Facebook Hell II—Advertisements

When is enough enough? 

I have bone to pick with Facebook.  I am tired of being constantly bombarded with advertisements.  I am drowning in Facebook’s constant flooding of my page with commercial garbage.  Fifty percent of the posts on my Facebook page are advertisements.  Every other post is a push to get me to buy some products, endorse some company, or follow some influencer.  Nothing that I need or want.  The onslaught is relentless.  Had tRump put Mark Zuckerberg and Facebook in control of his Iran assault the war would have been over weeks ago.  That is how relentless Facebook is with its advertising.  It is overwhelming.

 

Facebook has conned us all into thinking that it is a social media platform designed to connect people with family, friends, and communities.  It boasts over three billion active users.  That is a little over 36 percent of the world’s population.  A third of the world is using Facebook believing that the company truly wants to connect with people.  How heartwarming.  Three billion of the world’s population has been suckered and played for fools.  Facebook has nothing to do with connecting people, building relationships, or strengthening communities.  That is the illusion it presents while snookering us into its traps and getting into our wallets.

 

In 2025, Facebook pocketed $123.73 billion dollars in ad revenue.  Approximately 98 percent of Meta (Facebook’s parent company) revenue is raised through advertisement.  Each Facebook user contributes a little over $41 dollars towards that $123.73 profit making Mark Zuckerberg even richer.  Zuckerberg is already one of the top five wealthiest people in the world worth between $210 and $252 billion.  You know he values every single Facebook connection and relationship . . . all the way to the bank.

 

People have the right to make money.  But when is enough . . . enough?

 

The “average” person might not be bothered by any of this . . . probably doesn’t even think about it.  I’m not an “average” person.  I’m retired.  Being retired means I have lots of free time on my hands.  Because of that I noticed . . . noticed all the ads constantly inundating my Facebook feed.  Advertisements for medicines and miracle cures for my growing old age.  Advertisements for adult diapers. Clothing.  Food for humans and pets.  Entertainment suggestions.  Influencers.  Insurance . . . home, personal, life, and car.  The occasional funeral parlor.  Alcohol.  If you can sell it, it was on my feed.  The advertisements were everywhere.  Every other post . . . I counted.  When you are retired you have a lot of time to do that.

 

It is frustrating having to wade through all the commercials to get around to making that connection with family, friends, and community.  It is like trying to swim upstream.  Lots of effort, little gained.  The real goal is money, not relationships.  Facebook knows it and is good at what it does.

 

I must admit that Facebook has an inkling about this advertising weariness and fatigue.  It does give the user the option to opt out of advertisements.  Facebook uses straight out advertisement that they mark as either “sponsored” or “ads”.  The user only has to click on the little “x” in the right-hand corner and . . . POOF! It is gone . . . almost.  What happens next is a new page appearing wanting a reason for the removal of the ad.  Once given you click “submit” and Facebook tells you that you won’t see the ad again. Which is not true . . . the advertisement will be back!  The process is painless and is fast.  Of course, this just prompts Facebook to add another ad to the feed.  This continues for between fifty and hundred times before it quits, and they disappear until you come back later.  It’s worth the minimal effort it takes even if you are too busy to read any real posts . . . at least until the next you use your device.

 

This would be great if it weren’t for the fact that Facebook also likes to make ads look like regular posts from sites your family and friends like.  Sneaky.  They put your family or friend members’ name at the top of the post looking like they are recommending the advertisement.  So-and-so likes . . . then comes the ad looking like your family/friend posted it.  I kind of suspected something was up when I kept seeing ads for MAGA with my wife’s name on them. It was not a cold day in hell . . . Facebook is sneaky.  Still, there is an “out”.  Click the “x” in the right-hand corner.  A page comes up asking why you want to hide the ad.  Take your pick and click “submit”.  The ad is gone . . . for a while.

 

For several days that is what I did.  I kept deleting ads left and right as fast as Facebook could place them.  Over and over again.  Then one day I noticed that the ads looked different.  The “x” in the right-hand corner was gone and replaced with three dots.  Little did I know the devious plan they were hatching.  I must have made the advertising department of Facebook mad for them to go to this length to frustrate me even more.  It looked as if there was no way to “delete” or “remove” the ads—there was no “x”.  Everyone knows that “x” means “delete” or “remove”.  So, I clicked on the three dots . . . the key was revealed.  A page magically appeared giving me several options as to what I wanted to do with the ad.  None of the choices gave me the option to tell them to stick their advertising where the sun doesn’t shine . . . but there was a choice to hide the ad.

 

That was my choice—hide the ad.  I clicked it and another page appeared.  Now it wanted to know my reason for hiding the ad.  They even provide the list.  I always choose “irrelevant”.  Every time.  Apparently, they know my pattern because every time I go through this process they move “irrelevant” around on the list making me have to look for it.  Sneaky mean.  “Irrelevant” every time pulls up a final page telling me the steps, I can take to hide the ad.  Again, no suggestion of where the sun doesn’t shine.  Kindly, they do allow me to hide all the ads from the advertiser.  You choose that and then click the “done” button.  Once again, they promise that you won’t see the ad again . . . don’t believe it.

 

The goal of Facebook is to wear people out until they throw up their arms, give up, and accept that advertisements are like death and taxes.  There is no escaping them.  They figure the “average” person will succumb to the relentless bombardment and onslaught of commercial enticement . . . that they will just put up with it.  But, as I said earlier, I’m not “average” . . . I’m retired.  I’ve got all the time in the world.  I can sit there and delete Facebook advertisements all day long. I’ve got nothing better to do.  My wife tells me I need to find a purpose in retirement and I think I have.

