George Killgoar, a seemingly normal man in seemingly normal circumstances, refuses to have a facebook account on the grounds that it would be an invasion of his cherished privacy.

Nonsense. 



Privacy is dead. Privacy remains dead. And we have killed it. How shall we comfort ourselves, the murderers of all murderers? What was holiest and mightiest of all that the world has yet owned has bled to death under our knives: who will wipe this blood off us? What water is there for us to clean ourselves? What websites of atonement, what not-so-sacred friends shall we have to reconnect with? Is not the greatness of this deed too great for us? Must we ourselves not become intensely private individuals simply to appear worthy of it? 

As the guy on the couch commercial says:  I doubt it.