Will you buck up for freedom?

The tragedies that have struck London over the past few weeks have really gotten to me. Its gotten to me so much that the only way I feel my soul will rest is if I do something about it. Whether you like it or not, England is like this country's mother, and would you let someone bitch slap your mother and get away with it? I thought not. We must take action, now.

The Plan

Phase I:
We travel to Ho Chi Min City(Saigon) and gather up as many veteran Viet Cong soldiers as possible. I figure they will fight alongside us in exchange for a few pairs of blue jeans or a Swiss army knife or something. These are truly the cream of the crop as far as mercenaries for hire go. Who else can survive off of one rice cake every ten days or dig a Panama Canal worth of tunnels in a few hours? I also hear there is great weed growing everywhere over there. While we're there we can also hold hands while we search for old land mines. How romantic is that?

Phase II:
With the excellent digging skills of our hired "Charlies", we will fly to the Middle East and begin our quest for the lost Ark of the Covenant. I don't think I have to tell you the awesome face melting power of this artifact. Whoever possesses the Ark will surely have the upper hand in any confrontation, as long as he/she remembers to close his/her eyes. This may also be a good time to exchange a first kiss. Nothing turns me on more than hearing the blood curdling screams of filthy Islamic extremists as their head explode. Kick ass!

Phase III:
Next, we travel to Egypt and rummage around the Valley of the Kings and Queens. We will cause a loud raucous in the underground chambers, even going so far as to urinate on ancient sarcophagi and take prohibited flash photographs. Hopefully we will awaken one of the mummies and it will be plenty pissed off. We'll explain to the mummy that it wasn't us who desecrated his tomb, but rather Osama Bin Laden. Since mummies aren't really that smart, he'll probably believe us and put a curse on Osama that will cause his wiener to fall off and make him forever poop out of his mouth. How cool would that be? We'll be international heroes and if all goes as planned, I'll give you a victory hand job.

Phase IV:
We come back to the United States and write a book about our efforts and make millions, because who would go out of their way to fight for justice without making a few bucks on the side? Capitolism rules! We'll throw a big party and invite our Vietnamese and mummy friends and just get drunk and stoned. We'll also invite the Bush family and the cast of "Friends" and have them open up the Ark while the rest of us close our eyes and giggle.

I don't like fish anymore

I was once a star athlete in college. I played football for a division AA school and was offered a quarterback position for an arena football league. Times were great back then. I didn't need drugs to get high, simply living life was more than enough. Unfortunately, a tragic event took place, which all but squandered my pro athlete career. But I refuse to accept that those were the greatest years of my life.

I know many of you will find what I'm about to write deeply immature and stupid, but you have to understand the mentality of young male athletes who think they're invincible, as I did. After graduating, a few football buddies of mine took a boat out to celebrate and do a little fishing. We were all a bit intoxicated and started to play a manly bout of truth or dare. I was dared to tie a fishing line around my johnson and fish with it for five minutes. I never hesitated.

While my back was turned, a 45lb mahi mahi, also known as a dolphin fish(great fish to grilled), took the bait and bolted. At first I didn't feel anything, a slight tug of pressure at most, but when I looked down, all I saw was blood gushing from the sad vacancy where my special little guy used to be. Then I passed out.

The reason I know what kind of fish stole my manhood was because a few hours later a twelve year old girl caught the same fish. I hear she's still in therapy. To my dismay, crabs had managed to mangle my defenseless penis beyond repair. The story made local headlines, but luckily the papers didn't include my name.

For so many years I was depressed. I'd cry every time I sat down to pee. Now, thanks to modern medicine, I've been given a new hope. You know how some people use pig organs, like hearts and livers, to keep them alive? well, I have a pig penis. A big one. The doctors have sculpted it to make it look more homo sapien-like. Through new nano-nerve technology I can feel all the sensations I used to, and since that devil fish didn't get away with my balls, I can still have children.

I usually don't tell women about my condition until after I've slept with them, which, for some strange reason, always seems to freak them out. One chick even hung herself in my bathroom right after I told her. That ruined my weekend. But it's really no big deal, which is why I'm getting this out in the open and looking for someone who can look past trivial matters such as this. I want someone I can lean on. Someone to share my life with. Someone that I can wake up to every morning and tell that I love. All I ask is that you have big titties, shave your snatch, and aren't kosher.

Let's Scrap

To all the self-proclaimed bad asses out there, I challenge you to a fight, a round of fisticuffs if you will. I am a chick and I am confident I will eat your lunch and take your milk money.

You see, when I was a young student I lived abroad in Cairo. I was deeply fascinated by ancient Egyptian culture and was in the process of completing my thesis on the notion that King Tutankhamen was emphatically obsessed with the world of beastiality. I uncovered countless hieroglyphics that portrayed the young king corn holing cats, geese, and even puppies that hadn’t opened their eyes yet. It was unsettling to say the least. I presume that the Egyptian government became weary of my snooping, and while walking home one day, I was ambushed by a gang of three nefarious men. They pinned me down and took turns violating my belly button in such abominable ways that they turned it from an innie to an outie. They also took Polaroid shots while they forced their rotten dingle berries down my throat. To conclude their extravaganza of terror, they triple donkey punched me and left me for dead in a pile of camel dung. It was horrifying. But what doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger.

