Desperate times call for desperate measures friends. Gone are the days of meeting your future spouse at a wedding or at work. Oh no. Nowadays, it's either e-dating or no dating. I'm not ashamed to admit to being an internet dating tourist, and one thing that impresses/distresses me more than anything are some of the messages that wheedle their way into my inbox. And some of these are just too good to be left unacknowledged. So here they are, in all their glory. Plus the replies I never sent.
26 July 2010
From Mr Creepy
Dear Mr Creepy. Thanks for your email. Have you ever seen the film The Ring? Your rather frightening profile pictures and the mental image you have just given me of coming out of my screen have freaked me out so much I may have to sleep with the light on indefinitely. So take your 'lols' and out-of-screen poppings stay the fuck away from my telly! Yours coweringly.
25 July 2010
From Mr Incomprehensible
Dear Mr Incomprehensible. Thanks for your email. Er...what? How about we keep this simple - no, no, no and er...no. Yours, baffled.
21 July 2010
From Mr Modest
Dear Mr Modest. Thanks for your email. I must apologise that my profile makes you feel like an inferior human being. After all, a short, round, brown-haired person of the female variety is clearly directly comparable to someone of the frighteningly tall, rakishly skinny and unfeasibly ginger variety. I would suggest you maybe speak to a close friend, parent or counsellor about your lack of self esteem as a result of looking at virtual (and presumably exaggerated) representations of fellow human beings - it's clearly not healthy. I don't want to make you feel even worse, so I'll leave it here. May that shadowy figure of fate point you in the direction clearly marked 'self help'. Yours guiltily.
20 July 2010
From Mr Direct
Dear Mr Direct. Thanks for your email. And, indeed, ur pone (sic) number, which, I will admit, I have no intention of using. But why, I hear you ask (or 'bt y' more like). Well, for starters, what exactly are you lkinng (sic) for? I'll tell you what I'm looking for. Someone who uses proper English: full sentences, proper words, some semblance of grammar, not some sort of psuedo-teen-text-lingo that will no doubt be the death of our fine language within a decade. Someone that, quite frankly, doesn't invent words using a totally random combination of letters. And someone who doesn't model their entire image on Dappy from N-Dubz. Anyway, soz2 av wstid yr tym, bt i must go n b sic (sic). Yrs, literately.
From Mr Smooth
Mr Smooth. Thanks for your email. But seriously, you think that sort of shit works on girls, all that sickening flattery, pandering to my ego? Disgusting, shame on you! Yours disgruntedly.
ps. Call me. 0781* *** ***
15 July 2010
From Mr Skeptical
Dear Mr Skeptical. Thanks for your email. You seem like a bright, perceptive guy, I like that. We should definitely get together over a drink some time. Name your date. Yours hopefully, Miss C. Diaz.
13 July 2010
From Mr Feeder
Dear Mr Feeder. What the...seriously, what the holy fuck? I have the self esteem to be beautiful, self aware and value myself? What, are you some sort of wrong 'un, self-taught yet illiterate punctuation-maverick, pseudo-psychoanalyst? And what do I like to eat? Jog on sunshine, jog on, you're wrong wrong wrong. Yours, wrongedly.
10 July 2010
From Mr Bald
Dear Mr Bald. Thanks for your email. Life could be better, I'll be honest. First of all, I've run out of hormone pills, which is not only wreaking havoc with my moods but also the hairs are starting to reappear on my chest. Not only that but my ex boyfriend has just rung to tell me that he's ridden with chlamydia, and that I need to get myself down the clinic pronto or face potential infertility. My incontinent Great Dane also shat on the kitchen floor for the thousandth time, which I then slipped on and as a result have now fractured four bones in my legs, three bones in my arm and lost the only tooth I had left. As for this weekend, once I've been to A&E and had the dog put down, I have to go and have my electronic tag removed, because since I gained those pesky seven stone, it's become rather tight and is cutting off the circulation to my foot. I also need to go and pay for last month's crack as the giro came through late and my dealer is threatening me and my nine children with violence. Other than that, maybe watching a bit of Big Brother. What about you? Fancy a date? Yours optimistically.
07 July 2010
From Mr Torso
From Mr Good Sport
Dear Mr Good Sport. Thanks for your email. I'm marginally distressed that you seem to think listing lots of sports will impress me. Men assume women love that sort of thing, hearing how adventurous a potential suitor is, making the presumption they have a buff body through all that exercise and by association they must be able to afford such activities. Speaking on behalf of my people, that's just not the case. Girls don't want a boyfriend who'll drag them up a mountain in freezing fog, laugh at them when they fall off their bike, humiliate them for being out of breath after running for the bus or draw rude pictures on their plaster cast when they break their extremities skiing. They don't. And don't go thinking the allure of old-lady-lavender scented wandering hands will be the deal clincher either. It won't. It's creepy. Yours, unsportingly.
