Boys and girls, gather 'round. It's time for a little come-to-Jesus on the subject of date-trolling on your friendly
neighborhood Craigslist. I thought I'd sufficiently covered the ol' carnal ro-day-oh! on my last go-'round. But in
reality, I'd only scratched the surface. So, to you, dear reader (citation needed), I address this Open Letter:
Dear Craigslist Reader/Lurker/Offender (citations provided),
Because it ain’t pretty, folks. For too long have you stumbled in the dark recesses of internet love (and sex). For
too long have you bumbled your way through a clumsy series of ill-conceived form letters, ill-advised overtures for
love, sex, and cuddles. For too long have you fumbled with demands for said love, sex, cuddles, and thrown epic
hissy fits when the women/men of your e-dreams have not materialized before you, offering blowjobs and
snuggles for pennies on the dollar.
I am here to set things right. I will be your spirit wolf; I will correct your grammar of your souls and your loins.
A little background: I am a single male. I am neither college-age young, nor grad-student youngish. I am not tall.
I am not well-tanned (I am so hopelessly wan that Al Gore wants to use me as a natural light source). I am not
ruggedly handsome. I am also not effeminately handsome. I do not possess washboard abs, or ass cheeks that
can split walnuts. My man-junk does not measure out to 8 inches, even if I perform a grueling series of twirling
pizza-dough stretches with it. I do not drive a flashy car. My bank statements are not going to impress anyone,
including myself. And...brace yourselves...I smoke, too. (Which seems to be worse a sin than defecating on a
priest.)
Surely then, I must be a wretched creature, hiding in the catacombs, covering my hideousness with rags and old
newspapers, and wallowing in my own languid filth, utterly and hopelessly alone, while wearing a hairshirt made of
cigarette butts. With a lot of cats mewling in my fetid wake.
But somehow, unbelievably - nay - miraculously - when I post, I get responses. And some of those responses
turn into correspondences. And some of those correspondences turn into - wait for it - dates. You know, like go-
outside-in-the-company-of-a-girl sort of dates. It's true. Dates. From real girls. American ones, even, for all you
Lou Dobbs jocksniffers out there. And you know what, boys and girls - you can too!
First, let us ascertain why we are here. And let us be honest with ourselves on this matter. There is probably at
least one critical (and critically sensitive) reason as to why you are trolling for dates on Craigslist. Please choose
from the following options:
- You were picked on in middle school, leaving you withdrawn and shoegazingly shy to this day. Chances are that
you make your living either as a middle school teacher or a blogger.
- You are married. You are also bored. You would like some fun/attention/sex behind Significant Other’s back.
- You are lazy.
- Your ass is all herped-up.
- You have struck out in all the bars in all the land, never finding your stripper-with-a-heart-of-gold-teeth / rockstar
doctor with a strong jawline who still cries over the cancellation of Veronica Mars / nice Christian girl who will
take it in the pooper on the first date / Denzel / Gisele / dude with junk the size of an immersion blender. You hope
to find this person here. Get used to disappointment.
- You, a hopeless romantic, left your girl/boyfriend on a toilet seat for two years. Suddenly you find yourself
single, and with a cold toilet seat.
- You are a spammer. And you are deeply concerned about the effects of a prolonged recession on the escort
industry.
Whatever your reason(s), you are here. To paraphrase our great American philosopher Roddy Piper, “you are here
to chew bubblegum and chase ass. And you are all out of bubblegum.” So let us get down to the nitty-gritty. Let
us help you help yourselves.
We shall begin with the ladyfolk:
Okay, okay, all right, already. We get it. You like tall non-smokers with Master’s degrees. In cuddling. And you
don't want to see pictures of man-junk. Furthermore, it is said that you hate the drama. Fan-tastic. Got anything
else to share? Mystery is alluring, but vagueness is simply not going to win you any points in the great post-off.
Posts that generally end (after having put forth little more than "o hai! mai likes mai dawggie an yoga") with a
challenge for the menfolk (those hapless, witless wretches who will be first-responders to your lovelorn distress
call) to be original, be witty, be clever.
