Intelligent advertising. Now there’s an idea that got marketing departments across the land so excited that they had to employ people to follow them around with a mop. It’s just got one teeny tiny problem, it’s shite.
Facebook, that pillar of social ineptitude that neither myself or anyone with eyes can seem to tear themselves away from, seem’s to have taken this proverbial bull by the horns and upped the irrelevance factor so high that I now find myself talking to the elderly to make any kind of sense out of it.
Now when I log onto Facebook and I discover that because my status is anything other than married I’m immediately being told that I could have spent last Friday with the ‘Famous 5’ some terrifying collection of blonde orange women whose summary intellect can be surmised by the fact that they had to use the number rather than the word when devising their clever moniker. Quite frankly an evening discussing renovation ideas with Josef Fritzel would probably have been more pleasurable.
Then if that wasn’t enough free thought chocking fun, Facebook then decided it knew enough about me to dictate who I might like to be friends with. So now I’m apparently so devoid of a social life that I should be messaging all the dredges of the gene pool based purely on the fact that we both live in London. Good to know they’ve got that nailed then.