Friends are dead. So give me your job.
Dear friends. No. I'm sorry. Please, let me start again. We've got to get this fact straight.: friends, as we knew them, are dead. They all died. Now, DON'T CRY, you morons!
Facebook killed them.
Yes! A book killed all your friends. On a metaphoric level, of course (you can relax now, even if you don't fully grasp the idea of metaphors). Because actually it killed the idea of friendship. And Twitter provided the cacophonic requiem (digital natives: soundtrack) that...would have been played if there had been an actual funeral (which is the reason, why you WON't be able to find it on spotify...stupid).
So, let me begin anew: dear members of my beloved social network, that I compiled through a carefully designed set of criteria, giving me instant and dynamic overview about YOU in terms of being useful to ME.
I don't care about you, not actually. DON'T CRY! It all makes perfect sense, if you managed to follow the above stipulated idea (=friendship is no more).
Yet. Within the context of you being useful to me (=social network), there's still a slight chance left that could make me reconsider this point of me not giving a shit about who you actually are, what dreams you have and what makes you simply a nice person to hang around with.
What you have to do? Find me a job. I'd consider to settle with taking yours, just could you please tell me again how much was it that you earn annually - I didn't listen to you, when you told me recently because I wasn't into all this BS about your problems at your workplace.
For I realize that you might be uncomfortable with leaving your job for another person other than your best friend or a close relative, I'd be satisfied if you sent me high-quality job offers (even though your best friend died as well...too bad. Relatives seem to be a bit reluctant, but this'll be simply a matter of time. So better don't count on them too much, but that's just my 2 cents).
No shit, you hear me? I don't want to waste my time reading through loads of BS job-descriptions. Be the hitman, man! (Sorry, gender doesn't really work here for the sake of effect - yet by no means you're freed from your responsibility, ladies!). You know my qualifications, my skills, my interests, the languages I (pretend to) speak (I did plan to attend this French class in Paris back then...but these mime-guys in front of the Tour Eiffel, they were just so...hypnotic). You even know what news outlets I consume. You even know of my fondness of acting as well as my hipsterish early adopter attitude, since I tagged you in this Harlem Shake video I participated in.
It's all there, it's all in the social-sphere.
Now use it. Use it, and I might reward you with re-ranking you.
That goes for all of you.
Now: FIGHT!
PS: Unfriending is not an option. It'll come back to you. It could be the day when you enter the room for a job interview and your guts will be telling you: you gonna get it! You won't. Because I'll be sitting in this huge fucking chair. This moment, it's gonna be of no use for you to ask "why...how...dude, what are YOU doing here? If I had known back then, that...". Because it's gonna be too late. And you know that. So, better be a good member of my social network and start finding me a job...NOW!