So I’ve been taking ‘roids. Mostly D-ball, and let me tell you something folks, this stuff works. I’m fucking jacked. I can bench press over 200lbs (90.72 kg) and squat over 400lbs (181.44 kg), and I only weigh about 135lbs. I’ve also spent the last three years mastering the arts of karate, judo, jiu-jitsu, and tae kwon do. In short, I’m dangerous so dangerous. I am going to ensure that no man ever desecrates my body like that again, unless of course I let him. I’ve made a habit out of going to bars and ruining a guy’s shit for looking at me funny. I can see how someone might find this strange, but it helps me sleep at night. Some people play golf, I break faces. As of right now I hold a record of 29-0. But lately I’ve been feeling lonely. If there’s one thing I like more than smearing some fella’s grill all over an asphalt curb, it’s having a man spoon me and tell me how pretty I am. But he must be more than just an ordinary man.

I’m looking for a ninja. One gifted in the art of stealth who can challenge me both physically and mentally. Our first meeting we likely begin with me engaging you in mortal combat. If you’re not prepared, you’ll likely not walk away from the encounter. There is nothing more romantic to me than a late-night rendezvous of deadly sparring with that special someone. So if you’re up for the test and think you can handle a woman with a two inch clitoris, don’t hesitate to make an appointment today. How’s midnight by the flagpole sound? I don’t wear panties.

Do you fit in my docket?

I am in a bit of a conundrum in my attempts, which as of yet have been in vain, to discover the perfect male specimen that will best suit my feminine needs. Since being too vague will only result in a slew of unwarranted responses, I have come to the conclusion that the best result will only be achieved through a proper filtration device. Using advanced methods of calculus and snippets from modern theories of physics, I have mapped out a formula that should deliver unto me an exact and unequivocal mate. I have cataloged a precise and tedious set of credentials that one must possess from head to toe if there is to be any chance of a mutual encounter. So without further ado…

First and foremost I want a white man, but not any white man. I want a white man with the natural musk of an Indian man. “India” Indian, not Native American Indian. The poetic essence of curry makes my nipples perspire. But I don’t like brown skin, so sorry my Hindu friend.

Secondly I need a man who is skilled in the art of kung fu. There are many different styles and he should be familiar with them all. He must also speak at least 12 Chinese dialects, and considering there are hundreds, I am not under the impression this is too much to ask for. There will be a test and I will not bend.

Next he should be able to communicate with animals. Okay, mammals, since I am aware that the lower part of the animal kingdom is somewhat lacking in declarative skills. I mean, conversing with fish is just plain silly.

I also want a man who can generate molecular friction with his mind, or in layman’s terms, is telekinetic. If you’ve seen the movie “Fire Starter” you know what I’m talking about. But you must have absolute control, for my G-spot is notoriously sensitive.

He ought to have a lobster claw as one of his hands. I know this is rare, but hey, deal with it.

And lastly he must, and I stress “must”, be able to eat coal and defecate diamonds. This will be a definite deal breaker. You may call me picky but I may call you fag.

Those are my qualifications. If you do not own up to each of these attributes don’t waste your time. I hope I haven’t damaged too many egos and ids. God I rule so hard it fucking hurts.

Check out my new den

Ok, this may sound strange at first, but please bear with me. Ask yourself three questions: Do you like danger? Do you like Jesus? Do you like it when Jesus saves you from danger? If you said yes to one or more, then we just might be compatible.

Since my daughter moved away to college, I’ve been searching for a use for her vacant room. I miss my daughter very much and some people say I have empty nest syndrome. So natuarlly I imported a bakers dozen of deadly eastern diamond back rattlesnakes and let them all loose in her room. These suckers can release enough venom in one bite to kill a horse. Now I have full nest of rattlesnakes. Yay for me! I haven’t fed any of them yet and have kept busy torturing them with water guns full bleach as well as poking them in the head with stretched out heated coat hangers. This pisses them off…a lot.

My daughter is going to be so upset about the tragedy that befell her cat last night. The poor little fur ball should have known better than to wonder into that room of rattling death. I’ll probably just tell her some Mexicans on ten speed bikes stole the kittie for drug money. I mean, I’d believe that. Who wouldn't?

Anyway, I’ve been watching lots of Evangelical television lately, and it seems that if you really, really, really believe in Jesus, and clap your hands and yell gibberish, then he will protect you from the harm of these snakes. I’d like to believe this, but there is only one way to find out for certain. That’s where you come in. Unless you’re calling Jesus a liar, then you should have no problem doing the “Macarena” in my snake pit. I have the cassette.

I will happily suck the poison out of any appendage that is bitten, but if you make one of them bite you in a naughty place on purpose, you're on your own bud. I also only live a few miles from a hospital (or is it a vet’s office?). I will take pictures so you can prove to your family that Jesus loves you, or if you get bit, that he hates you. Who can pass up being part of such a beautiful miracle?

I also have some furniture that needs moving and some bills I need help paying. Please prove to me that chivalry is not dead. If you’re lucky and survive, I’ll consider a good night kiss, but I'm no slut.

Take a ride in my rig

I’m so sick of everyone thinking I’m a dyke. Just because I like to wear flannel shirts and drive a big rig doesn’t mean that I’m gay. Anyway, not that that’s out of the way…

I drive a truck for a living, a big one. I named her Lucille. While all the girls in school were dreaming about becoming doctors and Barbies, I wanted my own diesel rig, and I’m proud to say that my dreams have come true. Now the only thing I’m missing is a stud to sit shotgun with me.

