Have you been assimilated yet? You may not have even noticed it happening. Do you have shadowy memories of a previous life in which you didn’t check Facebook every morning when you woke up? When you didn’t think in status posts, putting yourself in the second person to construct clever phrases like “John or Jane Doe is [insert comment-baiting one-liner]? When you didn’t feel vulnerable and afraid when the hive mind was not humming around you sharing their thoughts in a constant stream intermingled with your own? My little joking analogy here isn’t so far off base. We’ve asked before if the internet is actually a giant flesh-eating robot, but we think it may be worse. Facebook may actually be controlled by the Borg. If you’re a normal human, with your life firmly rooted in the real world, you will have no idea what I’m talking about. But if you’re a person who spends a fair amount of time on the web, you have almost certainly at some point found yourself – and perhaps still are – spending an awful lot of time interacting with Facebook. Early on, we would wonder to ourselves: “am I weird? Am I the only person who feels like some kind of Facebook addict? Personally, when I validated this feeling with my friends who pondered the same question, it only made me feel like they were weird too; it didn’t provide much comfort. But the results are in, so we can stop second-guessing ourselves. Yes, it’s a problem. We now know that a third of women 18-34 check Facebook when they first wake up, even before they go to the bathroom  . We know that serious addiction sites label it a problem, as do PhD Psychologists. As far as I’m concerned, this is a moot point. What concerns me is the fact that Facebook bears such a disturbing resemblance to the Borg, and there may be NO WAY to escape the collective. Recently I thought I’d at least give Facebook a rest, but still found myself unconsciously logging on, to find that nothing new of interest awaited me – the same banal stream of commentary, the same pleas to support liberal or conservative causes from my friends. And nobody commenting on my crap. That’s the killer. When the little red number is low, and only indicates comments on other people’s stuff. How depressing. So why the hell was I reflexively logging in for more letdowns? Probably because I’m a Faceborg Drone, that’s why. I thought to myself  “Wow, I think I’m going to have to actually de-activate my account for a few days, and go back when I feel more rational about the whole thing“. But no-OO-oo. Facebook tried to scare me with images of the fellow drones I’d be abandoning, and actually wouldn’t LET me de-activate unless I assigned another person (who is on Facebook) to manage a couple of apps or pages connected to my account. DIRTY TRICK, Facebook. But I expect nothing less from what I now know is an alien collective that intends to “add my biological and technological distinctiveness to its own“. Below are examples of how Facebook is like the Borg, and how hard they make it to escape the hive. More soon, I have to go share this piece on Facebook now.

The Borg	Facebook
The Borg is a collective of mindless drones managed by a self-directed queen.	Facebook is a collective of self-directed queens created by a drone.
The borg central base (called the “unicomplex”) is located in an unknown area of the Delta Quadrant.	The Facebook central base (called a “data center”) is located in an unknown area near Palo Alto, CA.
Individual Borg rarely speak. Instead, they repeatedly transmit an audio message to their targets stating that “resistance is futile”.	Facebook users rarely speak. Instead, they repeatedly transmit a simple data message that says “I like this”.
The Borg “unicomplex” is a patchwork-like collection of thousands of cubes, connected by assorted conduits and transportation hubs.	Facebook is a patchwork-like collection of millions of “friends”, connected by assorted apps and membership hubs.
“Assimilation” is the process by which the Borg absorb beings and cultures into their collective.	“Friend whoring” and “Liking” are the processes by which Facebook absorbs beings and subcultures into their collective.
Once assimilated, it is nearly impossible to escape the collective alive.	Once assimilated, it is nearly impossible to escape the collective alive.

Trying To De-Activate Your Facebook Account

(View as single image here)

First, they assault you with pictures of all the hot chicks you know, your best friend, and your wildest party pics, with an almost audible “But so-and-so is going to *sniff sniff* MISS YOU, *sob sob*.

Then, they freakin’ interrogate you like a goddamn used car salesman or relentless pickup artist at the bar: “But why? What did we do wrong? You’ll be back some time, right?”

And what finally got me was that I didn’t want to take the time to explain to a friend how to take over the stupid app I never really use, but is live on several of the sites I manage. Bastards.

And tell me this image from inside the Facebook data center doesn’t look like the inside of a Borg cube:

Maybe we all just need a night on the Holodeck…