Can they ever leave well-enough alone?

—“Where is it, SuckerBird?” I said to my iPhone.
“Another of your secret unannounced changes to Facebook’s user interface.”
All-of-a-sudden my profile-page icon was missing. I poked around, fingering various icons, none of which produced my profile-page.
Then I tried what appeared to be a menu-icon, lots of tiny horizontal lines arranged parallel.
It threw Facebook’s vast array at me: “Groups,” “Marketplace,” “Dating” (?), “Fundraising,” “Gaming,” whatever…..
Atop the menu, colored the same as its surrounding, was “see your profile.”  It didn’t match the other menu items.
“Thank you Mark! You’re hiding it.”
My Facebook is 11 years old. I hardly look at it, and rarely look at my “home-page.”
I’d dump it, but so many of my actual friends use Facebook.
Facebook no longer is what it was when I started.
I remember how Facebook deluged me with scantily-clad vixens. All because I’m a geezer — a “lonely hot-to-trot widower.”
When I joined, Facebook’s “Home-Page” didn’t exist — or did it? One’s “wall” did, a means of exchanging online information among Facebook “friends.”
I can still “wall” things, but the “wall” is gone.
89 bazilyun Facebook users need 89 bazilyun terabytes of server-space. I picture 89 bazilyun servers filling hanger-buildings nationwide.
It’s like every day Mark has to buy another server — and servers cost money. How can SuckerBird, etc, enjoy their megabuck Porsches?
I remember Ferraris and Lamborghinis slow-cruising Fort Lauderdale’s crowded streets at 10-15 mph. Rubber laid at stop-lights.
Look what I got!
Now Facebook wants me to “story” things. “Friends” “story” stuff instead of post to their profile-page.
To me that’s a ploy to reduce server usage. Facebook got so big it outgrew its ability to do as originally intended.
I don’t “story.” And my Facebook became MY Facebook. If anyone puts anything on my profile-page, I delete. That counters its original intent, although comments and “likes” I allow. (Quite often comments are only “CONGRATS!”)
Of course, Facebook’s original intent was also to survey its users, then market that information to sellers.
—70 years old, eh? Flood him with cleavage.
—A railfan, eh? Train-videos, model-trains, etc. Stampeding train marketers!
—Irish-Setter, eh? $32.95 for an Irish-Setter tee-shirt. (“What’s it made of? Gold?”)
I don’t get much any more, probably because I never bought anything.
Most irksome are the unannounced changes Facebook makes.
Now what? “Try it and see what happens.”
“How can we infuriate the average Facebook user?” Facebook’s techno-mavens start dorking things around.
Suddenly your profile-page is buried.
Engage guile-and-cunning. (“Where is it, SuckerBird?”)
Whatever happened to “Keep-it-simple-stupid?” (“KISS.”)
Change for the sake of change.

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I wrote this four days ago, and already Facebook is different.

• “SuckerBird” is Mark Zuckerberg, founder and head-honcho of Facebook.
• A terabyte is 1,000 gigabytes. (A gigabyte [gig] is 1,000 megabytes.)
• RE: “model-trains……”  — My favorite gauge is four-feet eight & 1/2 inches, the real thing.
• My current dog, “Killian,” is a “rescue Irish-setter.” He’s eleven, and is my seventh Irish-Setter, an extremely lively dog. A “rescue Irish setter” is usually an Irish Setter rescued from a bad home; e.g. abusive or a puppy-mill. Or perhaps its owner died. (Killian was a divorce victim.) By getting a rescue-dog I avoid puppydom, but the dog is often messed up. —Killian was fine. He’s my fifth rescue.