More Colorful Match.com pickup lines:
HI PRETTY WOMAN. WE ARE A GOOD MATCH. COMPUTERS DONT LIE! LOL IF YOU ARE BRAVE YOU SHOULD CALL ME 818=957-@@@@PETE
(Sorry Pete, I recognize the difference between brave and desperate)
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Good evening!Do you like Vegas? I get great tickets all the time. I just got back from seeing Barry Manilow. Let me know if you're interested!
Gary P - Mission Viejo
(Gary, Honey....Manilow? Im not interested in becoming your Beard)
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You have very kissable lips!! mmmmmmmmm
(The better to mouth FUCK OFF with?)
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Hey Im Roland and I live by you! You should call me we would make beautful babies
(When I slice your penis off with a broken Bud bottle it will lessen our odds)
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I get it. You dont send emails back. I dont understand why your here if you dont write back. is your social life so busy you cant make time to say hi or write back. your loss
(I should write him back and propose marriage)
Monday, March 31, 2008
Men of Match, please accept my apology
Out of sheer curiosity I went into Match.com to check out my competition. I did the ol switch'a'roo and began searching through bios of women in my demographic. Holy shit, there are some really, really lame broads out there. I sat slumped in my chair realizing that I was now required to extend my condolences and apologize to those who I have publicly castrated.
For instance, I had no idea that 96% of single women are "fun and outgoing" while 92% "love to laugh." I personally cant stand to laugh. Laughing is highly over rated and those who enjoy it are more than likely medicated. These same dames claim to have "a great sense of humor" and "are not into drama." Are you kidding me? I THRIVE on drama. I create it every chance I get. I can turn a family reunion into a funeral after 4 shots of Jack and I've been known to make my own therapist cry a time or two.
These broads post glamour shots taken at the mall in 1994 with the ever so elegant pink boa draped across their shoulders. The filtered lens is evident as they almost look like they've been covered in Vaseline. If they're moms they quickly proclaim "my kids come first" however I have a feeling they'd sell Junior for a romp in the sack at the first opportunity. Little Ashley can be shipped to Dad's in a heartbeat if a free meal at Hometown Buffet is offered.
Everyone is searching for a man who is "honest and knows how to treat a lady." Honest? What the fuck? It's dating! Nobody is honest in dating. Hell, I tell men all the time that I have a sweet disposition and Im harmless. Those who know me know that's a line of shit. And Sister, let me tell you, NO MAN knows how to treat a lady! We're a collection of moody, PMS'ing, chemically altered members of the human race who should come equipped with a manual. The poor bastards have been trying to determine the treatment we should receive ever since Eve shoved the apple down Adam's throat by force.
So men of Match.com, allow me to humblly apologize for attacking your lack of creativity, your horrific grammar and your out dated photos. Your soul mate is on Match, hell I've seen her.
There is apparently not enough shoreline in this country to accommodate all the "long walks on the beach" that are happening daily. Internet dating is alive and well and the old adage "there's someone for everyone" is apparently true. I guess I'll go back to hitting on men in truck stops and tractor pulls to find my Romeo.
For instance, I had no idea that 96% of single women are "fun and outgoing" while 92% "love to laugh." I personally cant stand to laugh. Laughing is highly over rated and those who enjoy it are more than likely medicated. These same dames claim to have "a great sense of humor" and "are not into drama." Are you kidding me? I THRIVE on drama. I create it every chance I get. I can turn a family reunion into a funeral after 4 shots of Jack and I've been known to make my own therapist cry a time or two.
These broads post glamour shots taken at the mall in 1994 with the ever so elegant pink boa draped across their shoulders. The filtered lens is evident as they almost look like they've been covered in Vaseline. If they're moms they quickly proclaim "my kids come first" however I have a feeling they'd sell Junior for a romp in the sack at the first opportunity. Little Ashley can be shipped to Dad's in a heartbeat if a free meal at Hometown Buffet is offered.