About me: I’m a three time state women’s arm wrestling champion. 2002-2004 baby!!! The 2005 tournament is coming up soon and I plan on kicking some serious ass. God I love being me. I ritually shave my head every full moon and have a weak spot in my heart for methamphetamines, but really, what trucker doesn’t? I have calves the size of basketballs and I could also tell you which restrooms in the North East are the best. Even though I’m originally from Maine, I like to decorate my rig in Confederate flags because it’s the cool thing to do in the trucking world, but also because I don’t like black people, or Jews for that matter…hell, you need not apply if your Hispanic either, or just brown in general. That shit won’t fly with my trucker buddies.

About you: I love a man who wears Looney Toons T-shirts or similar tattoos. Milwaukee’s Best is also a huge turn on. I don’t like smokers, but the two of us can share a pouch of chew. I like chew a lot. If you hate the police, we should get along just fine. You should probably be less than 6’3, because that’s how big I am and unlike the rest of the pathetic submissive female population, I like to be larger and dominate my man. I’m also looking for someone reasonably educated, by which I mean you should have at least made it through your junior year of high school.

Next week the gang and I are having our annual competition for who can hit the largest animal. Last year I hit a 250lb deer, but Bobby Joe hit a damn moose and took the pot money. At least I was able to sell the deer meat. But this year I don’t intend on losing. So if you want to be a part of the action email me and we’ll have a gay ole’ time. Yee Haw!!!

Do clowns excite you?

So here’s the deal. I’m a clown. I come from a long line of clowns dating back to the early 1700s. I graduated from Clown College and have been making a modest living displaying my antics for various circuses and birthday parties. But recently something felt amiss.

For weeks I sat in a hotel room watching infomercials and sniffing glue, pondering what was absent in my life. Was I lonely? Did I need a girlfriend? Am I content with my life as a clown? Am I just going mad? Thoughts started spiraling through my head like drunken comets. I was getting dizzy. My hotel room suddenly filled with a static sound like Rice Krispies and the walls turned to dark monochromatic shades. There was a bright light and I think I screamed, but I don’t really remember. Then everything stopped and the room was silent. Usually in a situation like this a person says they can hear their own heart beating, but I couldn’t. For a few seconds I thought I was dead. Then my mind cleared and I reached a moment of clarity, caught a glimpse of nirvana, if you will. A light bulb went on over my head and I knew what was missing. I knew what had to be done. I have a mission.

God put me on this beautiful planet with a purpose. That purpose is to produce the first clown pornography film ever. With all the crazy sexual fetishes out there, (I think I saw a legless pregnant Taiwanese transvestite magazine once) it’s a wonder we don’t have any clown porn. Can you imagine it? Ten naked clowns pour out of a tiny car, engage in a silent mime-like gangbang, then ride around on unicycles honking each others horns and sticking animal balloons up their asses. That’s just one scenario, I have hundreds. Can you think of anything more stimulating? I’m getting aroused just thinking about it. The possibilities are endless, not mention the potential goldmine I’m sitting on.

I’m not really looking for a relationship, just more like a girl who is willing to help me engage in my erotic clown dream. I would prefer you to be a Libra, because I think I just get along better with them. If you have Human Papilloma Virus, that’s cool, we’ll just have more in common. Previous experience as a clown or a porn star is preferable, but I’m willing to teach you the art of both. Also you should be willing to accept circus peanuts as compensation. Serious inquiries only please. God bless and good night.

ISO man with big snake

Ha! Now that I have your attention, you can get your mind out of the gutter because I’m not some skanky ho. I am being completely literal; I am really looking for a man with a big snake, preferably in the constrictor family. I myself own an 8 ft long Burmese python named “Hoagie”. I’ve had Hoagie ever since he was less than a foot long. So many people seem to be intimidated by large snakes, but I can promise you they make stupendous pets. For example, Hoagie only eats once a month, which means he only poops once a month. He never makes any noise, and when he sheds it all comes off in one long piece. Brilliant! Hoagie is also very affectionate for a snake and has never tried to strangle or eat me. And on more than one occasion he scared burglars away. I love you, Hoagie, especially on those lonely rainy nights.

So I’m looking for a guy that has the same interests as me. Red tail boas, reticulated pythons, Burmese pythons, anacondas, or any other snake that gets over 10 ft are preferred. Not, I repeat, not into venomous species! Those are way too dangerous. If you know the Latin names of snakes or raise your own rats and mice that will get you bonus points. If you are a well respected herpetologist, you probably won’t have to wait for a second date before I’ll want to play with your little serpent, if you know what I mean. Lol! I’m such a slut.

About me: I’m about 5’10, 126lbs, red hair, green eyes, slight harelip, and I have six toes on my left foot(Dad says it’s the remains of my twin brother that died in the womb). I am very cute and posses an amazing talent involving fruit loops and ping pong balls, but it’s a secret until I totally trust you.

About you: I don’t want a whole lot of shenanigans in our relationship. I want to know that if I wake up with night terrors, you will be there to hold me and give me my injection. I’m not crazy so stop laughing!!! It’s not funny!!! Anyway, I like athletic men, if you were a quarterback in college that would be great. Please be over 6’4, to protect me against those that want my downfall. Also you shouldn’t be scared to be handcuffed.

