Read this or perish – 333
I’ve done this internet dating thing for years now. I’ve mostly dated women in their mid-30’s to low 40’s (I’m talking breast size here, not age). It could be just a coincidence, but these gals all say they want me to play dead so they can drive me around town in the back of a hearse, or else they want to push me around in a baby carriage … yet they exhibit obvious signs of a fear of commitment (to a mental hospital).
What is up with you gals? I feel like I’m dating 14 year old girls in men’s bodies, with female genitalia, but with men’s back hair … though with the post-menopausal mood swings of 52-year-old women. What gives? Or is it just me?
I am seeking a woman who sometimes poses as a boy, sometimes as a lady, sometimes as a tree or bush (the kind that can walk, though). Someone with an identity crisis. Someone who finds herself licking postage stamps if only because of the taste. Someone who isn’t afraid to play in the dirt, on the edge of cliffs, or with poisonous snakes that can spit toxic venom across long distances with laser accuracy. Someone who loves life as much as I do (i.e., not very). Someone who loves dogs, especially mine, and has no problem including her “bitch” (if it’s a female dog) on walks, trips to the zoo, excursions to casinos and/or offshore oil wells, etc. — and who doesn’t get jealous of it (it’s happened before!). The kind of person who isn’t phased by a household with no microwave, or a microwave that one casually opens, only to find a human head in it (just hypothetically speaking — I don’t do that kind of thing).
I want to spend my time with someone who really cares about what they put into their body. I am a fan of trying to eat unprocessed foods, and when I can, I eat organic produce, only to later pig out on the most processed, artificial food possible. Weird, huh?
Road trips are good fun, and I like to be spontaneous about them. Once I got it on in the bathroom of a greyhound and then wound up getting the clams, but it’s all experience.
I am looking for something long term. I can’t waste any more of my energy with someone who is not looking for the same, unless they are looking for something short-term, which is also fine.
Please be 20-35, no children, dogs are ok but we can share mine ’cause he is awesome (and fairly well hung, FWIW). Please be nice, compassionate, honest, in good shape, and attractive. Lepers discouraged but not rejected unconditionally.
At first glance, this isn’t exactly a Craigslist fail, as it made me laugh myself silly. It’s really more of a Craigslist win, in that regard. This is my favorite part:
I am looking for something long term. I can’t waste any more of my energy with someone who is not looking for the same, unless they are looking for something short-term, which is also fine.
If I were single and in this particular Midwestern university town, I would totally think about contacting this guy … and then not do it.
On second glance, there’s just something a little too strange about it. I’m not sure what it is — maybe it’s his unnatural attachment to his dog. I’ve dated men who are a little too attached to their dog, and I have to say that after that, I draw the line at a guy picking scabs off of his dog IN BED. I think that’s a reasonable place to draw a line, don’t you?
Anyway, the mere mention of dog penis is also enough to turn my otherwise favorable impression sour. I don’t want to know that about your dog. I don’t even want to know that about you. I can safely say that I have no idea what size penis my cat has. (Then again, that might be because my cat is (a) female and (b) fixed, but still … )
But the real killer for me is the “licking stamps because you like the taste” bit. NOBODY LIKES THE TASTE OF STAMPS. And by the way — wet paper? BLARGHARGHBLARGHARGHARGH. Wet paper is disgusting. Deliberately licking paper is worse than running your fingernails down a chalkboard while chewing on tinfoil and singing a Beyoncé song. All of those things are individually cringeworthy, but wet paper is worse than all three of those things combined. Stamps are nothing but wet paper with pictures on them. So is acid. I rest my case.
My point [and I don’t actually have one, mind you] is that at first this ad comes across as all clever and genuine. Then you start seeing the seedy underbelly, and you realize you’re dealing with a dog-obsessed serial killer who rides Greyhound buses and likes the taste of stamps. And one of those things is just a dealbreaker.
That’s the Midwest for you.
This was sent in by Christy — thanks!
