"So I got this friend," said Wallace.
He handed me another drink. Single malt, neat. I nodded him on.
"Nice guy. Known him since high school. Accepted his friend invitation soon as it hit my mailbag. Why wouldn't I? Half my Facebook friends list is high school reconnections."
"And?"
Wallace plopped onto the couch. The bowl of cheesepuff snacks on the other end of cushions tipped uncomfortably to one side.
"And the guy turns out to be a political yack. Every other Status is a rant against The Liberal Media, or the Socialist Democrats. It's like reading a Pat Buchanan riff four times a day."
I sipped. The scotch was warm on the tongue.
"After three weeks of this, I finally un-friended him. Couldn't take any more. Took me an hour to find the damn friends list controls, the way Facebook rewrites the screens so often."
"Tragic. You never spoke to him again?"
"Hell no. He sent me a new friend request a couple months later. I guess he missed me. Or something. I decided...oh, hell. I don't know. I thought maybe the second time around would be different."
I waited.
"It wasn't. Open shots at liberals--if they sound like they're in favor of ANYthing green, anti-war, or carry a Dem voter registration, bang. Doesn't matter if they're praising their kid for winning the spelling bee--he finds some way to put a damn-the-dem on the story. I get so angry...."
He topped off his mug, watching the last few drops sink into the head. "I engaged him once. On some point that was so far to the right it was off the screen. Obama's first wife was a wood-elf, or something. Didn't matter what I said, he came back with a point that sounded like it countered, only it didn't--it just expanded onto another anti-liberal plank....."
"Wallace," I said. My drink was almost empty and I rose to refill.
"Wallace, I have two words for you to consider."
I topped up three fingers and came back to my chair.
"Professional. Troll. Unfriend the yack and be done with it."