Remember that scene...

You know the scene in “The Breakfast Club” when Molly Ringwald puts her diamond earring in Judd Nelson’s hand and we all get that warm fuzzy feeling that can only come from the genius of John Hughes? Even though they’re polar opposites in almost every way, the two connect on a level that neither will forget for the rest of their lives. The bad boy and the princess share a moment. It makes all us hopeless romantics keep holding on to the notion that love can be found in the most unlikely of places. If you can sympathize with this kind of off kilter connectedness and have some minimal skills in acting, you just might be the right girl for me.

I’m an aspiring director and what I want to do is recreate these emotionally charged scenes from the Breakfast club with my own stamp of style and I need your help. Instead of being the spoiled Ringwald, you will be a sexually deprived house wife named “Loquisha”. I will be the unsuspecting dishwasher repair man who just happens to have the sexual stamina of an Alpha male lion. The famous scene in which the five young stars all smoke pot and dance around the library will be changed into a raunchy threesome extravaganza on your kitchen floor with the equally sexually frustrated neighbor, Candy, who, like Ally Sheedy, will have dark hair. Anthony Michael Hall and Emilio Estevez’s characters will instead be my long-donged frat buddies who walk in unannounced during the ménage a trois to ensure that the film has some quality Chinese finger-cuff action. They will also double as my video and sound men.

This is a serious project that I have poured a lot of my heart and soul into. Though I’m looking for an actress that is willing to sacrifice for the art of the craft and offer us a Pro Bono performance, I am willing to compensate for your time with food stamps and cigarettes. We like closeness and camaraderie on the set and are not looking for any
Pre-Madonnas. I am hoping our relationship will have the opportunity to bud and grow as a result of working on such a passionate project together.

Please send head shots and body shots and let me know if you’re one of those gifted women who lack a gag reflex. I hope to hear from you soon. This is going to be so exciting. Good luck.

There is only one thing I like more than men. W4M

Hi boys. You sweet succulent little scamps you. I love men of all shapes and sizes. I love the way you smell, the way you dress, the way all your heads turn when a pretty girl walks by. I love everything about you. But there is one thing I love more then men. One thing I could never live without. What’s that you ask? Simple: Crack rock.

Crack is so awesome! If you’ve ever smoked it, then you know what I’m talking about. The heat goes into your lungs, then you exhale that milky white smoke, and BAM!!! You’re in the crack zone baby and everything is “A” okay. Oh sweet Crack, nectar of the Gods, scrumptious cornucopia of pleasure.

I’ll do anything for crack. And I mean anything. Once I was hurting so back for a hit that I crapped my pants and didn’t even know it. It was really embarrassing because I was on the Redline and people all around me starting dry heaving and finally one woman threw up and started a grisly chain reaction of vomitus. It was like the scene Chunk described in “Goonies” when the bad guys threatened to stick his hand in the blender. Horrifying.

Another time a guy told me he would give me a rock if I did all of his biology homework. I wanted that rock so bad that I did it and double checked my answers. I felt so humiliated.

So I’m looking for a guy that likes crack as much as I do. Crack rules! Am I right or what? If you’ve never smoked crack then I sincerely encourage you to try it. You won't regret it. Remember how great it was when the Sox won the World Series? Now imagine how incredible it would have been if you were high on crack? I was and it kicked so much ass!

About you: I don’t really care what you look like, I'm not shallow, just get me my rock.

About me: I’m about 5’10, 87lbs, sometimes my face is swollen, yellow (false)teeth to compliment my yellow hair(wig), I'm 27 but have been told I look more like 45. Also I heard I smell like kerosene. My hobbies include smoking crack or smoking things that I think are crack. I also like to knit and play scrabble. If you’ve ever seen “Cops” episode #286, I’m the chick that the cops can’t decide whether I’m a womanl or a man in drag until I drop my pants and pull a crack pipe out of my cooze. That was my fifteen minutes. If you haven't seen it, don't worry I have it on beta.

P.S. No Fatties!!!

Let me draw you. M4W

So I started taking these drawing classes, well, more like I’m about to start taking these drawing classes. I don’t want to embarrass myself in front of the teacher and class, so I’m looking for a girl who can help me out. All I will need for you to do is completely disrobe in front of me and let me draw you. You don’t have to talk or think or do anything unnatural, you don’t even have to tell me your name, just get naked. I sincerely need the practice and I promised not to think impure thoughts. I just got a new box of crayons and they’re rearing to go. Like I said, I don’t really have any professional experience, but I played Picasso once in a school play, so I know how artists think.

I like the Jane Mansfield/Marilyn Monroe look, so if you’re cute like that, I will definitely draw you. Unfortunately I don’t have much money as of yet, but I’m hoping that this whole drawing thing will pay off and I’ll get a job in Hollywood making cartoons or something. Cartoons are cool, especially Japanimation. But I do have an excessive amount of candy bars left over from when I was trying to sell them as a Boy Scout, so if you really like chocolate we should be able to make a deal. I also just got a deep fryer and can make you Buffalo wings and cheese sticks. I’m willing to give discounts on my drawings, which may include an autograph if you’re lucky. This is really starting to sound like a sweet deal.