06 July 2010
From Mr Funny
Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson go on a camping trip. After a good dinner and a bottle of wine, they retire for the night, and go to sleep. Some hours later, Holmes wakes up and nudges his faithful friend. “Watson, look up at the sky and tell me what you see.”“I see millions and millions of stars, Holmes” replies Watson. “And what do you deduce from that?” Watson ponders for a minute. “Well, Astronomically, it tells me that there are millions of galaxies and potentially billions of planets. Astrologically, I observe that Saturn is in Leo. Horologically, I deduce that the time is approximately a quarter past three. Meteorologically, I suspect that we will have a beautiful day tomorrow. Theologically, I can see that God is all powerful, and that we are a small and insignificant part of the universe But what does it tell you, Holmes?” Holmes is silent for a moment. “Watson, you idiot!” he says. “Someone has stolen our tent!”
hope that got you to smile at least.. please feel free to ask anything about me if you like
Dear Mr Funny. Thanks for your email. Well, since you've opened the floor up to questions, I may as well fire away:
1. What is it with 'lol'? Are you some prepubescant trying not to overdo their character limit on a text as they're running out of credit and mum's cut their pocket money?
2. What is your aversion to the humble apostrophe? What has it ever done for you, apart from making anything you write make more sense and have grammatical propriety?
3. And why do you think I would like to read a joke cut and pasted from a greetings card? And it's clearly cut and pasted as your syntax during said joke is perfect, unlike the preamble and post-amble. Yours, unamusedly.
05 July 2010
From Mr Indifferent
Dear Mr Indifferent. Yes, who knows indeed. Perhaps we should just leave things as they are. Non-existant. Yours just-as-indifferently.
04 July 2010
From Mr Bland
Dear Mr Bland. Thanks for your email, from which I've woken up just long enough to send you this reply. Quite clearly, you must have a vague idea how internet dating works, since you've signed up to the site, given them lots of your hard-earned cash, written a profile nearly as banal as your missive, and then made contact with another human being. Well done you. I am pleased you managed to get the last train home, since goodness knows what night time ills may have befallen you otherwise. I'll wager your friends would be waiting with baited breath for the ensuing anecdote about how you had to get a taxi instead. God forbid. Just out of interest, what colour are you painting your mother's bedroom? Beige? Magnolia? Vanilla? The same colour as your trousers in every one of your 8 pictures and, presumably the same colour as your soul? Yours, soporifically.
03 July 2010
From Mr Chancer
Dear Mr Chancer. Thanks for your email. Three words for you: cut and paste. One more word: lazy.
02 July 2010
From Mr Lowslung Ears
Dear Mr Lowslung Ears. Many thanks for your email. It's true I do have a rather lovely profile, but since everything in this life is relative, that is only because I took time to write something more inventive than 'I like to go to the cinema, eat out at resturants (sic)and watch sports'. As a casual aside, I'm not sure if you're familiar with the dictionary. Well I am, and I took the liberty of checking what feasible means:
1. Capable of being accomplished or brought about; possible.
2. Logical; likely:
3. Used or dealt with successfully; suitable.
In short, yes, getting in touch is feasible according to point 1, because you have already initiated some form of mutual communication. With reference to point 2, the chances of any further 'touch' is looking, quite frankly, most unlikely. I'm afraid, by the time we get to point 3, the success off this touch-getting has past the dwindling stage, and is now firmly resting on the side of unsuccessful. Yours, unfeasibly.
01 July 2010
From Mr Potato Head
Dear Mr Potato Head. Thanks for your email. Given the fact that your message marks the first step into any sort of two-way discourse, waxing lyrical 'a bit more' would prove virtually impossible, especially as I am not aware that I waxed in the first place...at least nothing easily discernible from my profile. Many thanks also for the new nickname 'Pretty Face'. I shall be bandying that around my friends in the hope that one day it will catch on. I am afraid to say, however, that your new nickname is not quite so flattering, although I'm sure if you were to run a straw poll amongst your friends, I suspect a high proportion would commend its accuracy. I'm afraid, on this occasion, I don't think we are romantically compatible, but if you get the Potato Head accessories set for Christmas with a few more options for noses and perhaps start wearing your ears a fraction higher, then get back in touch. Yours lyrically, CTS