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A contributor learns a valuable lesson: READ PAST THE HEADLINE!
Sebastian Muriel Ward

27 Jan 2016 - 10:10 AM  UPDATED 27 Jan 2016 - 10:41 AM

For eleven long years, there’s been a widening fault-line in my soul. A gap that stings my insides and leaves me with nothing but an empty well of solitude – one that will only be filled when Phoebe, Ross, Rachel, Chandler, Monica and Joey gather once again in the same Manhattan loft apartment.

Last week, when news broke of the confirmed Friends reunion, everything in my taupe Aussie life started to make sense again. When you spend so much of your life flat sharing with emptiness, re-experiencing fulfillment is an unmatchable sensation – one of cleansing tears and grateful smiles and unsullied gratitude for being alive.

So, it is with a heavy heart that I recount what happened next...


1. I held a spontaneous party with my pets.

As I’m in my mid-thirties, most of my human “friends” would only scoff at my delight over the reunion of an American sitcom. My copies of all ten seasons of Friends are hidden inside a Twin Peaks box set, so when my human “friends” lambast Friends, I’m forced to swallow my pride and dig my fingernails into my knees.

As there are no human beings in my life that share my enthusiasm, I saw it fit to turn to my cat and two dogs. I played I’ll Be There For You at an appropriate volume, made a shepherd’s pie trifle, and we all sat around with wide-mouthed mugs practicing our Unagi.


2. I watched all 236 episodes in 43 hours.

As my enthusiasm was uncontrollable, I saw it fit to watch the entire show’s run at double-speed. I thought, perhaps, if I sent a letter to the producers with proof that I’d watched every episode in record-breaking time, they’d let me into the studio audience, or even throw me a featured extra spot.

Egg on my face. Because…


3. Apparently there's no reunion episode, no reunion movie - just some TV special!

Special? Those two syllables pressed down vengefully on my windpipe. It took me a good two hours to muster the courage to use Google, but oh, how I wish I hadn’t.

Turns out this whole “reunion” was in no way a reunion of my six favourite characters, but rather five actors appearing in some non-fiction tribute to some sitcom director.

Why on Earth would the media perpetuate such a con? My anger was uncontainable, and the only thing I could think to do was…


4. Call Buzzfeed and blame them for everything.

Buzzfeed are to blame. Modern headlines are no longer headlines – they’re evil-hearted tricks designed to muck with our pleasure centers.

“You troglodytes started this shit,” I howled after they had immediately hung up on me. “You know exactly what you’re doing and why you’re doing it. I hope your clicks keep you warm at night, you truth-fearing, gif-humping net-villains! A plague on all your IP addresses!”


5.  Force a REAL Friends reunion.

Screw Buzzfeed. Screw David Crane and Marta Kauffman. Screw whoever this James Burrows bloke might be. The real Friends reunion is still going ahead.

How? Turns out all six Friends characters were living in my sock drawer this whole time. I can place Monica on my right hand and Chandler on the other, and just rotate the other characters in!

Episode one of season 11 is soon to appear on a YouTube channel near you.



6. Pretend this photo doesn’t exist.

Besides, Matthew Perry isn’t even there. He's doing a play in London. I mean, could Chandler BE any more absent from this photo? Assholes.