Pardon Me, Would You Gently Cram It?

I enjoy membership in an online dating site for fucked-up fat retards with absolutely no redeeming features whatsoever. That's pretty much how the field looks, anyway, and I'm in the field. I'm être célibataire, as the Frenchies would have it. Every week or so I toddle over to this website to see what hack-nosed granny or porcine lunatic wants to talk to me. About a month ago, I started mentioning this blog in the part of the profile where I'm supposed to be witty, smart and funny as a way of tricking a member of the opposite sex into giving me the time of day. I couldn't help but notice that the number of respondants trickled down to a fraction of what they were before I mentioned this blog. Sublime! There were about 5 or 6 who in some way contacted me before. In the cyber-universe provided, that could mean that a woman "smiled" at me, or actually wrote a letter. There is actually a "smile" button. There should be other buttons on there to express the myriad of human emotions and subtle interactions of which we humans are capable. Something like, "Pick a tick out of his back hair and eat it" or "Suck a lollipop like you're in an '80's glam rock video."

Now, I'm down to 1 or 2 people a week, at best. The only thing I changed is the address for Zeitgeist Expatriate. Or maybe that was around the time I put a picture of my cock on my profile. No, I didn't, that's a joke...and a different website altogether. But I don't know why I'm so earnestly trying to get a date at all. Yes, it's great to be in love and to fuck and all that, but is it worth the abject humiliation? Is it? For every one positive dating experience I have about ten horror stories. In all but a handful of sexual experiences in my life, my proposed partner slept with me on the first date. That indicates to me a heinous reality; If I haven't sold whatever it is they think I have the first night out, I'm not going to. If you think about that as I have, it's disturbing. Really.

One time, I blew a date in the first 30 seconds. I sat down with a fellow UMass student at the now defunct Someday Cafe. As I motioned to speak, my cough drop flew out of my mouth and hit the table. But it didn't just hit the table, it shattered all over the table. The drop had been sucked down to the width of a human hair, so when it went sailing out over my raspberry scone and crashed, bits of Hall's Mentho-Lyptus shot to every corner of the (albeit small) table. My comeback was fairly decent...I said something about the mating rituals in my country. But when you so violently display your inability to suck on a lozenge like a normal person, there's a huge hole to get out of. Not to mention the spectacle of me cleaning the bits off the table, and then missing a couple that remained to stand in silent testimony against me.

Fuck that noise. And in the spirit of that attitude, I'm off to wank into a cup at 7am. And away we go!