Look, I don't know if you've realized it, but Livejournal has a lot of similarities to your boyfriend Ralf. There's the obvious stuff like the fact that you've never had satisfying sex with either of them, and that your relationship is largely based on passive-agressive attraction and the Catholic faith--but I mean deeper stuff.
For starters, both Livejournal and your boyfriend Ralf are on cocaine. Your boyfriend installs swimming pool liners, and can't even pull the huge rolls of plastic out of the back of his truck without doing a big line off the tail gate. Then he smiles big and drags it over to the newly minted concrete hole shaped like your standard rectangle, a figure eight, Barbara Streisand or whatever, and lays it out on the ground. He works for twenty minutes, and fills the pool up with water, and sits on the edge to admire his handy work. Then, when the glimmer of the sun on the cool water makes a brilliant white streak down the center, Ralf can't help but get caught up in a fantasy life where he fancies the glistening surface as the most perfect gargantuan line of Brazilian Coke in the world. He is so overcome with emotion that he must immediately go back to his truck and do another huge line off the dashboard.
Livejournal is equally as cracked out. Doing big lines of people's emotional vomit all over the world billions of times a day. Livejournal can't talk to you for more than twenty minutes without having to run to the bathroom, leaving you with inexplicable waiting times just to pull up your friends list. Livejournal installs pool liners, too.
Every morning when you wake up, you see the back of Ralf's head. You think about how you just want to get to the kitchen and make some coffee and pee, and have ten minutes with yourself. All you want to have are ten minutes with Ralf not running his big stupid fucking mouth. His big stupid crackhead mouth. Talking, talking, talking. Talking about how he had to go to the hospital, or how his mom died, or how traumatic some of his past breakups were, or about how he's a grown-assed man but is still dealing with shit about his daddy. Showing you pictures from the eighties and pretending they are him, when clearly they are River Pheonix. Doing surveys out of magazines, asking you questions, and generally pretending that he is the most important person in the world--all the while demanding feedback. Sometimes, you think, Ralf has got to be gay. But then you remember he's on cocaine. But none of this matters, because no matter how quietly you get out of bed, tiptoe to the kitchen, and prepare the coffee with stealth precision and shogun silence, by the time you get to the bathroom door, there's Ralf. Running his big stupid fucking mouth.
Every day when you log onto your computer, you see Livejournal on your favorites list. You think about how all you want to do is get some work done, or maybe actually read your friends list just to see what your buddies are up to. All you want are ten minutes. Ten minutes without all of Livejournals bullshit with a bunch of dramawhores running their big stupid fucking e-mouths. Typing, typing, typing. About how they had too much to drink, or how their lives are bleak and grey, or how bad their relationships are, or how they are thirteen, but think they own the world. Showing you pictures from porn sites and pretending they're them, doing surveys and all the while, demanding that you leave comments. Sometimes you think everyone on Livejournal is gay, but then you remember Livejournal is on cocaine, just like Ralf.
This morning, you were ready though. You may not be able to fix Livejournal, but you can take care of Ralf. You got out of bed, made the coffee, and went to take a satisfying good morning piss, and sure enough, there was Ralf. You mustered your courage and your vile hatred of Ralf and everything about him, took a snub-nosed .35 revolver from your underwear, and shot Ralf thirteen times in the face. You cut him apart and sent every fleshy part down the blender. You broke the bones into pieces and gave them to the dogs in the park. Then you cleaned up and had your coffee and your fucking ten minutes of silence.
And even still, despite the fact that you were able to kill and mutilate Ralf, and resume a normal life almost immediately after, you still can't control the beast that is Livejournal. I guess that's where they're different--Livejournal and Ralf. So go read your friends page, kid!