 

At the same time, Facebook keeps figuring it out.  They know I am spending my hours hiding their ads.  That’s why they keep changing the game . . . changing the rules.  Money does that.  They want the cash.  Little do they understand, I want the peace of having an ad-less Facebook page.  They don’t realize how much “free” time I have since retiring—lots!  Yet, I am willing to throw in the towel to end this battle of wills.  All Facebook has to do is give me a cut of what they earn.  You know, pay me for my time of having to read their ads.  I don’t need much.  I’ll take my 1/3,000,000,000^th cut of the profits—which is about $41 dollars.

 

That is all that it would take--$41 dollars.  The problem will be solved.  The battle would be over.  The advertisements can run free.  Forty-one dollars is a lot for an old, retired guy like me.  That is close to ten lunches at the Senior Center.  Sounds like a great trade-off for Facebook and me.  Mark Zuckerberg can afford it.  What’s $41 dollars to a person with $210 to $252 billion in the bank?  Forty-one dollars . . . I’ll count it as I go to the bank.

Mouse in the House

I like my mice as fictional characters: 

Mickey Mouse

Minnie Mouse

Jerry from Tom & Jerry

Speedy Gonzales

Mighty Mouse

Stuart Little

Chuck E. Cheese

Fievel

Pinky and the Brain

 

These are mice I can handle.  They are not real.  They don’t exist.  They are in cartoons and movies—I can turn them off.  They are in books which I can choose not to read.  They are not a hassle.  They are not pests.  They are make-believe.  They are non-existent.

 

Unfortunately, there are real mice in the world, and they have come to harass my family.  A couple of weeks ago my daughter told the tale of a couple of mice who came to visit her house.  She said she could hear them in the walls scratching away.  Drove her and her family crazy.  She said it made her skin crawl and feel icky.  I wouldn’t argue.  Mice can make you feel icky.  They had mice.

 

A little over a week ago the wife and I could hear the tell-tale scratching in the ceiling—mice in the attic!  Though still icky, the wife and I are used to having mice in the attic.  It happens several times a year at our homestead.  Usually, the fall and spring.  In the fall mice move into houses in their version of heading south for the winter.  Can’t blame them as winter is brutal in Montana.  In the spring it is more like bears waking from hibernation.  They wake up hungry and see houses as the ultimate buffets.  So we are used to the bi-annual visitation of mice in our house.  Still, it is icky and makes the skin crawl.  Plus, it just pisses me off!

 

I will admit that mice are cute.  Those tiny bodies, whiskers, and big round eyes.  It is no wonder there are so many cartoonish and fictional mouse characters.  They are cute.  The reality is that they are considered harmful pests.  They pose serious health risks by carrying diseases like Salmonella and Hantavirus that they transmit through droppings, urine, and hair.  Plus, they cause property damage from chewing . . . chewing on wires, drywall, wood, insulation for nesting materials.  They bred quickly with a single female producing between five to ten litters of five to six young a year.  This causes infestations and then there’s gobs of those cute little critters everywhere.  Yuck!

 

Thus, the family has been dealing with a mouse—or should I say, mice—in the house.  All out war has been declared.  The battles have begun.  For my daughter this was a new experience and luckily her spouse stepped up to save the day . . . I mean house.  Being a different generation, he used newer versions of mouse traps and sticky pads.  In the end they succeeded in capturing and killing two mice. The noise inside the walls disappeared.  It has been several weeks since they have heard anything or seen any activity around the traps.  They were victorious in battle and won the war.

 

Though I use sticky pads, I’m older fashioned and still use the wooden wire-hinged traps.  The trap uses peanut butter on the level that springs the wire trap smashing the mouse to the wooden base.  Gruesome but effective.  Unlike the glue or sticky pads this trap kills the mouse.  With the pads the dirty deed of killing the mouse still needs to be done.  In my war against the mice, I have caught three in a week—one by trap, two by pads.  Have I won the war yet?  Only time will tell.  In the meantime, the garage is booby-trapped.  There has been no cease fire declared.

 

I realize how crude and cruel these methods of mouse warfare sound.  I also realize how anti “bless the beasts and the children”—you know, respect and protect the critters—these forms of entrapment are.  When others have a mouse in their house I am all for pulling a Saint Francis of Assisi. It’s not my house . . . not my problem . . . not my mouse.  When the mouse is in my house, well damn the torpedoes!  It is all out war short of a nuclear bomb.  War is hell and the mice are going to pay the price.

 

Besides, if I play the “nice” guy and capture the mouse in a harmless trap to be set free . . . it won’t be like in the movies.  No, the mouse won’t skedaddle off to find Ma and Pa to live happily ever after.  No, the mouse will go and tell all its family and friends with the goal of bringing the whole gang over.  The mouse will tell them of this “sucker” of a guy who gives out “get out of jail” cards to the mice he captures.  I can’t have that.  I can’t let that happen.  I must be tough and set an example.  I have thought about leaving the sprung traps with the dead mice out as a warning to other mice.  Symbolism is wasted on mice.  Besides, the wife vetoed that fairly quick.

 

I imagine that the war is far from over.  The mice out number us here.  Battles will still be waged.  Traps and pads will be deployed.  Mice will die.  For now, the hope is that we are entering a lull in the battle with the hope of a cease fire until fall.  It is quiet along the front.  The ickiness and gross feelings will fade.  At least until the next scratchy sound above our heads.  Then the battle cry will ring out.  With a heavy sigh I will begin again . . . the battles will rage on.  At least I know that it’s not Mickey or Minnie, Jerry or Speedy, Mighty Mouse or Stuart Little, Chuck E. Cheese or Fievel, or even Pinky and the Brain. They don’t exist . . . thank goodness because I think Mighty Mouse might be a little tough to handle.