And let me tell you, it is hard to write good material for a demographic that simply likes cuddling and perhaps the
occasional microbrew. Unless the point is to sell Swiffer products. Then we’re totally in business. Otherwise,
even Pynchon would have a hard time conjuring up the flimsiest allusion (and he's not going to send you a picture,
either, even if your name is Oedipa). There aren't even enough keywords in there to fill a quickly shat-out Kate
Hudson flick.
(Synopsis: Kate Hudson desperately wants to meet a tall non-smoker with a Master's degree, who loves cuddling
and dogs. Specifically, her dog. The last time she posted a personal ad, all she got in response were blurry,
poorly-lit pictures of man-junk. When Kate Hudson is not hating on drama, she is practicing yoga. And making
her own beer. And then nothing happens for the next 90 minutes. Except for the occasional flying monkey attack
of man-junk. And long soliloquies about cuddling.)
Blurry, poorly-lit pictures of man-junk, by the way, are the sexual equivalent of velvet paintings of dogs playing
poker. Feel free to use that line the next time you receive an unsolicited junk-shot.
neighborhood Craigslist. I thought I'd sufficiently covered the ol' carnal ro-day-oh! on my last go-'round. But in
reality, I'd only scratched the surface. So, to you, dear reader (citation needed), I address this Open Letter:
Dear Craigslist Reader/Lurker/Offender (citations provided),
Because it ain’t pretty, folks. For too long have you stumbled in the dark recesses of internet love (and sex). For
too long have you bumbled your way through a clumsy series of ill-conceived form letters, ill-advised overtures for
love, sex, and cuddles. For too long have you fumbled with demands for said love, sex, cuddles, and thrown epic
hissy fits when the women/men of your e-dreams have not materialized before you, offering blowjobs and
snuggles for pennies on the dollar.
I am here to set things right. I will be your spirit wolf; I will correct your grammar of your souls and your loins.
A little background: I am a single male. I am neither college-age young, nor grad-student youngish. I am not tall.
I am not well-tanned (I am so hopelessly wan that Al Gore wants to use me as a natural light source). I am not
ruggedly handsome. I am also not effeminately handsome. I do not possess washboard abs, or ass cheeks that
can split walnuts. My man-junk does not measure out to 8 inches, even if I perform a grueling series of twirling
pizza-dough stretches with it. I do not drive a flashy car. My bank statements are not going to impress anyone,
including myself. And...brace yourselves...I smoke, too. (Which seems to be worse a sin than defecating on a
priest.)
Surely then, I must be a wretched creature, hiding in the catacombs, covering my hideousness with rags and old
newspapers, and wallowing in my own languid filth, utterly and hopelessly alone, while wearing a hairshirt made of
cigarette butts. With a lot of cats mewling in my fetid wake.
But somehow, unbelievably - nay - miraculously - when I post, I get responses. And some of those responses
turn into correspondences. And some of those correspondences turn into - wait for it - dates. You know, like go-
outside-in-the-company-of-a-girl sort of dates. It's true. Dates. From real girls. American ones, even, for all you
Lou Dobbs jocksniffers out there. And you know what, boys and girls - you can too!
First, let us ascertain why we are here. And let us be honest with ourselves on this matter. There is probably at
least one critical (and critically sensitive) reason as to why you are trolling for dates on Craigslist. Please choose
from the following options:
- You were picked on in middle school, leaving you withdrawn and shoegazingly shy to this day. Chances are that
you make your living either as a middle school teacher or a blogger.
- You are married. You are also bored. You would like some fun/attention/sex behind Significant Other’s back.
- You are lazy.
- Your ass is all herped-up.
- You have struck out in all the bars in all the land, never finding your stripper-with-a-heart-of-gold-teeth / rockstar
doctor with a strong jawline who still cries over the cancellation of Veronica Mars / nice Christian girl who will
take it in the pooper on the first date / Denzel / Gisele / dude with junk the size of an immersion blender. You hope
to find this person here. Get used to disappointment.
- You, a hopeless romantic, left your girl/boyfriend on a toilet seat for two years. Suddenly you find yourself
single, and with a cold toilet seat.
