Facebook Help Part II: The Bane of All Existence

So as you faithful readers know, a little over two weeks ago Sanbula lost her profile. This was an utter disaster, so, over the course of this period of time, she sent emails asking for help. In the beginning, she was not as desperate, and her letters remained normal:

"I have been trying to access my profile page, but it keeps loading blank."

Which swiftly turned into poetry:

"Blank Profile: A Haiku"

To speak face-to-face
Is not a way I know now
I need my profile

And finally, after comparing herself to the Biblical Job, her letters became one lengthy missive, punctuated with thoughtful commas and well-used dashes:

Are you there, Facebook? It's me, Sanbula.

I hope you can hear me. It's been a really tough two weeks. I've been trying to be strong, but it's been hard. I was reading about the Rwandan Genocide the other day, and I burst into tears. Not because of the despicable extermination of a marginalized, ethnic group -- though, I suppose that's important. Whatever, I guess. It was because it reminded me of my own pains, and the adversity I have been encountering. This is MY Vietnam, Facebook.

Facebook, are you mad at me? I keep trying to talk to you, but you always seem so mechanical, almost inhuman. I thought we had something going on. I let you in on my deepest thoughts, thoughts that I would only share with three hundred of my online friends. I let you live vicariously through me as I traveled the world and showed you the pictures of palatial monuments that I go see just to appear erudite and worldly, when all I want to be doing is gargling with gin. You always looked out for me. You reminded people to send me birthday wishes. You let me learn more about people I barely knew, as in they had just eaten breakfast, and how they were out of toilet paper. How will I now learn the mundane details about people who don't care about me? The residual practicality and grip on reality I shockingly still possess tells me to stop believing in you, but the devout part of me cannot live a life of apostasy. I'm clutching onto the hope you will answer my prayers, and one day, fix my profile, so I and others can view it. To make matters worse, Jack Dorsey, better known as Lucifer, with the aid of his aberrant creation, Twitter, has been Tweeting about how I should join his network via a 140-character limit, poorly constructed message: "Lolz Facebook is for chumps join us u can learn abt the gud life. also we have celebrities. SHOW US YER TITS N FREE YERSELF FROM TYRANNY!" Normally, I would find this verbal excretion -- littered with poor syntax and appalling grammatical errors -- repulsive and combat it by pleasuring myself while looking at a dictionary. However, I'll admit it, Facebook, in my hour of need, I felt... temptation. Then I remembered the first divine imperative from The Ten Commandments of Facebook: "Thou shalt not have any social network mediums before me". I knew I had sinned for even entertaining this thought, and immediately reprimanded myself by flogging myself with a cat o' nine tails, and chanting, "Dislike! Dislike! DISLIKE!" O Facebook, it is you that I lay prostrate in front of, trembling before thy glory. Why have you forsaken me? I keep trying to reach you through my messages. I hope you hear me, Facebook. I really need you right now. I fear to see what lies in the future. Laughing at Lolcats? Longing for Farmville?!! Facebook, give me the strength to resist the banality of the cyber wasteland that is trying to lure me from believing in you.

I always enjoy our talks. Thank you for listening to me, or letting me think you are. Now that my anxieties are assuaged, I'm going to go throw cabbage at the neighborhood children from my front stoop in my caftan, and think of how the steps I can take to pursue my true calling as a cat whisperer. Peace

I for one would have rather shot myself in the foot rather than miss a moment of advertising for Pioneer Village. And to miss 24 weekly invitations to CRAZY PARTY BONANZA!! at any one of the local guido-infested clubs?? I would have lost my soul in the madness.
You are a shining beacon of light and hope for us, the masses, in this tumultuous time, for we have no willpower save for what Facebook gives us. Thank you Sanjob, for you are truly the inspiration that guides all narcissists with access to the internet. Amen.

Sanbula has now regained full access to her profile and is no longer considering becoming a suicide bomber like her brown heritage dictates she should in all stressful situations.