Scarred

I'm giving up on you, MySpace. I always held out hoping you'd change your ways. Every day I'd log on and hope beyond all hope that the top two searches where no longer "HTML" and "My Chemical Romance". I'd hoped that you'd stop your whoring ways and go back to the good ol' days where I could log in and not be assaulted by Brooke Hogan's ham-slicer chin or Flash animations that burned themselves into my retina.

I tried to log in to MySpace this morning. I use the word "tried" because that's as far as I got. Here's the message I was met with:

The Function that you are currently trying to use is disabled and will be back shortly.

We are making some minor changes to this section please bear with us until we can get this back online.

Please do NOT email me about this. Just wait it out. 7/28/2006 -Tom


Wait...fucking LOGIN is disabled? And you want me to wait it out? Now there is the true sign of a company that know that, like the addicts most of the millions of daily MySpace users are, we'll come back. That's like calling your dealer and having him tell you to call back later. I need my fix man! Where are you! Well...fuck that shit. I'm closing down any personal presence on MySpace and leaving only my music there. This is stupid.

Now, I wonder why Tom doesn't want me to bother him? My guess is is because "Tom" is now an entire department of wage slaves that pounds away at this buggy and flawed site while Tom sits on a beach somewhere sipping cocktails made from the breast milk of island virgins with crushed diamond dust around the edge of a Swarovski crystal goblet. Tom might occasionally fondle the genitals of a beach boy while brazenly sporting the kind of erection that only pawning off a shithole website to Rupert Murdoch for one bajillion dollars can give you.

Fuck MySpace.

and fuck Tom.