Let’s talk about sex baby. Let’s talk about you and me. Let’s talk about all the good things and the bad things There. May. Be. Let’s talk about sex. Let’s-talk-about-sex.
Sorry, that song was in my head. Today’s topic: how technology ruined the business of mail-order-brides. What I’m talking about is Online Dating: The world’s largest shopping mall for human beings. I suggest everyone do a little man shopping every now and then. Besides watching people fall down stairs on youtube, it is simply the most fun you can have on the internet. If you’re single, awesome. If you’re taken, find a single friend and play as her character. Just like you would during Mario Party on Nintendo while she stepped out of the room to go pee. “Oh, ya sorry, I rolled for you, and ya, sorry, you got a 1.” Basically the same thing.
Float away into a dream bubble atop your head with me for a moment. Imagine this: a place where you have an endless amount of men to choose from, allowing you to ogle and objectify them without someone calling you a dirty old man. A place where you can immediately ween out the short, the poor, the vest wearers, the guys who like cats more than dogs and the guys who say they are sensitive, with just a click of a button. If you feel like a Latin lover one day and Viking lumberjack the next, you got it. With another click, you can have one feed you grapes while on a cloud made of Philadelphia Cream Cheese. That last thing may need a few more clicks if you know what I mean. (This is me winking at you). Side note- let’s bring winking back. It used to be so charming before weird clowns and creepy ice cream truck rapists ruined it.
So, admittedly, I am not that technologically advanced. I’m a little old school. I like to think that every person I hit with my car may be my soul mate. That’s why I only hit fit men with good hair and aviator sunglasses. Before, they used to kiss frogs. I think my way is a little bit more effective. But the truth is, I could never date online. I don’t like to put it all out there before sleeping together. First things first. If the sex is good, then I’ll tell you what my name is. If it’s really good, I may let you tell me what yours is.
If I were to truthfully write a summary about myself it would read something like; I’m 26 but my body looks more like I’m 18 and my face looks more like I’m 40. I love to laugh, at people, not with them. I say I like to run, but really I just like to get dressed in running gear then sit outside with a gin and tonic. I’m a writer which means I am completely narcissistic and borderline schizophrenic. I am unfiltered, almost always unaware of my surroundings and also in denial that I can lose at anything. I will wrestle with you and actually expect to win. But never will. You will put up with all the crazy stuff I do and say because my boobs are that great. Don’t make me wait, don’t let me go hungry, don’t accuse me of something I didn’t do, and acknowledge every day that you are the luckiest man in the world to be with me, and we’ll never fight.
So, you see, laying it all out there – bad idea. I’ll stick to hitting hotties with my Hyundai.
I shall finish what I started, No love, just sex, followed next with a check and a note,
That last night was dope. God, Salt-n-Pepa should reunite. What a man what a man what a mighty good man. Uggghhh. (that’s my old man grunting noise)
That’s it! High five. See ya soon.