I feel so cold and alone…
Monday started like any other day. Got up. Ate breakfast and headed to work. Little did I know that I would be damaged goods by the day’s end. I read through some emails and then jumped over to check in on my MySpace page, only to find that my login had been hacked by some 11 year old Nigerian kid who wanted my ‘friends’ to buy phone cards and look at some 18 year old snatch. I felt so dirty and used. I, albeit pathetically, prided myself on being one of the few that never fell for the dummy login screen and handed my password over to the neterrorists. It was like being the last dude alive in a zombie movie. But I guess my brain has now become lunch.
Monday started like any other day. Got up. Ate breakfast and headed to work. Little did I know that I would be damaged goods by the day’s end. I read through some emails and then jumped over to check in on my MySpace page, only to find that my login had been hacked by some 11 year old Nigerian kid who wanted my ‘friends’ to buy phone cards and look at some 18 year old snatch. I felt so dirty and used. I, albeit pathetically, prided myself on being one of the few that never fell for the dummy login screen and handed my password over to the neterrorists. It was like being the last dude alive in a zombie movie. But I guess my brain has now become lunch.
After figuring out how to change my password, I did the obligatory apologetic reply to all my friends who sent me ‘you done got hacked’ messages. But I still felt cold and alone. Plus, I forget everything ever, so the idea of a new password was a chilling reality to come to terms with on such short notice. It made me sad to think some little hacking fucktard was busy using my good name to peddle his shit. It also made me glad that I don’t keep anything scandalous stored in my site. I don’t know if I could handle a sex tape scandal or if my secret identity as “Client #10” was compromised. 
So, if I hit you up and told you to check out my sister’s crazy sex video or tried to convince you that I was your man for the Akon ringtone hookup…my bust, yo. I’ll continue to try to scrub away at the shame which has weaseled its way into my online life. I’m sure I’ll myspace again, but I have some trust issues to work out first. But at least I know I’m not alone in my shame. Either that, or really Cities want me to have a Macy’s giftcard too.
md
P.S. Why do people insist on calling this getting ‘phished’? It took us all those years to get rid of that drum-solo loving excuse for a band, and now we’re naming shit after those hippies? For real? Couldn’t we call it getting “anna nicoled” or “tara reided”? At least the metaphor works. I’m just saying…
MD
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