- You are a spammer. And you are deeply concerned about the effects of a prolonged recession on the escort
industry.
Whatever your reason(s), you are here. To paraphrase our great American philosopher Roddy Piper, “you are here
to chew bubblegum and chase ass. And you are all out of bubblegum.” So let us get down to the nitty-gritty. Let
us help you help yourselves.
We shall begin with the ladyfolk:
Okay, okay, all right, already. We get it. You like tall non-smokers with Master’s degrees. In cuddling. And you
don't want to see pictures of man-junk. Furthermore, it is said that you hate the drama. Fan-tastic. Got anything
else to share? Mystery is alluring, but vagueness is simply not going to win you any points in the great post-off.
Posts that generally end (after having put forth little more than "o hai! mai likes mai dawggie an yoga") with a
challenge for the menfolk (those hapless, witless wretches who will be first-responders to your lovelorn distress
call) to be original, be witty, be clever.
And let me tell you, it is hard to write good material for a demographic that simply likes cuddling and perhaps the
occasional microbrew. Unless the point is to sell Swiffer products. Then we’re totally in business. Otherwise,
even Pynchon would have a hard time conjuring up the flimsiest allusion (and he's not going to send you a picture,
either, even if your name is Oedipa). There aren't even enough keywords in there to fill a quickly shat-out Kate
Hudson flick.
(Synopsis: Kate Hudson desperately wants to meet a tall non-smoker with a Master's degree, who loves cuddling
and dogs. Specifically, her dog. The last time she posted a personal ad, all she got in response were blurry,
poorly-lit pictures of man-junk. When Kate Hudson is not hating on drama, she is practicing yoga. And making
her own beer. And then nothing happens for the next 90 minutes. Except for the occasional flying monkey attack
of man-junk. And long soliloquies about cuddling.)
Blurry, poorly-lit pictures of man-junk, by the way, are the sexual equivalent of velvet paintings of dogs playing
poker. Feel free to use that line the next time you receive an unsolicited junk-shot.
This is not the phrase one employs in the pursuit of True Love (or To Blave). It is not the phrase one employs even
if one is trying to get one's taint licked (South Carolina, I'm looking at you).
Having a sense of humor also helps. Displaying a sense of humor is even better. And not in a "I broke my last
girlfriend's jaw cuz she was a bitch LOL" sort of way, either. The ladies, they don't go for that sort of thing. Just
trust me on this one. Ain’t gonna play.
And for those of you who walk on the wilder side. Any half-rational woman (even the ones out in South Carolina -
just kidding, ladies of the Confederacy - we loves ya) is not going to respond to your post offering an impromptu
whipping and tit-clamping session at the local Motel 6. Don't bother leaving the light on, unless you plan on doing
some heavy reading (I suggest Proust - it's thematically similar). Just saying. And Proust is much easier to
safeword your way out of than Japanese rope bondage.
Also, for all you sensitive-but-pure literary types looking for a muse/escort (otherwise known as The Buying of Lot's
69): just stop it. It isn’t romantic. It’s creepy and pretentious. And nobody wants to see pretentious man-junk.
Not ever.
This next one is important. Please write it down. Get over your irrational hatred of women larger than 120lbs.
Especially if you look like anything less than a Greek deity. (The only deity I have been compared to is Pan, if Pan
did a stint in rehab – okay, two - honest - and upon his release, ate several of the other gods. And let me tell you,
stork-legs and giant man-belly do not a fun combination make.) If nothing else, look at it from a purely pragmatic
point of view: the lady-parts you idealize so much are just…bigger. And we as Americans enjoy our God-given right
to have the things we love biggie-sized (except for the man-junk, sadly. I have friends at MIT working on it.). So
this is a good thing, is it not? Let us take a moment to tabulate. The boobies get bigger; yay for our side! The
bottoms get bigger; yay for our side yet again! More boobies, more bottoms, more reasons for the man-junk to jack
itself up into junkie nirvana.
And on the topic of rampant misogyny, it is in extremely poor taste to flag a posting from a woman who commits
the crime of not responding to your pedantic form email and man-junk pictures. Get over it. Buy a dog or a Realdoll.
