Fakebook by Dave Cicirelli Page B

anymore, dude.
    yesterday via mobile · Like
    Joe Lennon How much longer before you move on?
    yesterday via mobile · Like
    Ted Kaiser seriously Dave this is just sad. You are their slave! You, Dave Cicirelli, a once proud, principled young man are now a lackey for some bozo Amish people. You’re picking up horseshit.
    5 hours ago via mobile · Like
    Matt Campbell Ted, dude, Dave made an agreement as a gentleman. It requires that you be a man of your word or you are not a man at all. A commitment is a contract.
    about an hour ago via mobile · Like
    Another true-to-form post. I continued to limp away slowly from anything suspicious. Everything I did on my wall now reeked of caution. I felt like Fakebook was this beautiful but thorny flower I’d discovered but didn’t understand. I’d spent the last month trying to protect it by locking it away, but I was just killing it, and I would have kept on killing it if I hadn’t clicked onto Matt Riggio’s profile.
    Matt Riggio
Trivia night at Houlihans!
    Like · Comment
    Trivia night at Houlihans?
    That guy has the audacity to call my posts boring?
    I couldn’t believe it. He didn’t even know I was making this up, but he was giving me feedback. It was crazy.
    Fake Dave was clearly on the cusp of—or in the middle of—a complete mental breakdown. Didn’t these people have the decency to let him unravel in his own way? Or maybe they just couldn’t see it. They were too busy projecting—dumping the weight of their fantasies on Fake Dave’s shoulders.
    And in that knot, out of all the different threads, the chord that was struck was an angry one. At that moment, there was no difference between Fake Dave and Real Dave. After all, they thought he was me. I felt like Maximus in the Colosseum, bellowing out, “ Are you not entertained? ” Because while they may not have known they were an audience, they sure as hell were acting like one.
    I was new to the feeling—unprepared for it. At that moment, I resented their rejection.
    And realizing how preposterous a feeling that was…made me want to keep Fakebook alive. Yes, it was a messy, horrible knot. But every single thread surprised me. The fact that some of the surprises were terrible and some of the surprises were thrilling only strengthened my belief that this giant, flawed, morally suspect thing had a point—as elusive as that point seemed. I was scared that I’d never discover what it was.
    Desperation and pride kicked in. I wasn’t going to act like Fakebook was a failure. I was going to push this forward, sputtering engine and all. If I crashed Fakebook into the ground, at least it would be with my hand on the throttle, not the brakes.
    For a moment, I’d found my steel. Ted wanted rebellion; Matt wanted nobility. They both wanted a role model. So I gave my audience what they wanted.
    November 8: Back on Track
    It’s not easy for me to admit this. Ted’s right.
    Although we’ve been friends a long time, we haven’t always seen eye to eye. His mama’s boy attitude always clashed with my DIY punk rock lifestyle. Back in high school, I’d drag race and Dead Man’s Bluff and he’d organize a bake sale for the 4-H club. I was always sticking it to the Man, and he’d always water the Man’s plants when the Man was out of town.
    That’s why it’s so shocking to have our roles reversed.
    Ted, I’m not sure what set of USC pajamas you were wearing when you wrote your last comment…but your words have the unmistakable sting of an unpleasant truth. And there’s only one thing to do when you feel that sting.
    Take action.
    I hit the road seeking freedom and found a prison. Seriously, the only difference is that a prisoner has access to a television and a working toilet.
    This is not a fate worthy of my legend.
    I’M DAVID RALPH CICIRELLI. MY ONLY NATURAL WEAKNESS IS AT THE FREE THROW