin Addicts, the cutters that just love settling down with a knife, a cup of whiskey, and a My Chemical Romance album for a lovely night of self loathing as well as the slicing and dicing of their wrists until they can feel the sadness being emptied from their veins (I CUT MYSELF TO FEEL MAN). There are the Jews, who just love to sit down with a calculator and Unleavened Flat Bread as they calculate their taxes. And then there are people like me, addicted to all things relating to the Internet.

What’s my primary addiction? Facebook. Oh yes, those of you who know me in real life (or the glorious realms of the INTARWEB) know of my extravagant need to constantly update my status, girlshop for a potential wife, and take part in the always applicable facebook photo op.

As of late I have bound myself to the closet via trouser belts to prevent any use of my keyboard. It is there that I shake and scream, viciously trying to break free like a rabid unruly beast. If my roommates refuse to let me down a disturbing Facebook withdrawal cycle commences where I sweat, vomit, curse, and violently shit my pants. This is usually the case as my roommates and I have agreed that if I ask to be let free I must be viciously beaten in the face with a flapjack until I shut the fuck up. These withdrawals lead to the obligatory downward spiral into rehab and the finding of The Jesus, who, at least in these days, is about as evasive as his counterparts Carmen Sandiago (Where in the world IS she?!) or Waldo, who I also can never find even with his silly red striped shirt, thick rimmed black glasses, and adorable hat. Seriously, where is that mother fucker?

In the end I guess I want everyone to know there are actual alternatives to facebook. Now I know what you’re thinking “Dan Luke, you’re a fucking liar. I know America’s history, I know that the founding fathers originally drafted the Bill of Rights on Facebook. I know that Abraham Lincoln used to log on to Facebook via his steam powered lumber computer.” And you are right… we, as Americans, have been born into Facebook. But let me at least say that there are other activities: Frisbee Golf anyone? C’mon, that shit is rad. WHOOO! MEET ME AT THE QUAD IN TEN MINUTES DUDES! FRISBEE GOLF!

The truth is that if you don’t find a balance between Facebook and real life you will face real life repercussions, like getting fat, pimply and ugly. People will throw candy bars at you as they mockingly Oink and call you Facial Acne Stew.

For instance, in my family it is natural to judge a (wo)man based on the color of his or her skin and not merely on the contents of their character. Now, this isn’t colors per se… Rather, it is a judgment of shades. You see, at least on the Asian side, maturity is measured by how tan a man is. This used to be an easy game for me in my nature boy days when I’d go out to the forest, flute in hand to play music for the rabbits and squirrels as we all frolicked and danced about in fields of endless daises. But then I felt the seductive power of Facebook, thus confining my physical body to keyboard and monitor 24/7. It was there where my skin shifted from a healthy brown to a pasty white due to lack of sun. I later would be exiled by my family.

So yes it is true, as America’s youth we are addicted to Facebook, but at least know that you can save yourself from Facebook’s vicious downward spiral. You can break free and dance and sing and meet pretty girls, but it all starts with putting down the keyboard. Like I said before, if I’m in a friends apartment and a laptop is being passed around, you can be sure as fuck that I’ll be all over that shit: Sandra has new photo’s of her smoking hookah in all it’s fruit flavored hashish goodness? I’m so there, I’m so down with THAT shit. But I’ll be DAMNED if I will let this social networking site run my life.