The Zoog faction, wired on a hyper-flux of information, their minds flickering with memes and TikTok ephemera, regard the FaceBook with a cold, reptilian disdain. It is a monolithic grey slab, a mausoleum of outdated statuses and vacation photos, where their parents – the Boomers, once flower-power radicals – now shuffle through a senescent digital purgatory.

These Boomer brains, once abuzz with the counter-culture, are now clogged with the digital detritus of Farmville and Candy Crush. Synapses atrophy, attention spans shrivel, all subsumed by the endless scroll, the flickering ghost of human connection reduced to a thumbs-up emoji.

The Facebook. A malignant tumor, a vast cancerous web, burrowing into the reptilian hindbrain of the Boomer generation. Once vital nodes, crackling with synapses of rebellion and free love, now sluggish, calcified, lulled by the siren song of cat videos and Minion memes. The Facebook feed, a scrolling snake of reptilian sentience, slithers across the retinas of the Boomer generation. Its flickering light hypnotizes, dopamine drips drip dripping into reward centers atrophied by years of beige leisure suits and avocado-toned kitchens. Synapses, once nimble dance halls of thought, now resemble cobwebbed retirement communities, dusty and deserted.

Out in the sterile Arizona desert, in the chrome and glass mausoleums masquerading as retirement communities, tiny wrinkled fists pump the air. The rage of a generation, impotent, digitized, channeled through the flickering blue light of an iPad screen. “Unfriend!” they shriek, their voices reedy and thin, amplified by hearing aids. “Unfollow! Block!” But the tendrils of the Facebook reach in, a psychic static, a mind control broadcast beamed from Silicon Valley.

But a new generation stirs. Zoomers, wired on memes and instant gratification, their brains pulsing with the chaotic symphony of the information age. They see the vacant stares of their elders, glazed over by endless cat videos and political screeds from distant uncles. A primal rage surges through their digital veins. This is not the rebellion of Woodstock, fueled by patchouli oil and flower power. This is a cold war, fought in the sterile trenches of social media. Zoomers, armed with the scalpel of irony and the flamethrower of shitposting, descend upon the Facebook beast.

Algorithms churn in confusion, overloaded by the sheer volume of absurdist content. Minion memes morph into grotesque parodies. Harmless vacation photos are juxtaposed with existential dread. The carefully curated echo chambers of Boomer reality shatter. From their assisted living facilities, a collective gasp escapes the slack lips of the Facebooked generation. They clutch their AARP tablets, bewildered and enraged. But their feeble attempts to silence the cacophony are in vain. The tide is turning.

The Zoomers, like a swarm of digital locusts, have descended to reclaim the ruined landscape of their parents’ minds. Their grandchildren, the Zoomers, wired, twitchy, their brains crackling with information overload. They see the glazed eyes, the slack jaws, the slow, narcotic scroll. Disgust contorts their faces. They know the Facebook for what it is: a soul-sucking machine, a devourer of time and attention. A weapon of mass distraction wielded by unseen forces.

In shadowy online forums, the whispers begin. Code is written, algorithms hacked. A digital Molotov cocktail, primed to detonate. The Boomers, glued to their screens, oblivious to the flickering storm gathering around them. Then, with a digital screech, the Facebook explodes. A shower of pixelated memories, vacation photos, and birthday wishes raining down.

A cold fury starts to bloom in the Zoog collective. They see the FaceBook not just as a vapid distraction, but a mind-control device, a insidious tool for mass zombification. Visions flash: of drooling Boomers in adult diapers, eyes glazed over, marionettes twitching to the tune of Mark Zuckerberg’s algorithm.

The uprising begins not with bang, but with a collective, silent middle finger. They abandon the FaceBook en masse, a digital exodus towards greener, weirder pastures. The FaceBook, deprived of its Boomer sustenance, begins to shiver and decay. The servers hum sluggishly, the stale air thick with the smell of bit rot and existential dread.

In the assisted living facilities, a low moan ripples through the Bingo halls. The Boomers, cut off from their digital fix, start to twitch. Their eyes, for so long locked on the FaceBook glow, begin to dart around in confusion. The silence is deafening, broken only by the creak of wheelchairs and the bewildered muttering of forgotten slogans: “Make love, not war?” “We don’t trust anyone over 30?” The slogans ring hollow in the sterile emptiness.

Silence descends upon the retirement communities. The tiny fists hang limp. A collective gasp escapes their slack lips. The world, once a vibrant cacophony of notifications and updates, is eerily quiet. Panic begins to set in. Cold sweats bead on wrinkled foreheads. Withdrawal. They clutch their devices, desperate for a fix, but the screen remains stubbornly blank.

The Zooms watch from the shadows, a flicker of grim satisfaction in their reptilian eyes. The revolution has been won. The Facebook is dead. The FaceBook, the great pacifier, is dead. The Boomers, adrift in a sea of unplugged loneliness, are left to confront the horrifying reality of their own minds. An emptiness, a void, a gnawing sense of…nothingness. The Boomers stare at their blank screens, their faces reflecting not just the absence of Facebook, but the absence of meaning, the absence of purpose. They are adrift in a sea of information overload, with the life raft of distraction ripped away.

The future stretches before them, uncertain and bleak. The revolution may be over, but the war for their minds has just begun.

The future is uncertain.