Dissocial media

Sergio had been putting off going upstairs to management for most of the morning. Board meetings at Facebook, Inc. were usually magnets for ridiculous ideas. Another simple development that will cost far more programming time than these suits realise, he thought. But Mike was a pal, and often ran things by him before his latest pitch.

Mike was pacing when Sergio arrived, and skipped the pleasantries. “OK, Serge. Facebook stalking meets virtual reality porn.”

Stunning. “What are you on about, Mike?”

“Do you realise the potential of a VR headset and a few dozen photos? Tinder was a flash in the pan, Sergio. Instagram, Snapchat -- just big wankstations. There are thousands of douchebags out there scrolling Facebook dick-in-hand!”

Is he pitching simulated sex with your Facebook friends? “Uh, Mike, are you pitching simulated se--”

“Think about it! VR porn is widespread in Japan. God knows we’re complicit in building a generation of socially inept fantasising jerkers -- why not capitalise on it?”

Sergio saw his logic. Japan was done with romance; it was becoming a national epidemic. “That’s your consumer market… Why would anyone sign up to be someone’s wet dream?”

“Oh come on! Online karma is a priceless currency. Social media whores have a Pavlovian response to the likes accumulating on their asscheeks. You may find this in bad taste, but you’ll be called a prude in two years.”

Sergio sighed. I shouldn’t be working for these people. “Christ. Well, logistics?”

“Here’s the strategy: Hi, Sergio’s wife. Facebook is introducing new features to bring you and your friends closer, blah blah, click to enable simulated intimacy, option one to approve requests, option two to be available to all. Be a star.”

“You’re a piece of shit, Mike.”

“I’m changing the world for 82k. ‘Piece of shit’ that. Thanks again, Sergio!”

Brendan McBryde