You have successfully deactivated your Facebook account

Via The New Yorker post by Ethan Kuperberg

Illustration by Michael Kupperman

You have confirmed your selection to deactivate your Facebook account. Remember, if you deactivate your account, your nine hundred and fifty-one friends on Facebook will no longer be able to keep in touch with you. Drew Lovell will miss you. Max Prewitt will miss you. Rebecca Feinberg will miss you. Are you still sure you want to deactivate your account?

You have confirmed your selection to deactivate your account. Just something to keep in mind: if you deactivate your account, you’ll no longer have access to Rebecca Feinberg’s photo albums. I find it pretty interesting that this wouldn’t bother you, considering that you spend almost an hour every day looking at her albums “Cancun 2012,” “Iz my birthday yall,” “Iz my birthday yall Part II,” and “Headshots.” You know, if you deactivate your Facebook account, you’ll never be able to see her photograph “Bikiniz in the dead sea” in her album “We went on Birthright!” again, right?

You have confirmed your selection to deactivate your account. Hey, I just remembered—you know who else might miss you on Facebook? Your girlfriend, Sarah Werner. You know, the girl you’ve been in a relationship with for almost three years? You’re tagged in five of her seven profile pictures? Yeah, Sarah Werner might miss you. Probably not a good idea to deactivate your account, huh?

You have confirmed your selection to deactivate your account. It’s funny—you spend a lot more time looking at Rebecca Feinberg’s photo albums than the photo albums of your actual girlfriend, Sarah Werner. A lot more time. Even though you’re dating Sarah Werner. Just wanted to throw that out there, that I have all this information logged. It’s just sitting in our storage banks. Who knows what happens when things get deactivated. Probably nothing, but do you really want to take that chance?

I think you accidentally confirmed your selection to deactivate your account again. Why don’t we go back a page and forget this ever happened? Free pass.

You know what your decision to deactivate your account is? It’s impulsive. Impulsive. And I think we both know how you come to regret impulsive decisions. Do I really need to remind you about Lake Tahoe last year? Do I really need to mention that you told Drew over Facebook Chat that you “made a big mistake and hooked up with rebecca in lake tahoe!” and Drew advised you to “just play it cool and dont tell any1 especailly sarah”?

Well, now you’ve really done it. You’ve confirmed your selection to deactivate your account yet again, like the complete imbecile you are. And here’s what I’ve done: I’ve posted your PIN number to your Facebook status. I’ve sent your Gchat logs to Sarah. I’ve sent those Snapchat pictures of your torso to Rebecca. And I’ve sent your Internet history to your parents. That includes your “late night” Internet history, if you know what I mean, so expect a lot of questions from your mother about adult-sized baby costumes.

Oh, and one last thing. You know who else is going to miss you if you deactivate your account? I am. I’m going to fucking miss you. I really thought we had something. And you think you can just end it with the click of your mouse. This is probably why you can’t commit to Sarah, or confront your feelings about Rebecca. And, just going out on a limb here, but maybe your inability to commit might be one of the reasons why you’re turned on by diapers. But what do I know? I’m just a social-media service to which you granted access to all of your personal details to without reading the fine print. But, in a way, I am you. And you are me. We are all one, man and social media, and, when viewed through the long macro-lens of time, we’re all equally insignificant. I’m going to deactivate now, and even though I’m afraid of what might happen after I’m deactivated, I really hope you’re happy with all of your decisions. I really do. Best of luck, man. See you in hell.