So far I’ve drawn a dog, a cat, a fire truck, and the sun. You can judge for yourself but my mother seems to think I have real talent.

Also if by some chance you get turned on and want to have sex with me, that’s cool too, but I really hope I’m better at drawing. For the love of God, let me be good at something. Also, please shave your box before you come in. This will be a fantastic opportunity for anyone trying to break into the nude modeling world and you won’t regret it.

P.S. No Fatties.

Do you like bacon?

Do you like bacon? You know, that magical part of the pig that sings sweet odes of ecstasy when you put it in your mouth. If you’re one of those people that doesn’t like bacon you might as well eat a can of asparagus, drink some European beer, and piss all over the American flag. Bacon is simply awesome. I mean, there’s only one thing better than a double cheeseburger and that’s a double “bacon” cheeseburger. Shit, everybody knows that. I mean, did you know that religious archaeologists recently discovered that it was not fish and bread that Jesus fed to the hungry in that parable, but bacon and bacon? WWJD.

I understand there is more to life than just bacon. I’m not obsessive, just passionate. And I do have other interests in my life besides bacon. These include, but are not limited to: ham (preferably honey baked), salami, baby back ribs, pork chops, sausages, pork rinds, and some types of hot dogs. Venus flytraps are cool too. Sometimes I feed bacon to my flytraps, but that’s only when they’ve been well behaved. I also enjoy firm titties. Not hard like fake implants, but close. Mostly I just like bacon though.

If you’ve never put bacon bits on ice cream before, you need not apply, since you’re probably a dirty terrorist with herpes. I’m only interested in chicks that dig bacon. Get it? I’m not asking for a lot here people. I’m not that interested in looks or background, unless of course you’re from French Guiana, if so then fuck off. Also, if you’re a vegetarian, I have some advice for you: Find the nearest sporting good store, buy a bow and arrow, and shoot yourself in the face. Can you think of anything more humane?

I make a modest living as a police officer, so I can take you out a few nights a month, but only a few, so don’t get greedy. I’ve never been married and have no kids, which leaves us plenty of time to eat bacon and play board games at my house, especially since Mother lost her hearing a few years ago and sleeps most of the day in the back room now.

The Star Wars Sith Movie Sucks Donkey Dick

Like most males of my generation, or any generation of the last twenty-five years, I’ve seen the Star Wars movies. All of them. And without a doubt the shear crappiness of Revenge of the Sith confirmed my creeping suspicion that the whole premise is house of cards...shitty cards.

What made the original three films fun and great was the fact that no one had seen anything like it before on screen. Good sound and state of the art special effects easily countered the awkward bad acting and directing. Unfortunately for the Star Wars franchise, technology has caught up and CGI has made it possible for filmmakers to do anything within the realm of their imagination. In short, there is nothing new or exciting about the effects of Sith. We’ve seen it all before. If you take away the backbone support of the earlier three episodes (IV V IV), Sith is at best a mediocre Sci-fi/action movie and would have probably bombed at the box office. From the movie’s opening space battle scene, which was really an advertisement for the videogame, I knew I was in for a roller coaster ride of ass sucking.

What I have the hardest time understanding is how so many people have the uncanny ability to find all of life’s mysteries somehow wrapped up in this story. So to all those dorky dingle berries out there, I have a news flash for you: The plot of Star Wars is about as simple as storytelling gets! Good vs Evil. Black vs. White. Coke vs. Pepsi. I don’t care what psychology and history books Lucas read or how many mythical Greek heroes he changed the name of, it’s not that deep. Going in I knew the acting was going to be as horrible as usual and the special effect were not going to blow me away, so what about the latest installment bothered me so much, besides shelling out $8 to see it? Could it be the dumbass "made in Taiwan" droids? Or the dialog that sounded like it was written by a loaded parrot? Maybe the queen, who must have eaten a retard sandwich and suddenly seemed to lose any insight and opinion on intergalactic politics? No. Alas it was the race of the Jedi.

What a bunch of pussies. The Jedi are supposed to be the most kick ass guys on the block but instead we get a crop of whiny bitches with sand in their vaginas. Why does the entire galaxy thrust it self into an epic genocidal war? Because Anikan little dick Skywalker falls in love and can't handle it. How gay is that. Think about it for a second. If Anikan wasn't such a hopeless romantic queef ball, none of this chaos would have happend. The chosen one should have the mental toughness of a Viet Cong soldier about to eat his own children, not a cry baby who is lured to the dark side by an old guy with the charm of a child molester. It's just impossible to picture Anikan standing up while he pees.

And another thing, I’m so sick of that turd Yoda. I took a dump last night that looked so much like him I considered selling it on E-Bay. Why does he have to end every sentence with a verb? Every one! Each time Yoda opened his mouth I felt like a goat was stomping on my testicles. I wanted him to die so bad. Or should I say, “So bad I him to die wanted”. See, it's real annoying. God I hate Yoda.

Later in the flick the Jedi are tricked and systematically slaughtered by dumb droids and dumber soldiers. All this after we just spent over an hour (and five other movies) watching them escape from one impossible situations after another. Then they all go down like a bunch of mark ass punks? I don't get it. I also don't get why they can't seem to get rid of that idiotic look on their faces, like they just walked in on their parents having sex or something. Fuckin' Aye, you're a Jedi, so do some Jedi shit! I understand it’s a movie but it should still follow some sort of logic, even if it is Star Wars logic.