Oh, and one other thing. Stop hedging your bets by simultaneously posting in m4m (aloha, married men!) with the
header "str8 dude sks jackoff buddy". If you really want to get the girl, then concentrate on getting the girl. If you
really want a jackoff buddy, then at least spell out the word 'straight'. Because most of my gay friends have English
degrees. And they think bi-curious straight dudes are fucking hysterical.
And a few last-minute tips for both sexes: Grammar is your friend. Learn to utilize this wonderful language we
have, in its written form. Spelling counts. If you cannot articulate yourself in written form (a form which should
work to your advantage: you have time to consider, edit, and spell-check), how should anyone expect you to
articulate yourself in person? Punctuation too, is a friend to all, not unlike Kate Hudson’s dog. Colons, Semi-colons,
commas and hyphens are neither varieties of Japanese throwing star, nor leftover bits from your box of Lucky
Charms. Employ them with gusto.
Of course, many of you will keep on keeping on. Which is fine. Your posts bring great entertainment to the mass of
giggling lurkers out there (yes, we are giggling at you specifically). We wish you all the best. Now get out there and
do those grimy things you do!
If you disagree with any of the above statements, feel free to fire off a hastily composed missive calling me a
dumbass, megalomaniac, or granola eating fuckshit. I will cheerfully reply with pictures of my man-junk. And they
will not be blurry.
if one is trying to get one's taint licked (South Carolina, I'm looking at you).
Having a sense of humor also helps. Displaying a sense of humor is even better. And not in a "I broke my last
girlfriend's jaw cuz she was a bitch LOL" sort of way, either. The ladies, they don't go for that sort of thing. Just
trust me on this one. Ain’t gonna play.
And for those of you who walk on the wilder side. Any half-rational woman (even the ones out in South Carolina -
just kidding, ladies of the Confederacy - we loves ya) is not going to respond to your post offering an impromptu
whipping and tit-clamping session at the local Motel 6. Don't bother leaving the light on, unless you plan on doing
some heavy reading (I suggest Proust - it's thematically similar). Just saying. And Proust is much easier to
safeword your way out of than Japanese rope bondage.
Also, for all you sensitive-but-pure literary types looking for a muse/escort (otherwise known as The Buying of Lot's
69): just stop it. It isn’t romantic. It’s creepy and pretentious. And nobody wants to see pretentious man-junk.
Not ever.
This next one is important. Please write it down. Get over your irrational hatred of women larger than 120lbs.
Especially if you look like anything less than a Greek deity. (The only deity I have been compared to is Pan, if Pan
did a stint in rehab – okay, two - honest - and upon his release, ate several of the other gods. And let me tell you,
stork-legs and giant man-belly do not a fun combination make.) If nothing else, look at it from a purely pragmatic
point of view: the lady-parts you idealize so much are just…bigger. And we as Americans enjoy our God-given right
to have the things we love biggie-sized (except for the man-junk, sadly. I have friends at MIT working on it.). So
this is a good thing, is it not? Let us take a moment to tabulate. The boobies get bigger; yay for our side! The
bottoms get bigger; yay for our side yet again! More boobies, more bottoms, more reasons for the man-junk to jack
itself up into junkie nirvana.
And on the topic of rampant misogyny, it is in extremely poor taste to flag a posting from a woman who commits
the crime of not responding to your pedantic form email and man-junk pictures. Get over it. Buy a dog or a Realdoll.
Oh, and one other thing. Stop hedging your bets by simultaneously posting in m4m (aloha, married men!) with the
header "str8 dude sks jackoff buddy". If you really want to get the girl, then concentrate on getting the girl. If you
really want a jackoff buddy, then at least spell out the word 'straight'. Because most of my gay friends have English
degrees. And they think bi-curious straight dudes are fucking hysterical.
And a few last-minute tips for both sexes: Grammar is your friend. Learn to utilize this wonderful language we
have, in its written form. Spelling counts. If you cannot articulate yourself in written form (a form which should
work to your advantage: you have time to consider, edit, and spell-check), how should anyone expect you to
articulate yourself in person? Punctuation too, is a friend to all, not unlike Kate Hudson’s dog. Colons, Semi-colons,
commas and hyphens are neither varieties of Japanese throwing star, nor leftover bits from your box of Lucky
Charms. Employ them with gusto.
