Wandering off-topic

(Screenshot by BobbaLew.)

—The image above was posted to a “story” of one of my Facebook “friends.”
I screenshot it so I could put it on my own Facebook, with which I do little.
The image was “liked” by some of my Facebook “friends,” most of whom are ne’er-do-wells like me.
“I bet you’re on that Facebook every minute!” my brother bellows. He refuses to Facebook, as do many of my actual friends.
“NOPE!” I commented. “At most an hour per day, if not less. I only have 53 Facebook ‘friends,’ not the hundreds of some.”
The fact I have a Facebook at all is due to a fast-one by SuckerBird and his cronies.
Some of my FB “friends” are also due to similar SuckerBird fast-ones, like secretly trolling my iPhone contacts.
I think of one “friend” in particular. I put her business-card phone-number in my iPhone contacts, and suddenly she was suggested as a Facebook “friend.”
WHAT? How did that happen? She’s not mutual with any of my “friends.”
So who knows if any others were suggested. I don’t add “friends” galore, and have “friends” I could “unfriend.”
Being “friends” with her is okay, since we are similar in some ways. In other ways we aren’t.
Occasionally she posts something on her Facebook worth “sharing.”
But it woulda been better if we had crossed paths not via a Facebook fast-one.
I have other “friends” who found me legitimately. A girl with whom I attended college, a cousin who thinks like I do, plus the first girl I dated in high school. (She lives in Washington State.)
I have another “friend” I found myself only because she told me she had a Facebook, so I looked for it. I rarely talk to her, only on her birthday, which I don’t do via Facebook.
For a while SuckerBird and his cronies deluged me with busty cleavage. Like my age (early 70s back then) made me a lecherous geezer.
Finally they gave up!
What always melts me is some pretty girl smiling at me, an indication she enjoys my company.
And many of my female friends are flat-chested. But they can talk, and that's what matters. Sex is pleasant, but it can ruin conversation.

I had to look back at that screenshot, since I seem to be wandering off-topic.
I had to get used to considering myself an artist, since I always was told I was stupid.
I used to be able to line-draw, and I come from a family of so-called “artists,” mainly from my father’s side. My aunt (his sister) could paint, and my youngest sister wanted to become an artist. We’re good with our eye-hand coordination.
The import of the image seems to be that artists consort with the dregs of society.
This certainly is true in my case, since most of my friends are ne’er-do-wells.
“What in the world does she ever see in him?” my wife’s mother shrieked on first meeting me. “He’ll never amount to anything!”
And I haven’t = 16&1/2 years of driving transit bus.
“You have a college degree, and you drive bus? What did you major in?”
“Bus-driving,” I’d say.
My wife always told me the reason we lasted 44&1/2 years was because I could make her laugh.
“Yer gonna get married someday,” I’ve told many pretty young girls. “Whatever ya do, marry someone that can make ya laugh!

• For 16&1/2 years (1977-1993) I drove transit bus for Regional Transit Service (RTS) in Rochester, NY, a public employer, the transit-bus operator in Rochester and environs. My heart-defect caused stroke October 26th, 1993 ended that. I retired on medical-disability, and that defect was repaired. I recovered well enough to return to work at a newspaper; I retired from that almost 15 years ago.
• My beloved wife of 44&1/2 years died of cancer April 17th, 2012. I still miss her. BEST friend I ever had, and after my childhood I needed one. She actually liked me.
• I lost my ability to line-draw with my stroke. (I also lost nine years of classical piano-training.)