Lady Bunny didn’t post a link or a screencap to this Craigslist ad, so it’s hard to say if it’s real or not. And more importantly, how do I respond!? I cannot let my dream man get away! Someone tell me how to get in touch!
The Truth About Me
Date: 2009-08-14, 4:24PM EDT
I am f*cking pathetic.
I don’t own a Bugatti Veyron. I do have a negative savings and as you’ll find— I am the ONLY GUY HERE whose cock is NOT bigger than Lexington Steele’s.
Read on if losers of my ilk are your type-otherwise return to the regularly scheduled programming of 9/11 conspiracy, fat chick fellatio, Obama-Osama axis of Evil, and baseless racial bias. I don’t give a f*ck. Proceed with caution as the truth MAY set you free…..or perhaps set you with me…I can hope.
Like everyone else I need to get laid, or at least have some social outlet other than, well, myself…..
It’s that time; I’m feeling that special sexy non-std’d itch, and why not share a bit about me with you deviant fiends? Who knows, perhaps there’s a similarly pathetic female out there????? Yeah, I suppose that perhaps this appeal is not-strictly platonic so I couldn’t post there, all the dudes in M4W have cocks like giraffe’s so I’m too embarrassed to post there, but my thoughts are as follows. All things should and do start as platonic, as such my appeal can be posted here or there, I settled on here as you are reading RnR and not one of the blatant post for sex sites BUT you may consider options…. If you disagree with my rather circular logic — f*ck you. You’ll keep reading anyway.
I know you guys troll around here-you’ve written me shameless (blush inducing) pleas to let you suck my cock–thanks-but no, while I have no issue with your proclivities, I am not interested in a chap wearing, Rammstein blasting, choke collar wrapped around my neck, leather clad night of sodomy in a converted loft. Though tell me, is it queer that I own a Greek fisherman’s hat and listen to early Judas Priest? I flatly refuse to accept there is any homosexual undertone anywhere in “Hellbent for Leather”. Prove me wrong-I’ll accept failure. London Leatherboys.
Unemployed by choice, 4″ COCK. It’s as thin as a shish kabob skewer. Yeah, I’ve a couple of snazzy degrees, I hate walks on the beach, prefer chicks that don’t cry. I DO KICK ASS AT BOGGLE. If you beat me, say best of five, you can have my original Boggle set (with box).
I posses an ENORMOUS porn collection (Jake Malone’s work is my favorite), school debt that equals the GDP of Taiwan. Lest I forget—two kids from the three women I’ve slept with-one is half black and may end up being the President in thirty years. Yeah, I’m sort of like Tom Brady-with a shitty spiral and two criminal liens made possible by the duma-esque welfare fraud state Massachusettstan.
Things I do for fun:
1. Go to Barnes and Noble and complete the logic section (NOT WITH A NUMBER 2 PENCIL–I USE A FELT TIP PEN BITCHES) in LSAT prep. books…..then return completed test/text to shelf. Some good that 164 has done me. Put a logic game in front of me and I’ll slam it, just about anything else, I’ll f*ck up-even wet dreams.
2. Pickled carrot eating contests-to the point of diarrhea,vomit or ideally both. My farts are consistently stinky and loud. I take pride in the simple things, like farts, and it seems my flatulent remains a point of personal pride. Take pleasure where you get it bitches.
3. Strip joints.
4. I avoid all family gatherings—together we’ll avoid yours. Be honest, if there was no biological connection to the members of your weed like family tree, would you deal with any of them? You might say ‘yes.’ No one believes you—-especially them. Hateful lecherous bastards, their f*cking kids don’t even write ‘thank you’ notes.
5. Attend open houses, tell the sellers their property sucks, then request to use their bathroom. They say yes, I enter,give birth to a skunk (never flush-f*ck wiping, though if you’re into giving rim jobs, I’ll wipe) then jerk off onto their mirrors…then split. If the Realtor is a female, I will get her card and taunt her with “yes, an offer is on it’s way….should we meet for lunch?” Being creepy is not a dis-qualifier in this (go) down market. F*ck it, next weekend I’ll wear a speedo and sleeveless tie dyed jeans vest (nothing under it) to an open house somewhere snazzy.
6. Return to Barnes and Noble-Direct to feminism section. Pick up some Susan Brownmiller bullshit and start uttering “CUNT” at audible levels. If lucky, some patchoulie stinking Barnard classics major will be near by. I’ll do my best to convince her we should f*ck–for some reason the tactic has not borne fruit. Though I will masturbate about the Martha’s Vineyard vacationing liberal arts graduate whore that night. While thinking of her, I’ll listen to early Venom (“At war with Satan”), watch reruns of “Full House”, have a belt wrapped around my neck and a thumb buried in my ass. Surprisingly, these onanistic Bacchus sessions are leaving me both exhausted AND fulfilled. IN BEST CHINESE WAITER ACCENT “Try you like”
There, finally an honest personal add, where are the e-mails cunts? All I’ve got is time, and a year’s worth of dried semen on my hands. Come join me in my private Idaho—you f*cking hateful culture whores. We’ll ride the hate bus over these troubled waters together! Cumbaya-I am Lord Cumbaya
This type of honesty is cathartic. I encourage you all to do the same, this way, there will be no surprises when the veneer of early dates wears off and the stinky mess that is human coupling is exposed for the fiscal f*ck farce it is.
Let’s do this-I’m ready, are you?