By Dave Cicirelli
This hilarious, irreverent, and profoundly sincere memoir explores our cultural obsession with social media and dares to invite: who's the true you, and what's the tale you inform others?
At age 26 Dave Cicirelli stumbled on himself at a crossroads. whereas his acquaintances on fb looked as if it would have lives of nonstop accomplishments, his early maturity felt disappointingly regimen. So one October morning, Dave introduced on fb that he was once shedding every little thing and heading west. Many concept him brave―or crazy.
No one guessed he was once mendacity. "Fake Dave" trigger on a wild event, rest room papering an Amish horse and buggy, freight hopping with a farmer's daughter, and being abducted by means of a spiritual cult. however the on-line prank fast turned a social test. humans begun connecting over his trip, and a few have been encouraged to alter their very own lives. yet as pretend Dave's acceptance grew, the genuine Dave grew to become more and more remoted, suffering from the results of his secret.
Clever, humorous, and unusually candid, Fakebook is a real memoir of our electronic age. It explores what the outdated principles of popularity and relationships suggest in our new global of continuing connection and eventually asks: How do you draw the road among your digital self and who you actually are? and will you find your self on a trip that by no means took place?
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Additional resources for Fakebook: A True Story. Based on Actual Lies
The gun used to be bought with no serial numbers and with bullets. The undercover officer had paid 9 music 700 money. prior to we had an opportunity to completely strategy those information, the prosecutor produced one other gun record from one other sale. one other loaded gun. one other lacking serial quantity. one other huge amount of cash. It didn’t make experience. Amadi was once an underprivileged child who slightly had seven funds to get to the local dance. He used to be scared shitless of the twenty-one adults sitting in entrance of him. 9 music used to be a gangster who introduced weapons to the Russian mobster who terrified the room. a 3rd gun document used to be produced. Then a fourth. And a 5th. And a 6th. We reached 11 ahead of Officer Malkin was once excused. i presumed approximately Amadi’s testimony via a brand new lens, recalling how he’d repeated strains verbatim, like a rehearsed script. And the story—that he came upon a gun, tucked it in his boot, and was once off to the experts like an ideal little citizen—was ludicrous. it usually was once. i assumed again on Amadi and the way he used to be offered to us. the entire information: the cloth cabinet, having precisely seven funds and never, say, ten. all of it strengthened our pain and manipulated us into short of his tale to be actual. A handful of jurors clung to the discredited tale. I hated it. I hated every thing approximately it. yet I couldn’t remain silent. I stood up and spoke opposed to 9 tune. simply because as comforting because it could were and up to it felt just like the correct factor to offer him one other chance—I discovered that believing his tale may were a egocentric act. Absolved from end result, Amadi may go back to his tuition and his local now not because the scared child we observed, yet as 9 song the emboldened gangster. the single we’d didn't cease. He’d be a PR win for the crowd who exploited him. And we’d be doing Amadi no favors, either—encouraging him extra down a deadly course. A direction that led again to this courthouse, however the subsequent time he’d be a bit older and a hell of much much less sympathetic, and less than god understands what fees. such a lot of all, we yes wouldn’t be doing an individual any favors if that set off bought pulled. No, the one those who had whatever to realize have been us, the jury. we might have received the fable of dwelling in a global the place a scared sixteen-year-old child was once within the mistaken position on the mistaken time, and never in a single the place a few fucking gang may possibly seduce a determined baby to hawk their violence. i would like to dwell in an international the place his tale is correct. yet I don’t. as an alternative I reside in a global the place I helped ship Amadi Johnson, a scared child who used to be dealt a shitty hand, one step in the direction of prison. That evening I grabbed my hockey stick and went to the handball court docket on Houston. in the summertime, it’s a madhouse, yet you could anticipate it being abandoned within the useless of wintry weather. i used to be relieved to determine that it was once even plowed. I wound up and took my first shot. It was once as susceptible and misguided as ever, however the ball made a comforting “thud” opposed to the wall simply an identical. It was once approximately as quiet an evening as downtown could have, and the ambient sounds of urban site visitors have been simply pierced by way of a few of the thuds and scraping sounds of senseless ball hockey.