I’m bored with OKCupid. Thinking about nuking my profile by putting this as the new “You Should Message Me If” section:

Look, just fuck me, for Christ’s sake. Why do I have to write this god damn essay like I’m applying for college. Why don’t we just admit that’s what this web site is for. You’re not gonna meet your husband on here. You’re gonna meet your husband at work where you’re forced to be around him without an agenda. You two will slowly grow on one another. That’s how relationships happen. Me, you’re gonna let me buy you a couple cheap wines and wake up groggy in the morning with my boner grinding your butt crack. We will make a half hearted plan to meet up at some art show; whichever one of us is better looking will flake, and we will never speak again. Why do this fucking kabuki dance. When you meet your true love in ordinary life I will congratulate you.



This web site is for fucking. But you can’t fuck unless you say you’re not interested in fucking. Look at me saying “just friends” up there, do you believe that crock of shit for one second? You have to pretend to like the same music, or the worst of us have to talk about passion career ambition blah blah blah. Well, look, your music sucks and shut the fuck up about David Sedaris but it doesn’t mean we shouldn’t have a warm body to hold on to for a couple drunken nights. I’ll even cook you a chicken. We’ll see each other at a party in a few months and make small talk and your eyes will be nervous and I’ll see it’s because your boyfriend is elsewhere in the room. Good for you. I won’t make a big deal about it. But I will make it known to him with my body language that I fucked you because men are incapable of not doing that. Being in public with a girl you fucked and not making it known somehow is like going to Harvard and never bringing it up. Anyway, why the fuck should he care. It’s not the fucking middle ages. He’s not your father selling you for a goat in some country where they stone people. Fucking is fun, nothing wrong with it.

We’ll meet and we’ll have a good talk and we’ll smoke a couple cigarettes and then you’ll drive me up the hill back to my place and we’ll walk around the park listening to the owls for a minute. I’ll try to get your tits out in the moonlight and you’ll be shy and we’ll head back inside. My apartment is filthy but I have a fine selection of DVD’s. My Netflix is cued up to Murder, She Wrote, which you will find charming. It’s actually because there’s a girl that comes over three nights a week and that’s her favorite show but I’m not going to tell you that. Go back and unread that sentence. I do not have a girlfriend. Fuck me.

Anyway. Think about it.