Welcome to Website High School.

I’ve got this idea for a new TV show, with the title above. It’s very awesome. Very groundbreaking. After this, I’ll kinda be like Jimi Hendrix… except I won’t swallow my own puke like a dickhead.

Welcome to Website High is a complex school with many different people actively attending. It’s inner workings are plentiful and the people attending come from a mixed background. Let’s journey through Website High, shall we?

Your car sweeps into the Guest space, directly next to the Principals spot. Just then a sweet Miatta (or whatever) pulls into the space. Out steps Google.

You salute him, because without him, this school would be like the school in Dangerous Minds. You also salute him because without him you would know absolutely nothing. You wouldn’t know how to get to work. You wouldn’t know How to get a grass stain out of your pants. You wouldn’t know how hot your oven needs to be to cook fish. The only thing you would know how to do is scratch yourself. And even that might be a challenge.

***To give you a reference: I had to Google: Google symbol, to find that fucking picture.***

So for that, you thank Principal Google.

You park your car, get out and see an extremely obese girl with a lazy eye, sucking face with a dude who… seems to be crying?

The girl starts to swallow his tongue, and grab his private parts with her paw like hand. The dude continually weeps, and slowly unbuttons her shirt, letting loose a flood of skin that completely envelopes him. And from behind a light post you see good ‘ol,  PlentyOfFish.

PlentyOfFish tries to act like he’s your friend. He’ll say: Hey, Brosepe! Come sign up to this FREEEEEE dating site, it’s so awesome! Check out all these boner inducing chicks on here, man!

He does in fact produce and you see an entire page of hot chicks. All giving you pouty lips and Fuckme eyes. You quickly sign up and message them:

“Hey, I’m John wanna play ‘Boy Scout starting a fire’? It’s where you take my penis and sandwich it between your palms. Then you vigorously rub your palms back and forth, much like a boy scout would rub a stick over a piece of dehydrated wood. This ends when either A) a fire ACTUALLY starts. Or B) I make a huge mess. K, hope to hear from you soon!”

Then sadly, she doesn’t message back. But who does message you? ‘Tabatha’… you look at Tabatha’s pictures: “Hm… all faces shots. She says she wants to come over right now…? OK! What’s the worst that could happen?”

Tabatha pulls into your driveway, and a silhouette of Grimace bounds out of her car (wagon) and up your driveway. A smart man, preferably with steel doors and double pane windows, would run back inside and lock the door. But you don’t, you invite Tabatha in because maybe, “she isn’t that fat when she takes her pea coat (or maybe that’s a table cloth?) off.”

Inside, she takes her pea coat off, and you actually vomit in your mouth a little. You ask her when she took the pics she has on POF? And she responds by pressing you against the wall and raping you.

PlentyOfFish is the sneaky guy who gets his jollies from watching his friends hook up with fat girls. And then he has the audacity to message you every month saying, “Hey, John… NEW ROUND OF PORKERS FOR YA!”

On the other side of the parking lot is a group of older kids in leather jackets, sitting around a Camero, smoking cigarettes and drinking whiskey from a flask. Maybe they’re bumping Guns N Roses? You can’t tell…

These kids are: Friendster, HotOrNot, RateMyPic, and LinkedIn. You don’t really pay much attention to them. No one actually really does. They were cool as hell in High School, but then you got out and they still hang around. They drink Natty Light at keg parties thrown by Juniors. They smoke pot with freshmen and reminisce about teachers they had. “Oh, you have Mr. Jones! Does he still wear that red tie! What a tool! GAAAHAHAHA!”

You leave the parking lot, pass a grassy knoll where Match.Com is watching a nerdy chick with thin hair and pock marks, have a picnic with a semi overweight dude wearing a flannel shirt tucked into his jeans. SNOOOOOZE fest. You actually walk up, fart and waft it onto their potato salad. Maybe you take the dude’s glasses and smash them on the ground? Maybe you walk away?…

***You can spend $100 a month, or you can step out of your house and start talking to people. It’s your call.***

Up the stairs, you see Flickr taking pictures of the clouds. You almost want to kick Flickr in the spine for being such an artsy douche, but you realize Flickr is actually pretty helpful and way better than Photobucket who doesn’t have a camera, but makes the “CSH” noises and ‘clicks’ his fingers downward. You decide to kick Photobucket in the spine.

