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Farmville Hoes.

As I scrolled down my Facebook News Feed, looking for the latest relationship changes and FB brawls, I began to notice something. What the hell is Farmville?! Why are half of my friends buying tractors and herding sheep on my favorite social networking site? This was nonsense. So I investigated.

Apparently, Farmville is an online community of housemoms and babysitters who take care of imaginary farms. To me, this sounded like a waste of time. Why would anyone want to take care of pigs without receiving the obvious reward of a check at the end of the month? A person doesn’t earn anything from investing so much of their time. What the hell draws a person to this game? Is it the child-like fantasy of owning a farm? Personally, as a child, I never dreamed of milking cows and washing my clothing on a washboard. But I would never squash someone else’s dreams. So I thought to myself, there isn’t any harm in letting strangers waste their time…why am I so against Farmville? Then it hit me. I constantly have to hear about it.

Every time a person buys a new pig, I am alerted. Whenever someone has an imaginary drought, my news feed blows up. Can these fake farmers not keep their farming business to themselves? I finally got over the fact that certain people constantly farm online, when I started getting invitations. I have never talked to a pig farmer, but I am pretty sure they don’t invite their Facebook friends to start their own pig farming business. Do Farmville players not worry about competition? What if I sell my pigs better than they can and bankrupt their imaginary business? If they constantly play this game, why can’t they maintain the “realism” of it? Don’t ask me to buy you a shovel. I’m not a Farmville Catholic Charity. Buy your own damn shovel.

After hiding ALL Farmville updates and deleting the friends that constantly asked me to join, I calmed down and went back to my Facebook creeping life. I could now view my Facebook fights in peace and didn’t have to worry about hoes buying imaginary hoes for their gardens on Farmville. All was good…until people started inviting me to join something called Cafe World.

The nightmare had started again. Now instead of babysitters harvesting crops, they were cooking imaginary Thanksgiving meals. This problem hit close to home. I walked into my living room one day to find my mom sitting on the computer baking a cyber apple pie. I looked at her with shock in my eyes and said, “How about you go in our actual kitchen and bake a real pie instead of waiting thirty minutes for a pie that you will never taste to finish cooking?” Apparently this ACTUAL baking concept seemed abstract to her. I remained starved for weeks while my mom fed cyber-nerds a buffet of online treats. After a few meetings at a local church, my mom recovered from her online baking addiction. I have been fed on a daily basis this then.

Legal Note: My mom never actually attended addiction treatments for Cafe World.

P.S. The above note was to ensure that my mom will continue to feed me.


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