KICKED OUT OF FACE BOOK, THE PLACE THAT WANTS YOU TO GET BREAST CANCER

Public Enemy Number One here. That's right, citizens, beware. You're talking to the infamous Bob Crespo (.com), a man who got kicked out of Face Book. Considered armed and dangerous by the geeks that run Face Book, I am, so back off! My crime? That's for them to know and me to find out, since they won't tell me. They say it's classified for reasons of security (!) and confidentiality. Who's? Certainly not mine, since I feel pretty secure, thank you very much, and I don't give a rat's ass who knows what I write on Face Book. It is, after all, a public forum of sorts, and not exactly a place filled with fascinating secrets, unless you count what so-and-so had for breakfast on their trip to Amish Country. I suspect it is for the heinous crime of trying to send the identical message to all of my Face Book Friends.

This particular message was about a benefit show I'm doing with my band, Bob Crespo & The Big Spenders. The band is donating its time and efforts for the good cause of fighting breast cancer, and the people who come to the show will be helping out in that important battle. Apparently Face Book has a vested interest in the spread of cancer. No wonder their reason for deactivating my account is confidential! These people want you to get cancer and will not tolerate any resistance to their goal. I believe their thinking here is that they have to be incurable geeks for the rest of their lives and want to see the rest of humanity as miserable as they are.

But maybe I'm being too harsh on them. Maybe Bob Crespo &The Big Spenders ought to play some benefit shows to fight terminal creepiness. After all, unlike cancer, there are no foundations dedicated to helping awkward fools with no social skills, no doctors or scientists laboring tirelessly in their research labs to find a cure and no public show of sympathy for those stricken with terminal dweebism. They go through life clinging to their technology skills, play countless hour of video games and endure the taunts of their own mothers about getting a girlfriend one of these decades. That can't be fun. Not much point in having all the latest high-tech gadgets if the only one who's impressed by that are your geek buddies with their collections of Star Trek memorabilia and inflatable "companions."

I used to think here's nothing wrong with these painfully introverted creeps that couldn't be cured by two quick slaps and a couple of hundred bucks spent on booze and hookers, but I've come to realize their problems run far deeper than that. To geeks, the most amazing thing about i-pods is their memory capacity, not any of the beautiful and moving music they can enjoy and enhance their lives. While most of us don't give a giga-shit about the inner workings of our computers, these people are likely to use as a social icebreaker questions about RAM, pixels or processing speed. And then they wonder why they don't get laid! Try bragging about the size of something else, Jason. That's still an obnoxious approach, but at least you're in the ballpark, whereas right now you're not even on the same planet and are viewed as a different species altogether. And lose the Harry Potter T-shirt, dork boy. You're a grown man, dammit! Act like one.

But maybe living in Mom's basement surrounded by electronics and collectible toys is what makes these people happy. Perhaps I should have the same tolerance for Geek-Americans as I do for the rest of humanity. I always embraced the gay community, even wishing there were more gay men around, albeit for a selfish reason (more pussy for me!) and even more lesbians (for fantasy purposes). Perhaps that's the way to go with the geeks. After all, I have no clue how to program a computer or figure out why mine is acting up for no apparent reason. When that happens, I simply call in a geek and he comes by and gives me some condescending attitude and a sobering glimpse into his soulless existence, but at least he figures out the problem and can't wait to demonstrate how easy it is for him.

Of course I duly pretend to be paying attention as his fingers fly across the key board bringing up screens I didn't know existed within my computer, and praise him like I would an obedient child or a good dog, but I retain exactly nothing of the techno-speak. Then I pay him, thank him and dismiss him from my mind until the next time I have a cranky piece of electronics. I'm thinking now, that's just wrong. Maybe I should have asked him what's his favorite episode of "Battlestar Galactica," maybe ask him how many gigabytes of RAM he's got at home, or even about his personal life, or lack of one. Of course that last question might open a can of worms that there's no resealing, but you've got to reach out to people, even those who pretend they are more machine than man.

After all, geeks are people too, or a close enough approximation. It's not their fault they were born with an attraction to machines instead of their fellow human beings. I'm sure that scientists will one day isolate the socially backward gene that creates geeks (At least after they have discovered all the rest of them and there's no other genes to explore. These are geeks we're taking about here.). When and if that happens, count on the geeks to wear their genetic isolation as a badge of pride, one more reason to hide from the often messy business of being human. If only they didn't wish cancer on the rest of us, I might actually warm up to these creeps. As Far as Face Book is concerned, hell, I've been thrown out of classier joints than that!