let's start with something sexy and exciting. one of my hot dudefriends told me a few days ago that he was going on a date with an older woman he'd met online. and you know i stand up and cheer for hot new action, so i was totally excited. as excited as a person can be for SOMEBODY ELSE GETTING GODDAMNED LAID.
i didn't hear from him afterward, but i'm not such a cockblocking stalker that i blew up his phone trying to get the lurid details. (i wanted to.) i mean, i'm busy out living my fabulous life, too, right? (wrong. i'm totally boring.) after almost being killed by the last dude i met on the internet, i still maintain a surprisingly cavalier attitude toward internet dating. i'm not doing any at the moment, but i'm 100% excited that you kids do. how the fuck are you ever supposed to meet handsome and charming sociopaths otherwise? it's not like i can just walk into a bar and ask some stranger to put his hands around my throat. i need match.com to weed out all of the sexy normal dudes who make money and don't have latent rage and homicidal tendencies. pffft.
so he texted me just now that upon picking her up he discovered that she talked funny. and not just funny, but "seizure funny." i don't know what you lovers think about who or what i really am, but i promise you that if i met a dude who appeared to have developmental delays i would be fucking sweet, have a few drinks, laugh at his jokes, and expect him to pay just like i would with an ordinary dude. then i'd take off his bib, kiss him on the top of his helmet, and send him on his way.
see, THIS is why the internet is cray cray. because dirty tricks come in all shapes and sizes. a total psychopath can convincingly masquerade as a computer programmer who loves sports and is thinking about getting a dog, and a lady with a little handicap can make you think she, well, DOESN'T.
i am trying to write this as sensitively as possible, because i don't believe in god and hell right now, but if after i die i'm loitering around some pearly gates i don't want saint peter to open his laptop to this piece of shit blog and give me his "bitch, PLEASE" face before slamming that shit shut and banishing me to the depths of hades. if it exists, hell is probably on some next level gnarliness, don't you think? jesus. it's either a total fucking party, or it's child molesters and telemarketers and drunk cubs fans circle jerking. *shudder*
my boy is a dirtbag, but he's also really fucking smart and awesome. and after his initial messages i expected the next one to say something along the lines of "we had a nice dinner then i dropped her off at her place then went home to beat off to pictures of miranda kerr on the internet." NOT SO, kittens. after the "hey, i went on that date" and "man, she was kinda touched" came this:
I STILL HIT THAT. it would have been a violation of the americans with disabilities act not to. call me mister humanitarian.
i mean, she was HOT. plus the O noises were freaking hilarious.
if you bitches think I'M fucked up, you need to hang out with some of my fucking FRIENDS. seriously we're the worst, most hilarious people on the face of the earth. he went on to illustrate that dating is much like prostitution; why exchange a salad and raspberry lemonade for sex when you can just hand her 30 bucks? sheeit. i obviously need to TTD this bitch a message! thirty bucks? on a date?! FUCK THAT NOISE. okay, so maybe she had lemonade because alcohol would fuck with her medications, but i'll be damned if a dude puts his dick anywhere in my general vicinity after having bought me a SALAD. i can go outside and eat some grass for free, and i won't even have to shave my legs beforehand.
i wondered what they TALKED about. and how the transition from chuck e. cheese to the super 8 happened. god, you can be whoever the fuck you want to be on the goddamned interwebs. it's too fucking easy. for instance, i'm really an eighty year old man. anyone can get someone to cyrano a hot profile for them; i'll write one guaranteed to get you laid pronto for a couple beers and a magazine if you ask me to. then when the real unfunny you shows up for your date, that bitch is going to be like, "wtf, dude? you were so HILARIOUS in your emails!"
it is worth noting once again that I AM ALWAYS RIGHT, and that dudes aren't worth a sack of fucking SHIT. i lurve this asshole with all my broken guts, yet i was totally repulsed for a second thinking that one of my domesticated stallions had dirtied the stable with a closebred mare. ew. you dudes will fuck ANYBODY, won't you? and this here is the proof. and no disrespect to her AT ALL. i am tickled pink that she got to have sex, and i'm thrilled that it was with a hot dude with a giant penis. and you know how much i celebrate the female orgasm, so if she really had one i'm into that in a BIG WAY.
but i bet he won't call her again, and that gives me the sads. not because she's disabled, but because he's a self-proclaimed toolbox who can't be nice to girls. that's why he's never stuck his head up my birth canal, because he'd be a shitbag afterward and i would be dismayed and it would ruin our friendship and i would SPLASH THAT SHIT ALL OVER THE INTERNET, with pictures and addresses and social security numbers and shit. don't cross me, i play to win.
i really want to say something about a new event in the special olympics, but i don't want to tempt the devil. (oh yes, i absolutely do. but i'm scared.)
the kings of convenience show was last night. and it was amazing. and QUIET. really, like library quiet. and they were so cute with their floppy bedhead and skinny hipster clothes. PLUS they played "homesick," my most favorite song. the best part, though, was that they finished the encore with a cover of "you can call me al," during which erlend jumped into the crowd and challenged bitches to a dance-off. which was the greatest thing i've ever seen. and is how i want every day for the rest of my life to end.
i probably took the news of my manfriend's special hookup so badly (and by "badly" i mean "full of seething rage") because i'm jealous and filled with secret lust. letting my raging envy fuel my contempt. hm. it's a thought. maybe i should challenge that bitch to a dance-off? WIN.