|"It's called FarmVille. I find it inexplicably compelling."|
If it was a request from a perfect stranger, I might feel better about myself, but these are Friends. I know they're Friends even if I don't recognize their names because it's on Facebook, and Facebook says they're my Friends. I must've Friended them at some time or another, and I'm not the sort of cruel lout to un-Friend anyone.
I was taught it was rude not to help someone who makes a perfectly civil request, and I feel a little bad about the cavalier way I ignore these. But then I take a nice nap or look through a magazine and I'm all better. The truth is, in my callow youth (oh, I must've been a mere lad of 50, maybe 49) I felt duty-bound to honor requests - "Rufus Leeking sent you a request on MurderforHire." One series in particular had to do with something called, "Farmville." Perhaps you've heard of it. Even at the sight of the name, I feel a dark sucking vortex pulling me into the abyss. Please, Jesus, never let me go down the road to that sunless, evil place again. Growing vegetables is bad enough without growing imaginary vegetables. I'm one of those people who likes a tangible, and if possible, edible reward for his efforts. I stopped fishing after people started doing "catch and release." What's the point of catching a fish, you're just going to let go? Well, Farmville was even more pointless than "catch and release." Farmville was like neither catching nor releasing but pretending you did.
If for someone misguided reason, you actually agree to comply with one of these requests, there's a little form to fill out. It asks you your email, and says can it have access to your Facebook account. Then it will ask, in the sweetest nicest way possible, can it contact all your friends on your behalf, and make a similar request of them, too? May it contact their friends? Their friends' friends? What's your mother's maiden name? Boxers or briefs?
It surprises me that people who shred their junk mail to foil identity thieves from going through their garbage will happily divulge all sorts of personal information for the privilege of growing imaginary vegetables.
Well, thank you, but no thank you. I prefer spending my time in more productive pursuits.
Napping and playing computer solitaire.