We tend to put our best foot forward on Facebook. Here are some things we shouldn’t post:

  • Our mugshot, after we’ve been arrested for running naked around our ex’s condo.
  • High school yearbook picture where we showed off our killer sideburns.
  • Photos from our second week at the Motel 6 in Muncie, Indiana.
  • Video of our 2-year-old’s tantrum at Target and the heavy security response.
  • Any photos of us taken before we’ve had our morning coffee.
  • Video of us literally crying over spilled milk.
  • Pictures of us standing in front of our workplace, unless we just want to help the process servers.
  • The blog we wrote describing our colonoscopy.
  • Photos of us texting while we take the tight turns on Lower Wacker Drive.
  • Video of us drinking directly from the milk container.
  • Photo of our cellphone at the bottom of the sink we just filled.
  • Full names of our kids and the schools they attend, unless we’re really sick of raising them.
  • Photo of the coffee stain that looks like the Virgin Mary is crying. 
  • Photo of the time we snuck our garbage into our neighbor’s container.
  • Video of us dropping an entire Happy Meal on someone’s front lawn.
  • Our date of birth, Social Security number and PIN numbers, unless we’re really desperate for somebody to steal our identity. 
  • That selfie we took in the holding cell. 
  • Photos of us drinking a “roadie” on the Eisenhower, or from a brown paper bag on Madison Street.
  • Letter from our boss wishing us good luck at our new job that we don’t yet have. 
  • Post-eviction photos taken in front of an Extended Stay motel. 
  • Any footage of us dancing at a wedding reception. 
  • Our third-grade report card with all of those “Unsatisfactory” check marks. 
  • Any photos taken of us during the ’60s, ’70s and ’80s — especially the ’80s. 
  • Video of our failure to find and touch our nose, during the field test. 
  • Group photo of our family’s Easter brunch at Denny’s. 
  • Video of our rant at the T-ball game, insisting our 6-year-old was safe at first.
  • Photo showing the bottle of hair dye we’re going to use in faking our death. 
  • Photo of us sitting in church wearing one black shoe and one brown shoe because we got dressed in the dark. 
  • Photo of our “Mama Didn’t Love Me” tattoo. 
  • Our rap sheet, which includes a murder conviction for beating this joke to death. 

John Rice is a columnist/private detective, who has seen his business and family thrive in Forest Park. He thoroughly enjoys life in the village and still gets a thrill smelling Red Hots, watching softball and strolling through cemeteries.

John Rice

John Rice is a columnist/novelist who has seen his family thrive in Forest Park. He has published two books set in the village: The Ghost of Cleopatra and The Doll with the Sad Face.