FACEBOOK DIARIES

The number of morons proliferating in ‘facebook’ is ridiculous. Yes I’m one of them too. When asked by my economics teacher to define the word ‘need’, she was taken aback when she heard what my answer was. It was facebook. It wasn’t a definition; instead it was what I actually needed. Well, the outcome wasn’t quite surprising to me. Two tight slaps and two weeks of detention from Mrs. Parker. That’s her name. She is the ugliest woman I’ve ever seen during my lifetime and her queer looking face makes me puke all the time. Her most noble asset is her moustache which I’m sure she has never trimmed since she was born. Somehow I felt she loved flaunting it.

Just like a man cannot survive without food and shelter I can’t survive without ‘Farmville’. I don’t care how much pocket money I get from my folks but I make sure I have enough ‘farm coins’ to harvest my crops regularly and systematically. I’m highly respected in my school among my peers for having the foremost and the finest farms ever made on facebook. My dad, who acts like a loser, wants me to be a cytotechnologist. What is that?? Whatever it is, it sounds profoundly boring. I’m seriously taking farming as one of my career options. Switzerland looks like the best perfect location. But I wonder whether I should take up farming courses after graduating from high school or the knowledge I’ve gained from Farmville is more than enough. My folks are going to freak out but it’s indubitably going to be FARMING and in Switzerland beyond any doubt.

I’m very unpunctual when it comes to introducing me. I’m Wesley Beckham. Finally I’m proud of my parents just because they’re the ‘Beckhams’. It feels like I’m a born footballer but in reality my football skills sucks. It really does. Once we were playing against Reading high school and just after half time I had a wonderful solo run with the ball from halfway chucking and nodding everyone including my own teammates, as if the combined spirits of Messi and Ronaldo is inside me, finally beating the goalkeeper to score an astonishing goal. I wanted my celebration style to be very special. I took off my jersey to flaunt my naked chest to impress the pretty ladies with my sporting aggressiveness. I was already famous. Beer, parties, women, and playing for Manchester United were all in my mind. I was sure the Reading fans were looking at me with disgust and despising me like hell. As if I cared?? It was I who scored not them. All of a sudden I actualize I’m not the only one celebrating but my arch nemesis were too. Guess what? I just scored an own goal. What I forgot was to switch sides after half time. I was immediately substituted and a lifetime ban to play for Kingsley Highland. I think I hung my boots after that match.

“Wesley ‘faggot’ Beckham is a disgrace for Kingsley Highland. If I ever see him again I’ll make sure his nose is worse looking than Owen Wilson’s.” That’s the latest facebook status update from Gary Chadwick. To be very frank he’s a monster, a fiend. The body he has manufactured from his daily workout in the gym terrorizes fear among his classmates, principal, and also his parents. I don’t think I need to explain any further whether I’m scared of him or not. But he’s never ever going to catch hold of me. By the way I forgot to mention that he was in the team too. I still remember how he was craving and yearning for a pass, and how I turned deaf hears to him (on purpose), when my eyes were set on a mission to score the wonderful solo selfish goal, which turned out to be a catastrophe eventually. As the final whistle blew I took off like a jet plane. I just ran and ran till my lungs got tight, knees got heavy, eyes got dizzy and I was out of breath. The joy and happiness, when I was safely back home, was priceless. Priceless my ass!! I left my bicycle back in school. It was couriered after a few hours but, not quite surprisingly, in broken fragments.  

The only question I get quite a lot by strangers is “Hey are you related to ‘David Beckham’ by any chance?? Reality check, I’m nowhere related to David Beckham. He doesn’t even know I exist in this planet Earth. But for a stranger David is my cousin, who hangs out frequently in my crib, gifts me season tickets, takes me out to the lavish and luxurious football parties which consists of handsome football stars, renowned managers, and sensuous supermodels. Then I realize the stranger wants to be my best friend. I promise them when David is home I’ll give them a call. Hence these strangers give me a ride back home or treat me my favorite Burger King’s special. I keep a fake facebook account for these strangers.

Well last Christmas was the best Christmas I’ve ever had. My folks, who are pretty weird anyway, wanted a warm Christmas. What’s a ‘warm Christmas?’ Were they expecting the Sun to kiss England? I don’t’ know. Actually they were invited by Aunt Olivia to celebrate Christmas in Melbourne, Australia. I was still perplexed about the weather in Australia. My dad tried to explain to me why it is warm in December and summer instead of winter. He said some shit about the Earth’s axis…northern hemisphere…and the southern hemisphere. What is a ‘hemisphere’ by the way? I didn’t bother to ask him. I was just nodding my head like the way I do in Mrs. Parker’s class.

My best friends Jeremy Coyle, Warren Campbell, Rupert Holland and Frank Southcott are all freaking bastards. I had to spend my Christmas with these bastards instead of my parents. But I prefer these bastards over my boring folks. Every Christmas my mom would prepare this roast turkey followed by a social gathering consisting of only senior citizens. What am I going to talk to them? Not even their hot daughters turn up. And if u think I’ve got a fetish for old women you’re wrong. I was sure this Christmas had loads of surprises for me. Since my folks are gone, all the responsibilities were on me; like the lights, paintings, food and the Christmas tree. Thanks to my friends who were always there. I found my old camera. Thank God it was still working fine. This Christmas was going to be special. I wanted to capture each and every moment of it. This time when I upload my Christmas pictures in facebook, I’ll make sure that my album is the best among my friends and it is  I who enjoys Christmas, the most, like hell!!

One of my photos got 273 likes and a million comments. It’s not in my Christmas album but in Frank Southcott’s album. He’s the eminent bastard out of the four. 273 likes and a million comments! It’s amazing right? Amazing my ass!! In the picture you can see its snowing outside through the window and just beside it is the beautifully lighted Christmas tree surrounded by gifts sent by my relatives. And beside the gifts someone was lying down unconsciously on the floor naked with only his boxer shorts on. No surprises! It was ME. I was wasted. I totally passed out. I don’t know whom should I blame; Carling, Strongbow, or Jack Daniel’s?

Nightmares struck like lighting right after New Years’. Firstly, I faced detention at home. My pocket money was cut down, was not allowed internet for two months which meant my Farm is going to rot. Poor vegetables! My poor cattle!  No more respect back in school. And bye bye Switzerland! Secondly, I felt sorry for my strangers. They can forget about their rendezvous with David Beckham for at least a couple of months. As if it’s ever going to happen! Last but not the least; I had to go through detention for a month in school. Mrs. Parker somehow found out I used to make fun of her moustache. She caught me red handed. Her moustache shenanigan was one of my facebook status update. In spite of the fact that I had my spies around just like James Bond how did she come to know about it? Eventually I found out it was Gary Chadwick, the fiend, who complained Mrs. Parker about it. Somehow he took his revenge. It was a sweet one!