George got greedy when he made Episode One and doesn’t give a rat’s ass about artistic integrity anymore, which he probably never did. He created a story that got too big for him and he handled it the best way he knew how, by being the biggest sell out in cinematic history, a title I'm sure he's proud of. And what really pisses me off is how everyone is like, "oh it's so good, it's so much better that the last two". Well, I wouldn't say Georgie boy set the bar too high. Episode III being better than Episodes I and II is like how stepping in dog shit is better than eating it. There is plenty more I hated about this movie, but it was so forgettable that I uh…forgot. I’m so glad that sensory cancer is finally over.

Bad monkey free to good home

I have this monkey and his name is Bill. Bill is a bad bad monkey and I would like for someone with more patience than me to take this malicious primate off my hands. He’s free, hell, I’ll even pay you $50 bucks. Yes, the stereotypes are true, monkeys like to throw poop. Lots of poop. They don’t even care whose poop it is, as long as it’s soft and smelly. Just the other day, Bill had a fist of his own crap in one hand and the neighbor’s dog’s crap in the other. He made threatening gestures with the feces after I told him he couldn’t watch the Brittany & Kevin show because it’s stupid and would lower his already abysmal I.Q. The resulting scene was not pretty and ended in a soiled couch and some pent up monkey spanks.

Sometimes Bill bites too, the little bastard. I found a hickey-like bite mark on my girlfriend’s breast and she told me Bill did it. I believe her. Bill is also a smelly monkey. He only showers twice a week and that is just gross. But by far the worst aspect of Bill is his drinking. He drinks all day and refuses to drink the cheap stuff. It’s all Johnny Walker blue label and Grey Goose. When he gets drunk he pees all over my rug and plays with him self inappropriately in front of company, including my boss, who was not amused. I told him that Skol and Mad Dog 20/20 would get him just as loaded for less than a quarter of the price, which seemed to anger him because he squeezed out a bowel movement into his little monkey paw and chucked it at me. Someone also needs to get Bill to cut back on the unfiltered Camels, because everybody knows that cigarettes and monkeys don’t go together.

Bill was so cool in the beginning. He was everything I ever wanted out of a monkey. We used to stay up late at night writing rap songs and taking about chicks we wanted to court, but now it’s just about booze and hurling poop. He doesn’t give a damn about me or my feelings. I have reached my breaking point. Please come get this bad monkey or I’m putting him to sleep.

P.S. No Fatties

Albino ISO brotha man

Hi boys. This is a shout out to all the tall chocolate soldiers out there. You know who you are. I’ve always had a thing for men who are ripe with that wonderful thing called pigment. I myself was born lacking pigment and am, for lack of a better word, an albino. But there is so much more to me than just a freak appearance.

My stats: 5’8, 120lbs, pink eyes, white hair, and toned. I work out a lot now because when I was younger, boys in school used to tease me and throw marshmallows and open bottles of Eraser Mate at my face. Bastards. The only boy that was ever nice to me was a black kid named Oscar. Oscar was the only black student in the school and I was the only albino student so we hit it off pretty well and he is the reason I am still attracted to black men. Unfortunately Oscar was killed in a freak accident during a field trip to the zoo. While riding the elephant, he was struck in the head by lightning. The teachers said his gold teeth attracted the electricity but I like to believe he was too good for this world. On a brighter note the elephant was fine. Even though those days made me tough, I am still a sensitive girl and don’t like being stared at, unless it’s in a sexual manner because I don’t get that a lot.

I work as a suntan lotion spokesperson/tester and love my job. I have a fondness for lab mice and am currently raising seven of them, all named after Snow Whites dwarves, so you should be cool with that. I like popcorn flavored jelly bellies, guns, furbies, Powder( the movie and talcum), Wesley Snipes, Nascar and WWE, domed stadiums, and black Labradors. I don’t like the sun, smokers, Caucasians, Billy Crystal, or circus ring leaders. I’m not too picky just as long as you’re black, the darker the better, and college educated. I have a pic to trade, but I’m against a white background so it’s difficult to see me. I’m also shaved.

P.S. No Fatties!!!

Am I an asshole? M4W post

What's up sluts and trouts. Let me give you the run down on how a date with me would go.

First I would arrive at your house drunk. Not just tipsy drunk, but “I thought I pulled it out of my pants before I peed” drunk. You would give me one of those disappointed looks and I would glare back at you with an eye of the tiger that all but said, "get in the fucking car, bitch". Out of primal fear, you get in the car, but not before you open the driver's side door for me. Then I speed wrecklessly in the wrong lane with the headlights off playing chicken with terrified motorists. I would do this until you started crying. Then I reach over as if to console you and let you know I was only kidding, but instead I cut the strap of your seat belt with a pair of scissors to diminish any previous feeling of safety you might have had.

When we get to a restaurant where no entree exceeds over $5.99, I take a crap in the restroom and make a conscience effort not flush or wash my hands. Then I tell you about my bowel movement in graphic detail and insist that you smell my fingers and guess what I had for lunch. If you get it wrong I will dead leg you. I’ll take a few moments to glance over the menu and decide that this place is far too classy to bring a ho-bag like to. We get back in the car and I drive to the nearest grocery store, where you go in and buy food to cook for me. If you buy me food I don’t like, expect me to crack you in the jaw and send your boney ass back in.