Everyone is searching for a man who is "honest and knows how to treat a lady." Honest? What the fuck? It's dating! Nobody is honest in dating. Hell, I tell men all the time that I have a sweet disposition and Im harmless. Those who know me know that's a line of shit. And Sister, let me tell you, NO MAN knows how to treat a lady! We're a collection of moody, PMS'ing, chemically altered members of the human race who should come equipped with a manual. The poor bastards have been trying to determine the treatment we should receive ever since Eve shoved the apple down Adam's throat by force.
So men of Match.com, allow me to humblly apologize for attacking your lack of creativity, your horrific grammar and your out dated photos. Your soul mate is on Match, hell I've seen her.
There is apparently not enough shoreline in this country to accommodate all the "long walks on the beach" that are happening daily. Internet dating is alive and well and the old adage "there's someone for everyone" is apparently true. I guess I'll go back to hitting on men in truck stops and tractor pulls to find my Romeo.
Match.hell
I've come to realize Match.com is similar to Russian Roulette. You load your personal information into the Smith & Wesson stainless cylinder and give it a wild spin. You agree to meet some poor sap and slowly raise the barrel to your right temple. 30 seconds before the the first meeting you hesitantly pull back on the hammer with sweat pouring off your brow.
Let's just say last night I pulled the trigger and dating-grey-matter spewed against the wall and stuck like overcooked pasta. He was definately the sole 357 loaded in the cylinder. Sure there were 5 empty slots, which means the odds were WITH me not against me, but that's not the way dating works.
Im due thought, right? Im due to pull the trigger and have rose pedals and confetti blow out of the barrell and into my hair when some stud who actually LOOKS like his picture or doesnt exaggerate his height by 6 inches walks through the door.
Im going to turn my blogging into Match.com dating updates. I figure with the material these knucklheads provide I could supply some great entertainment for my friends. I will fall on the proverbial sword once again, not as someone looking desperating for love, but as a socialogist/humorist/writer. Stay tuned while I load the revolver.
Let's just say last night I pulled the trigger and dating-grey-matter spewed against the wall and stuck like overcooked pasta. He was definately the sole 357 loaded in the cylinder. Sure there were 5 empty slots, which means the odds were WITH me not against me, but that's not the way dating works.
Im due thought, right? Im due to pull the trigger and have rose pedals and confetti blow out of the barrell and into my hair when some stud who actually LOOKS like his picture or doesnt exaggerate his height by 6 inches walks through the door.
Im going to turn my blogging into Match.com dating updates. I figure with the material these knucklheads provide I could supply some great entertainment for my friends. I will fall on the proverbial sword once again, not as someone looking desperating for love, but as a socialogist/humorist/writer. Stay tuned while I load the revolver.
Dating Chronicles
I swear, if I didn't want to score a free meal now and then I would never date. I have the luck of a three legged dog living behind a Korean cafeteria. The flakes sniff me out in a crowd of women, as if Im wearing "Loser" by Lancome. I need to find a repellent. Some stenchy spray that impedes their approach and warns them that I have no tolerance for stupidity. I wonder if Lysol would work?
Sure Im a cynical bitch, but who isn't? I've dated the classic premature ejaculator, the wannabe rockstar, a few arrogant firemen and a few semi-retarded guys who were entertaining initially. After I pointed and laughed a few times, the novelty wore off and I was left starring at Corky.
I wont collect 39 cats and I wont go on a shooting rampage in an autoparts store. I will continue to be the best bitch I know how to be and continue to wade through the sea of dorks, dweebs and pseudo players. I believe it's my destiny, my purpose on earth, to let them know just how lame they are and remind them just how f'ing cool I am.
Wow. I feel much better now. Time to go wrangle the herd of cats and head off to Auto Zone.
Sure Im a cynical bitch, but who isn't? I've dated the classic premature ejaculator, the wannabe rockstar, a few arrogant firemen and a few semi-retarded guys who were entertaining initially. After I pointed and laughed a few times, the novelty wore off and I was left starring at Corky.
