I am suckling the teat of old Mama Internet. Her sweet-milky infosap is tunnelling down my throat. It is filling my stomach. It is jerking across my tongue, spilling out, running down my chin. EW. I can’t stop. Give me more. Get it OFF OF ME!
Oh, Mama Internet: you have granted me so much. Delightful boys, like this one, whose Myspace.com profile I’m viewing now.
He used to be on the Crush List, this adorable boy, and then he moved into real life: his real life tongue in my real life mouth: his real life penis in my real life vagina. Hell yeah we got on: we clicked like a fucking rhythm section, we looked beyond fabulous, we broke up a week ago because he couldn’t get over his stupid ex, or so he said. Oh well. We’re friends now. It’s cool, I’m ok with it, really, I-
Mama Internet, don’t show me this! A comment on his profile, posted yesterday, by a disgustingly beautiful 19-year-old girl! Make the bad thing go away!
SEVER THE CONNECTION
Oh god no! The girl’s posted a photograph of herself made especially for him! She’s taken the sleeve of his self-released electropop CD and she’s curled it into a tube and she’s taken a photo with the tube in her open-stretched mouth and she’s posted it to his MySpace band profile, oh my!
Dear Mama Internet, remove your nub from my face, I implore thee. Sever the connection, drop the network, make the kittens knock the router bang smash upon the floor –
…and we’re off. CLICK through to the girl’s
profile. SCROLL down to her comments. Ew, he’s calling her ‘miss
pussycat! He’s referring to her ‘beautiful, feline features’!
He’s asking when she’s coming to London! And oh, just the
day after we broke up, he’s writing how he just can’t stop
looking at a photograph of her sprawling gorgeously across the floor…
I need back-up. ‘I feel bad!’ I say to my friend Gretel. ‘I just saw the boy flirting all over MySpace like a massive boy-slut, but I’m not allowed to mind because we’re not going out any more, and it’s killing me! Is this normal?’
‘Quite normal’, Gretel says. ‘Listen,
when I broke up with The Cunt, and he started going out with Mullet,
I got addicted to Mullet’s Flickr’, (a photosharing application,
How casually Mama Internet drops her bombshells. My friend Lisa only found that her ex-lifepartner was living with another girl via his Friendster.com profile, in which he noted that he was ‘livin’ and lovin’ with a good girl in NYC’.
Jim, meanwhile, had no idea his ex, Daniel. was involved in a threeway relationship with two other men at once –‘till he checked out Daniel’s moblog. ‘I un-Friendstered him immediately’ Jim says, sniffily - as though that makes it all better.
GOOD OLD FRIENDS
Once, all that people had in the form of post break-up follow-up was gossip and hearsay. ‘I saw him with this chick in Spitalfields’, your friend might say. ‘Buying cheese. Yeah, how gay. She looked like a cheese-eater as well. Fat knees. Bad frock. You were much better.’ You’re cushioned, protected, floating far from pain on a bed made of lies. Good old friends!
THE PAINFUL TRUTH
But Mama Internet is not your friend. Mama Internet will
not lie; and you will not be able to stop yourself greedily gulping down
the painful truth. You’re probably not much better than your ex’s
new lover. You’re probably just the same: some nice enough person
with a good line in internet repartee and an overfamiliarity with Photoshop’s
contrast filter. The only difference? You’re history, and they’re
not. Not just yet.
This column previously appeared in the wonderful Good for
Nothing magazine. (RIP 2004-2006, sadly missed.)