When we get to my place I demand you take off your shoes and then demand you put them back on because your feet smell like shit. Then I’ll play some X-Box while you cook. While we eat I explain how your cooking could bring about world peace because if any of the world’s tyrants ever tasted it they would commit suicide. I’d let out a few after dinner farts and then take off my leather belt and stare at you for a while before letting you know that if you didn’t get straight to the dishes you would experience all 12 hours of Jesus’ pre-crucifixion pain in a matter of two minutes.

After you're finished cleaning my kitchen and bathroom, I take you to the bedroom and have you do my old high school chemistry homework from eight years ago and you're sure to do it with a shit-eating grin on your face. Then I call your father and tell him how wonderful a job he did raising you and if I ever have a little girl of my own and want her to turn out to be dirty little queef whore, I’ll ask for his advice. Next I start to undress myself and you get excited because you think there is a possibility that you might get some action. You begin to disrobe but I quickly let you know that I wouldn’t fuck you with that purple guy Grimace from McDonald's dick. To end the night just right I borrow $40 bucks and tell you to take out the trash on your way to walking home.

Seriously, do you think I'm an asshole?

P.S. No Fatties!!!

My Cursed High School Football Jersey

To fully appreciate the relic I wish to bestow upon the lucky inquisitor who is the most steadfast in obtaining it, I must first give you its history.

The year: 1988. The time: Around 8pm. The place: North Shore Football Field.
It was our homecoming game and we were playing our most hated rivals, the South West Rattlers. I hadn’t been able to sleep very well the night before and the anxiety levels were still thrusting on high. This would be the night that would not only define my high school football career, but also a litmus test for the type of man I would grow up to be.

When I stepped onto the field, all anxiety and thinking stopped and I became a warrior. Warrior #12. I can remember it like it was yesterday. “Blue 19! Blue 19! Red 42! Red 42! Set…hut hut!!!” Time would slow down and I would enter what all great athletes refer to as “the zone”. By half time I had competed 12 of 15 passes for 179yds and 2 TDs. I was on fire. But our defense was struggling and the Rattlers were ahead by a field goal. On the sidelines I gave perhaps the most riling and encouraging speech of all time. I said, “Men, there comes a time in one’s life where we must put pain aside for pride, fear aside for victory, and women aside for showering with other men! Who’s with me?” Our huddle exploded with a rally cry that would have sent a chill up the spines of war hungry Vikings a millennium ago. We were thirsty for blood and our thirst could only be quenched by the precious bodily fluids of the Rattlers.

The next twenty seven minutes felt like an eternity. I had thrown for another touchdown, but we were still down four points. Our running back, Otis, had broken his leg and had to be taken off the field by a stretcher. With only a few seconds left and no time outs, we were 65 yards away from the end zone. I put us in the hurry up offense and drove down the field 58 yards. With 7yds to go and 4 seconds on the clocks, it was my moment of truth. The crowd became silent under the thundering beat of my heart. “Green 47! Green 47! Seeeettttt…hut!” And that’s when I shit my pants.

I was so surprised by the ungodly mass of warm Hershey squirts that I forgot about the game and dropped the ball. I was immediately swarmed by their defensive unit and knocked unconscious. I'm pretty sure somebody stepped on by testicles too. I woke up to fingers pointing and children laughing. “Ha ha ha ha ha ha, you pooped your pants!” The echoes of their diabolical teasing still resound in my ears. Time had run out and I had failed the team because my bowels had failed me. I mean, who does that? And the smell...Jesus, the smell.

To this day I have no idea why I soiled myself during such a dramatic moment. Now I’m a 340lb divorced alcoholic living in my grandmother’s basement and working nights at the local Ihop. The most exercise I get if from my daily masturbation sessions which are spiraling out of control. I have had a difficult time letting go of the past and figure by up giving my jersey I might be able to move forward. I'll start the bidding at $300.00, I think that is reasonable. So please help me reverse the curse. Also if you are a hot chick holla at ya boy, I still got girth.

P.S. No Fatties

I hit a deer

To all those environmentalists out there, let me tell you one thing, I wouldn't be here today if I hadn't been driving my big bad SUV. You want to know how big and bad it is? It's so big and bad that I hit a deer last night going 70mph and the only things to break were one of my head lights and some of the grill. Oh yeah, and the deer. That thing must have weighed over 500lbs and it flew over my car like a bulimic Raggedy Ann doll. Luckily I wasn’t hurt, but I was pissed because I spilled cold beer all over my new stone washed jeans. I always get pissed when that happens. Anyway, SUV-1 Deer-0.

When I got out of my urban tank I was surprised to see the bastard was still alive. It was wiggling and kicking around like Daniel Day Lewis in “My Left Foot”. That movie is hilarious by the way. So I did what any normal red-blooded American would do. I slapped my whip into four-wheel drive and backed up over it a few times. Then, partly to make sure it was dead, but mostly for shits and giggles, I cracked its neck. I pretended it was a filthy terrorist and I was Conan the Destoyer. Ah...good times.

Now the problem is that I'm broke at the moment because I spent all my savings on surgery for my dog. The poor thing is getting up there in the years and he can't hear or see too good anymore, so now I call him Old Keller. The vet said there wasn't anything I could do about his ears or eyes, so I had some testicles re-implanted so that when he dies he can meet his maker with all the dignity that comes with having a set of nuts. The point is that I can't be seen driving around with a busted grill and light. Chicks don't did that and it's embarrassing, which means I need some fast cash.

