Jennie Smash

I cannot believe Friendster sold my ass out. All this time, I’ve been stalking exboyfriends and former college roommates and unsuspecting coworkers, thinking my secrets were safe. And now, yes now, they have revealed my secrets. I feel so betrayed.

My feelings of betrayal are nothing compared to my pal J, though, who maybe had the smallest nervous breakdown on Friday.

“Huh,” One of our coworkers said. “Looks like you can see who has viewed your account on Friendster.”

“Wait,” J said. “What do you mean?”

“If you go to Friendster? And click on this link? You can see who viewed you.”

J spun around in her chair. “For how long?”

“Um, I dunno, it looks like I can see the last fifty people who viewed me, so…”

“No. For how long? HOW FAR BACK DOES IT GO? OH MY GOD. I’m going to need surgery. I’m going to have to change my name. I’m going to have to take off my fingerprints with acid. How could they do this to me? I’m going to delete my profile.”

“That might not help,” I offered. “I mean, it takes a couple minutes for it to disappear and–“

“SHUT UP! IT WILL HELP. OH MY GOD.” She started clicking frantically. “There. I’m gone.”

“Except that it might take a couple minutes–“

“WAHHHH!” She put her head down on her keyboard. “I’m going to have to join the Witness Protection Program.”

Meanwhile, if you’ve been looking at Friendster lately, and you’ve seen my profile under your stalker button, well, I think you’re kind of cute. Is that OK? Also, that totally wasn’t me waiting behind the garbage can outside your apartment building.