![]() ![]() And this is one of the few times I’m comfortable using the phrase "not just white people"-too many of my skinfolk are all too happy to suck on the teat of the white sup. That’s kind of high-minded language to describe your high school guidance counselor’s misspelled rants about illegal immigration, I know, but white supremacy works on every level, from the White House (duh) to your uncle Ron. Also, why are you still watching "The Walking Dead"?) No, what I’m talking about are the people who choose to use their status updates to uphold systems of oppression, perpetuating misinformation, intolerance, prejudice, and, ultimately, white supremacy. "Blowing up" doesn’t just mean spoiling the latest episode of "The Walking Dead." (Though that falls under the General Asshole category and should also be avoided, unless you want me to give you the ice-queen eyebrow next time we see each other at a party. While there’s probably some truth to this analogy, I’ve found that everyone, no matter their race, gender, sexuality, or number of pro-choice buttons on their organic hemp grocery bags, has the capacity to blow up on Facebook, leaving everyone they know confused and covered in shards of incoherent ramblings. Someone once told me that, for black folks, being friends with white people is like holding a bomb and not knowing when it’ll go off. It couldn’t have been the "Leave Ivanka Alone!" meme she posted at 2:30 in the morning, could it? Are political differences really enough to destroy a friendship that may have survived multiple moves, fights, betrayals, and drunken confessions of "I knew that dress you wore to prom 10 years ago looked bad but I didn’t say anything"? The fact that you never have to see each other in person to hash it out means you can forget about closure. ![]() The abandoned friend may have no idea what she did to deserve being purged from your timeline, and you may have no interest in dealing with her long enough to tell her. Though the process seems easy - you literally just have to click a button to officially unfriend someone - it dredges up all kinds of difficult questions. Today, Facebook is where friendships go to die.ĭespite the wealth of information Facebook abstainers miss out on, they’re also spared the gut-wrenching feeling that comes when you realize someone you once considered a friend believes America should be celebrating "White History Month." It should be as simple as it was in sixth grade: Friendship over. How do you remember the birthdays of random people you interned with in college? How do you keep track of how often your mother-in-law plays - and CRUSHES - Bejeweled? What about the bloody C-section photos of women you can’t quite place because they’ve changed their last names and their profile photos are pictures of babies playing with puppies? Seriously, who the hell is that woman, and what did I do to deserve her afterbirth in my Facebook feed? ![]() If you’re somehow one of the last people left on earth who is not on Facebook, you are both worthy of envious admiration and hella suspect. Today, Facebook is where friendships go to die. (Those were the days, right? When middle school girls longed for their periods, not in the "But seriously, where the fuck is my period?!" sort of way, but more of an "I can’t wait to run through a field dressed in all white celebrating my womanhood!!!" kind of thing.) In the end, you were persona non grata at your former friend’s coed pool party, but at least you knew where you stood. Obviously you were just jealous, but that didn’t erase the hurt or embarrassment. Even if you regretted it later, the friendship breakup was cut-and-dried: There was a clear cause and effect that both parties understood. Or like in sixth grade, after your girlfriend confided in you that she’d gotten her first period, and you made a cheap Red Sea joke in geography class and she never forgave you. Sure, you breathlessly promised to KIT (keep in touch) and LYLAS (love ya like a sister), but you had no interest in actually going to Boston because you imagined it resembled a town in Siberia where all the men wore Patriots jerseys and used "wicked" to mean the opposite of what it’s supposed to mean. Like when your best friend moved to Boston to live with her dad and stepmom, leaving you high and dry in South Florida. ![]()
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