MySpace Party Crashes Town

GAGSBORO, KS – A small town in the heartland of America lost its electrical power as a result of a party thrown by local Chucky Lindbergh, to which he had invited all 25,608 of his MySpace friends. The 25-year-old Lindbergh is the director of web technology at Johnson’s Feed Store on Main Street. He had managed to fit in a year’s worth of work into three hours, and so was afforded a lot of paid time to concentrate on his passion – making friends on MySpace. Tad’s interests include “grain alcohol, girls with lips and hay snorkeling.”

A week earlier, Chucky (MySpace moniker cornjazz) had posted a Bulletin Space message to all his friends that he was having a party at his parent’s home while they were in Oklahoma to see a tornado.  The timing was perfect, as all 25,608 of Chucky’s friends had nothing planned for the weekend – and to a man, woman and one eight-year-old boy (tonkadude) whose interests are “drinking 56-ounce Mountain Dews” and “playing video games that end in decapitation” -- they all arrived at the appointed hour.

Said neighbor, Edith Bunker: “I looked on down the road there and, darn, if all I could see was cars lined up for miles. Just like that baseball movie starring the handsome fellow, whatsisname, the colored guy, oh yeah, James Earl Jones.”

Yes, Chucky Lindbergh had built his MySpace friends network, and they had come. Moreover, each friend had brought along his or her laptop. Much of the party consisted of thousands of people looking at one another while posting comments to a
particular friend sitting on the grass not five feet away.
Mike Powers (toolax) is a 42-year-old biker from Fresno, and the people he would like to meet are “Sonny Barger and Sonny Jurgenson.”  He sat atop his Harley cyber-communicating with Jenna Snell (jenelhell), a young lady with four nose rings, and dressed all in black except for a yellow happy face pin turned upside down.

toolax: wut up?

jenelhell: what do you mean? didn’t you look at your “status and mood” section?

toolax: right. it says you’re bored.

jenelhell: well there you are.

There were thousands of such exchanges through the day and night. Extension cords were plugged into every available socket in town to charge the laptops in order to keep the party away from verbal give and take. Dino’s Bar and Grill went without its jukebox that is loaded with the tunes of Tim McGraw, Faith Hill and Pig Squealer to make room for a plug that allowed the continued existence of MySpace friends, flexy, pimpmommy and zadza. The patrons were even nice enough to forgo watching Saturday Night at the Hog Races to give the invading mass the necessary voltage to play You-Tube clips of a man castrating himself and calling it a vasectomy.

Some of the friends put down their computers long enough to take pictures of each other holding a cup of beer in one hand while using the other hand to display just their pinky and index fingers either right-side up and upside-down, depending on how rebellious was the poser. These crazy photos were posted without further ado on the “pics” link of their MySpace profile.

Toward the end of the night, as Gagsboro’s power grid began to moan with amps and electrons, the 25,608 friends realized that there was one friend missing in action, the most important friend of all – Tom, 33, from Santa Monica, the man who had been everyone’s first friend when they signed up on MySpace. The whole party knew that Tom liked to serenade a visitor to his site with the song “Us Against the World” by Christina Milian, but it would be great to ask him – maybe in person using their larynx – how such a cool guy like Tom could like, much less admit to liking, Billy Joel, as is listed on his Music Interests.

An apprehensive Sally Greenwood (payola) wrote on Tom’s Friends Comments: “Some friends and I are wondering, Tom, if you really exist, or if you are just a face we can put on our Friend Space to help us not look like losers.”

Then, just as the town went dark from the power outage, save for 25,608 glowing laptops, Tom strolled up the driveway of Mr. and Mrs. Lindbergh. 2,560,800 fingers went still – make that 2,560,786, being that fourteen of the friends were missing a digit. Tom mounted someone’s ’98 Volvo and stood tall before extending his arms, and shouting: “My friends!”