My name is Ian Roberts, and I’m a “like”aholic. I’m helplessly addicted to the like button on Facebook. That’s not to say that I enjoy handing out likes, but I am constantly seeking them out, 
practically manipulating my Facebook friends into pressing that tiny little button above the comment box. The like button is a pat on the back. A tussle of the hair and a “I’m proud of you, son.” An almost zero-effort gesture of approval that is nonetheless more important to you than the home run you just hit. For the past two and a half years, the like button has shaped the way that I go about posting status updates and links and photos on Facebook.
The like button has become a validation of my sense of humor. If a particular link or status update that I post doesn’t get any likes, or gets likes from the wrong people, I have failed. I spend minutes wondering what I did wrong, and then I move my cursor to delete the horrible piece of trash that doesn’t deserve to be on the internet. But I stop. That’s the cowardly way out. Let the world see my failure, and I hope I have the strength to face their harsh criticism. Then I tear off my shirt in frustration and throw my computer out the window. And then I die. Yes, every time I don’t receive a sufficient amount of likes for a status update, I die. I die a slow, painful, melodramatic death. But each time, as my soul passes on to the next life, a wayward spirit comes up to me and says, “Seriously? You died because of the like button?” and then slaps me in the face so hard that I resurrect. It is a painful experience.
Sushi in Utah 