You enter the quad, and running the show is: Facebook.

Facebook is a tall muscular dude with a letterman jacket decorated more than Vietnam camo. If this was Saved By The Bell, yes he’d be Zach Morris, don’t even ask! But instead of looking like a 25 year old high school kid with highwaters, he looks more like Paul Walker. Only not as bad of an actor.

Everyone loves Facebook. Everyone is on Facebook. And I don’t mean metaphorically. Everyone is physically ON Facebook’s dick. He actually had to attach a titanium one because his regular, flesh one was starting to wilt. Yes, like a prune, don’t even ask!

But, as Facebook gets older and is exposed to more FRIENDS, you start to worry about Facebook: You see people no longer using their real names (which is useful to finding people, oddly enough) but made up unfunny pseudonyms like: Jesse McCoolpants. Or Frank The Tank. You’re not a fucking Tank, and you bought your pants at CVS. Use your real name and stop polluting the perfect, clean cut look that we have gotten so used to on Facebook.

Facebook is a social networking site. Meaning no one is going to type in the search bar: Johnny Rocket because you think it’s funny. You should socially network a way to kill yourself; I would DEFINITELY like that status. I might even comment on it saying, “Proooooove it!”

Facebook now, is at his peak. Star quarterback, star wrestler, star poon slayer. But as you start to see people adding useless applications like: Mafia Wars, Farmville, and Hooker Breeding, you think: Put down the drugs, Paul Walker Facebook! You have your whole life ahead of you!

Facebook is a beautiful specimen with complex and workable features that should be used appropriately. If this contamination of Facebook continues, and people continue to put dumb characters in their names (ie: smiley faces, penis’s) then we’re going to see FB go down the wrong path that we’ve seen so many potential, groundbreaking websites go down.

Speaking of which, you walk along and are accosted by a very smelly, very disgusting, tragic individual:

MySpace.

You actually don’t recognize it at first; mainly because you haven’t seen it in a few months. The last time you saw it, you were able to add songs to it, write blogs, and ACTUALLY GET ADDED BY PEOPLE YOU KNOW! (Crazy concept, huh MySpace?!)

I signed on a few weeks ago and had 25 friend requests. I’ll give you a snippet of who they were from:

*~*~*~*BrEEEEEzyy Babay 4-twentaay*~*~*~*

[DJ Loc] Yo chek muh steeeeze out N shoooow luv holla.

Likes2sUCKC0ck69696969

I’m like, This is disgusting! So, I added the last one cause, ya know, I wanted to tell her how immature her title was. But since I didn’t want to jump right into it and immediately berate her, I said: “Hey girl… uhm. You sound like someone I could be wit. Pics?” Then to solidify the fact that she should stop flaunting herself around MySpace, I sent her a picture of my erect penis. That’ll show her!

As I was saying: You don’t recognize MySpace when you first see it. All these weird strange people adding you. All this spam mail.

You immediately say “Whaaaat’s up!” to MySpace because you and him used to be such great friends. You can remember all the good times you had with MySpace: writing hateful blogs, posting whatever those things were called…. Bulletins! That’s right, Oh MySpace how much I’ve missed you!

Then all of the sudden, MySpace starts scratching its chest and says, “Yo man, you got a dollah I can borrow? I’m trying to get a meal.” You give MySpace the ‘dollah’ because… it’s MySpace! You and him used to post your band’s songs on their and start networking. Your music got pretty big from MySpace, so you want to repay it, don’t you?

But then you see MySpace go over to some random guy in a hoodie and start sucking that dude’s dick. And for some reason, you watch the whole thing! From start to finish. And after, the guy gives MySpace an unmarked baggie. MySpace disappears into an alley, where you follow him and watch him shoot up ungodly amounts of Meth, while slamming his head into a brick wall.

You start to sob a little, or maybe you give him a couple more dollars cause that shit was pretty interesting to watch.

You look back at Facebook: laughing, smiling, holding a football for some reason. So much promise.

Then you look back at MySpace: laying in a pile of his own feces, with semen caked to his eyelids. So much shame.

Then MySpace takes out his cell phone and types something. From across the quad you spot TextsFromLastNight.

TextsFromLastNight erupts in laughter and reads aloud to everyone that MySpace:

“shot up a rock, shit myself in an alley, all before i could even wipe some random guys cum off my face. THAT wasted.”

• The Telly