Of course, many of you will keep on keeping on. Which is fine. Your posts bring great entertainment to the mass of
giggling lurkers out there (yes, we are giggling at you specifically). We wish you all the best. Now get out there and
do those grimy things you do!
If you disagree with any of the above statements, feel free to fire off a hastily composed missive calling me a
dumbass, megalomaniac, or granola eating fuckshit. I will cheerfully reply with pictures of my man-junk. And they
will not be blurry.
And ladies, someone has to say it, so let me be the one: Mssrs. Big, Rochester and D’Arcy (preferably in the visage
of James McAvoy) are not trolling Craigslist. They are snorting heroin off the breasts of Emperor’s Club girls. It is
not that you should have to settle for less. But if you are seriously looking for anything on Craigslist, then let's be
serious here. You'll be lucky if he has teeth, a car, and a criminal record shorter in length than his penis.
To put it a bit more bluntly, the genetic accomplishment of having lady-junk is not enough to guarantee you the email
of your dreams. Boobies are nice (they're better than nice, actually; they're downright fabulous), but a few well-
placed adjectives will get you further. You are smart, dear ladies, and you are brave in the face of junk-waving
trolls. Most of us know and appreciate this. Now show us how smart you are.
And now for the menfolk:
Where to begin, where to begin. The shame. The horror. The ongoing litigation.
For starters, whining is not attractive. The ladies, they don't care much for the sissies (unless they're into forced-
feminization; you're on your own with that one). Neither is begging (unless you're trying to land a dominatrix; in
which case, keep up the good work). And neither is bitching about the fact that no one wants to email/date/fuck you
(most likely because you are whining and begging). Hissy fits are generally not regarded as being aphrodisiacal in
nature either. If you really need to throw a hissy fit, call your mom. That's what moms are for.
And now that that’s out of the way... on to the man-junk!
Look. We know you like the sex. The sex is the bomb. We understand this. I myself am a big fan of it. But a little
discretion goes a long way. Put the man-junk away unless it is specifically asked for. Pictures of man-junk are like
Vienna sausages at a 4-star restaurant: serve only on special request.
I have, in the name of science, dutifully read through many a day’s postings from the men to the women. After the
first 10 or so posts, it all starts to read like LOLcats….
of James McAvoy) are not trolling Craigslist. They are snorting heroin off the breasts of Emperor’s Club girls. It is
not that you should have to settle for less. But if you are seriously looking for anything on Craigslist, then let's be
serious here. You'll be lucky if he has teeth, a car, and a criminal record shorter in length than his penis.
To put it a bit more bluntly, the genetic accomplishment of having lady-junk is not enough to guarantee you the email
of your dreams. Boobies are nice (they're better than nice, actually; they're downright fabulous), but a few well-
placed adjectives will get you further. You are smart, dear ladies, and you are brave in the face of junk-waving
trolls. Most of us know and appreciate this. Now show us how smart you are.
And now for the menfolk:
Where to begin, where to begin. The shame. The horror. The ongoing litigation.
For starters, whining is not attractive. The ladies, they don't care much for the sissies (unless they're into forced-
feminization; you're on your own with that one). Neither is begging (unless you're trying to land a dominatrix; in
which case, keep up the good work). And neither is bitching about the fact that no one wants to email/date/fuck you
(most likely because you are whining and begging). Hissy fits are generally not regarded as being aphrodisiacal in
nature either. If you really need to throw a hissy fit, call your mom. That's what moms are for.
And now that that’s out of the way... on to the man-junk!
Look. We know you like the sex. The sex is the bomb. We understand this. I myself am a big fan of it. But a little
discretion goes a long way. Put the man-junk away unless it is specifically asked for. Pictures of man-junk are like
Vienna sausages at a 4-star restaurant: serve only on special request.
I have, in the name of science, dutifully read through many a day’s postings from the men to the women. After the
first 10 or so posts, it all starts to read like LOLcats….