I wont collect 39 cats and I wont go on a shooting rampage in an autoparts store. I will continue to be the best bitch I know how to be and continue to wade through the sea of dorks, dweebs and pseudo players. I believe it's my destiny, my purpose on earth, to let them know just how lame they are and remind them just how f'ing cool I am.
Wow. I feel much better now. Time to go wrangle the herd of cats and head off to Auto Zone.
49, the new 30? WTF?
This month marked the monumental milestone that IS 40. Turning 40 was painful, but plannly inevitable. Sure the alternative is death, so with that in mind I eagerly accepted my elderly status and swallowed my Geritol like a big girl. The problem I have is solely with others who tried to "comfort" me with the gayest, trendiest comment circulating the halls, "40 is the new 30."
What the fuck? 40 is a number, not a concept. 40 can be documented by a birth certificate. 40 is non-negotiable. 40 comes after 39 and precedes 41. I didn't make the rules, some jackass with an abacus wearing a toga developed this formula and who am I to question it?
So if Im to be convinced "40 is the new 30" here are some other words of comfort, using the same conceptual idea:
*Small is the new Big - Men with miniscule penis' will be porn stars. Flat chested women will be sought after due to their sexy aerodynamics and lack of grotesque curves.
*Rich is the new Poor - Porsches will be replaced by Pintos. Rolex watches will be regifted at Christmas and Timex watches will be the indicator of a successful sloth.
*Ignorant is the new Genius - High school drop outs will be issued honorary Doctorate degrees and will be permitted to perform surgery....stoned, of course, while wearing a concert tshirt and flip flops.
*Morbidly obese is the new Waif - Twinkie sales will skyrocket. A friend egg and a cup of peanut butter will be added to every Big Mac. Supersize is for pussies, "Super-de-douper-size" will require delivery by wheelbarrow.
*Flatulence is the new Pheromone - Pulling ones finger will become foreplay. Single women will maintain a diet of refried beans, kegged beer and broccoli in order to land a man.
*Body hair is the new Lingerie - G-strings will be braided pubic hair wrapped around the waist a few times.
Perhaps when Im 50 (the Lord willing) I'll be more receptive to their lame logic. By then I'll be wandering the streets, wearing a furry g-string and mumbling incoherently something about "Pull my finger you Timex wearing stallion and come eat this Big Mac off my back fat."
What the fuck? 40 is a number, not a concept. 40 can be documented by a birth certificate. 40 is non-negotiable. 40 comes after 39 and precedes 41. I didn't make the rules, some jackass with an abacus wearing a toga developed this formula and who am I to question it?
So if Im to be convinced "40 is the new 30" here are some other words of comfort, using the same conceptual idea:
*Small is the new Big - Men with miniscule penis' will be porn stars. Flat chested women will be sought after due to their sexy aerodynamics and lack of grotesque curves.
*Rich is the new Poor - Porsches will be replaced by Pintos. Rolex watches will be regifted at Christmas and Timex watches will be the indicator of a successful sloth.
*Ignorant is the new Genius - High school drop outs will be issued honorary Doctorate degrees and will be permitted to perform surgery....stoned, of course, while wearing a concert tshirt and flip flops.
*Morbidly obese is the new Waif - Twinkie sales will skyrocket. A friend egg and a cup of peanut butter will be added to every Big Mac. Supersize is for pussies, "Super-de-douper-size" will require delivery by wheelbarrow.
*Flatulence is the new Pheromone - Pulling ones finger will become foreplay. Single women will maintain a diet of refried beans, kegged beer and broccoli in order to land a man.
*Body hair is the new Lingerie - G-strings will be braided pubic hair wrapped around the waist a few times.
Perhaps when Im 50 (the Lord willing) I'll be more receptive to their lame logic. By then I'll be wandering the streets, wearing a furry g-string and mumbling incoherently something about "Pull my finger you Timex wearing stallion and come eat this Big Mac off my back fat."
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