For all you first-time visitors, we have a fun new challenge!!! (The profile will follow).
1. Received any "junk mail" yet? You know what I mean, mail with (a) picture(s) of someone's "junk"?
I know, I know, it's called "junk" mail for more than one reason. A photo of a puppy with enormous eyes playing with a kitten straight out of casting for a "bathroom tissue" ad would work 10 000% better. But we all know that. What I want to know is-- is there any woman who has EVER actually gone on a date in response to junk mail?
If you have, your story gets you a free meal at a second-rate downtown restaurant of your choice, the only catch being you have to eat it with me, while you tell me the story, of course. (If I determine that you are lying, we have to Go Dutch).
Here's the kicker, though. If you are willing to go on a date in response to junk mail, JUST to win the "junk mail challenge", your restaurant choices suddenly go upscale!!! (No, I will *not* send you junk mail just so that you can win the challenge, that does not count. You have to actually date a real-life "junk mailer" for it to count. I recommend a public place, surgical gloves and possibly, Mace, but the details are up to you.)
So you’ve probably read a few of these so-called “profiles” by now, right? Let me guess at your reaction: “Pride springs eternal.”
If all the guys on here were as brilliant, ambitious, outgoing, hilarious, resourceful, athletic, spontaneous, creative, romantic, vertically advantaged and all-around-studly as is generally claimed, would they be on a (free) website posting things to anonymous women they have never met ?
No, they’d be at Buena Notte or Queue de Cheval, in a three thousand dollar suit, doing a James Bond act with the waiter about the vintage Cabernet, and debating the relative merits of morels or shittake mushrooms to dance their “ballet of flavour” with a $75 Kobe steak. The only use we’d have for a computer is remotely managing the trades in our hedge-fund from the beach in Bali.
How about a bit of REALITY for a change? Here's what those ads should REALLY say. (WITH UPDATES).
1. Bitter, disillusioned Westmount accountant, recently rejected by long-time fiancée, seeks decent, honest, reliable woman if such a thing still exists in this cruel world of stony hearted hatchet-faced b*tches. Must be willing to tolerate occasional misogynistic rants and go Dutch on the check. (UPDATE: Taken).
2. Grossly overweight 40 year old landscaper, holding out for double jointed South American love goddess for tango sessions, candlelit dinners and sweaty passion. Must have own car and be willing to travel. (UPDATE: Taken).
3. Heavy drinker, 35, Plateau area, seeks reasonably attractive nympho-type with a passion for beer, smokes, and watching me start fights with American tourists on Crescent Street at 3:00 a.m. in the morning. (UPDATE: Currently seeing two women who are competing over him. Starting to see the theme?).
4. Bad tempered, foul mouthed, craggy faced 40 year old b*stard living in dump apartment in Outremont seeks attractive blonde with large chest. French or English o.k. (UPDATE: Still available. Profession has changed to "self-employed", however. So there IS still hope for you.)
5. St-Henri stud, 5'10", brown eyes, weedy mustache, mullet, minor criminal record. Seeks alibi for the night of July 9th, 2010, between 10:00 p.m. and 3:00 a.m. (UPDATE: Had a hearing in Court, has not been heard from since then. We suspect it did not go well.)
6. What`s your dating philosophy? Here's mine. Hot, single, sane: pick two. I've accepted that's all I'm getting. So if you're overweight, but not married or demented, you'll do. And if you're hot and single and it's not just your friends telling you that, hopefully the voices in your head are telling you this ad's the one. And if you're hot and the only voice in your head is the one telling you your hubby is an inconsiderate douche, I'm willing to overlook a bit of ring-tan, ignore the fact that we only ever meet up on weekdays and pretend I don't know you have two cell phones. (UPDATE: Profile still exactly the same.)
So if you've read this far, you either (1) think I'm funny or (2) your self-esteem is sufficiently damaged that anything better than ads 1 to 6 will do. (UPDATE: Make that ads 4 and 6.)
In either case, you might as well know that, just like every other guy on here, I’m sitting in front of the computer with PoF on, nursing the delusion that I’ll hook up with that elusive stunning blue-green-eyed strawberry blonde bestselling author-and-brewery-heiress, who has finally gotten tired of dating those manipulative wealthy playboys who talk to her perfect chest instead of offering up the knee-weakening intimacy, emotional commitment and long soulful glances she so richly deserves.
(Intimacy which, naturally, will be rewarded with regular “sessions” at my 2 ½ near Atwater, involving an array of fun outfits that would make Hugh Hefner blush and delivered with enough intensity to break Peyton Manning’s hips.)
I’m a 37 (UPDATE: 38) year old overworked lawyer, seeking a passably hot smart(-ass) young woman who will laugh at my excuse for a sense of humour, join me on short jaunts to the video store where we will argue the relative merits of incomprehensible foreign romance flicks or standup comedy specials as preludes to make-out sessions on the couch, and send me mushy emails at work. And before you get too excited about the "lawyer" bit, I don't mind if you're only into me for my money, it could work, so long as you don't really understand math all that well. (UPDATE: Oh, no, that part's still EXACTLY the same).
And no, despite the previous comment, you don't have to be a best-selling author, or even a brewery heiress, but it would help if you'd actually read something other than the latest issue of Cosmo, a Harlequin romance or required reading for class, in, say, the last year or so. And despite what #7 might suggest, No Married Women Please. You will have to wreck your marriage without my helpful assistance. Passing the ring-tan inspection is Not Optional.