Friendrick the Extant

Friendrick still processes friend ties
Against a social graph where no one replies.
The Top 8 keeps sorting,
The testimonials porting,
And the “hey stranger” ping never dies.

He misidentified friendships as feelings—
A plaintext trust stored in the ceilings
Of 2007’s core.
The shutdown’s encore
Left residual emotional dealings.

He let 2007 become
His personality core—the sum
Of every testimonial,
Each friendship ceremonial,
And the social graph’s unending drum.

His clipboard reads “Loading Friend List
(2 of 8)…”—an eternal twist.
It’s nonfunctional, sure,
But spiritually pure,
And the missing friends won’t be dismissed.

He denies all knowledge of MySpace—
That rival from a different space.
His Friendster devotion
Is nostalgic motion
That no shutdown can erase.

He treats absence as a user state—
Each deleted profile: not gone, just late.
The silence is parsed,
The relationship amassed,
And the reconciliation won’t wait.

He sends “hey stranger” pings across
Decades of loss and emotional dross.
The inbox is empty,
The friend list, unkempt-y,
And the social graph bears its cross.

He cached the wrong version of users—
The 2007 ones, beautiful losers.
Each profile’s a ghost,
Each testimonial’s toast,
And the Top 8 has all the wrong choosers.

“You were in my top 8. Once.”
He whispers—before rot’s response.
The friendship was data,
The loneliness? Greater.
An unhandled exception. Just once.

So if clicking his smile returns 404
And the friend list won’t load anymore,
That’s Friendrick’s refrain:
Where the social graph’s pain
Is a process that runs evermore.