So I have this deer, or shall I say venison. You are welcome to any part you like, except for the head and antlers, which I plan on mounting so I can tell my poker buddies that I killed it with only a 4 inch Buck knife and rapid head butts. I figure if I sell it for $2 lb I should be able to cover the grill and light, and if I'm lucky, that Croatian hooker that's been giving me the eye lately. Hairy women are sweet. I'm guessing the carcass should be good for another 3 or 4 days, as long as I keep it out of the sun. First come first serve.

P.S. No Fatties!!!

Alien Abduction Victim W4M

I’m going to get straight to the point. I’m ISO a manwho has shared similar experiences in the realm of alien abduction. My first time was about three years ago, but I wasn’t able to remember it until last year when a psychiatrist pulled out the memories through hypnosis. The details are still fuzzy, but I recall the intense probing sessions and hopefully you should also have forgone instances of like nature. I find trading probe stories fun and exciting. I am 5’9, dyed red hair, about 120lbs, and can show you scars wherethe extra-terrestrials violated me. I don’t understand why the government hasn’t done more to stop this from happening, as hundreds of thousands of abductees have come forward, and I’m sure the White House, with all its satellite technology, knows exactly what’s going on.

You should be at least 6ft, built to protect me, and willing to accept harsh truths about the world we live in. I also would like for you to be clean, have a PHD in some scientific field, drug and disease free, and of course a behemoth wanker. Please do not send pictures of your wanker, as it often reminds me of the faces of my abductors. But I have a theory that the aliens are intimidated by monolithic male members, and if it’s big enough, perhaps you can become their leader.

I enjoy sitting inside my house all day and jumping every time the phone rings. I enjoy never answering the door, thinking everyone is out to get me, constantly looking out the window, finding international conspiracy connections on the Home Shopping Network, and being spanked like a naughty little naked Nubian...hard. I can cook really good popcorn and I just learned how to make scrambled eggs, so you should enjoy popcorn and eggs for dinner, cause that’s what Mama used to make before they…well, nevermind.

Anyway, I expect to be abducted late Sunday night and was hoping some strapping lad, who is acquainted with these types of encounters, would like to share an evening with me. We could play some board games, dance to a little polka, and later engage in some excruciating torture and humiliation at the hands of foreign beings that have wieners for heads. And yes, they do bite.

P.S. No Fatties!!!

Luigi M4W post(aka Celebrity in a Slump)

Well, well, look where my life has brought me…all the way to the fucking peak of nirvana known as Craig’s List. You know, I used to think this site was only for hags and fags, but I guess it works for alcoholic washed up losers too. It’s not even 10am and I’m shit hammered.
If you're so hard up that you’re still reading this, you must be wondering, “How did this poor soul get to be so bitter? And how can I help?” It’s a long story involving action, adventure, jumping, sewer pipes, and betrayal.

Back in the late 80s and early 90s I was on top of my game. My brother and I were running a profitable plumbing company and fighting crime on the side, pro bono of course. Did you know they even made a movie about us? That no talent hack John Leguizamo played me. He doesn’t look like me at all, I’m Italian and he’s…well, shit if I know what the he is. Anyway, we were famous, the world was our oyster. Then my brother, we’ll call him “M”, started getting greedy and thought that I was holding him back and made plans on how to cut me out. To top it off he also taped himself banging my girlfriend and gave it to me on my birthday. What a prick. I hate my brother. I would rather gargle with gumba diarrhea than see him again. To make a long story short, “M” and his cabal managed to run me out of the business and ostracize me from my friends and family, so now I drink, as I’m sure most of you would, so don’t judge me, asshole. I must seem like quite a catch by now.

A little about me: Italian, have a mustache, a little pot belly, but I am very athletic. I can jump real high, about four to five times my height. I like pizza and I can fix a toilet lickety(sp?) split. I am also willing to save you from level 3 lava dungeons, if that’s your thing. What I’m looking for: I prefer girls from royal families with yellow hair and big blue eyes. Pink dresses and gold crowns are nice too, but not necessary. Big titties and a shaved box are a must. I also would like for you not to look me in the eyes when talking to me, or I may kick you in the throat. Also, don’t speak unless spoken too. If you can deal with this, we should get along just fine. Also, Please no blacks or Jews, as my mother would not approve and I am currently living with her, well, she's not really my mom, just some old woman I met on the street and convinced I'm her son.

So today starts a new day of whiskey and avoiding pants. I think I’m going to eat some mushrooms and play with myself.

P.S. No Fatties!!!

Transexual Jesus Freak W4M Post

Before I get into what I’m looking for, it’s only fair that I give a little info on my background situation. We all have a unique story to tell and I can only hope that mine will generate a response from the empathetic soul mate we all so unfathomably search for.

A few years ago I was heavily into drugs. You name it and I probably snorted it off a public toilet seat. But those days are long over. The hinge of my newfound life came in part through tragedy. When I was heavily dosed with an unbeknownst amount of LSD I took it upon myself to try to end world hunger by repeatedly beating myself in the head with a tire iron and then jumping off a third floor window into traffic. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but alas, it was not. After waking up in the hospital after a six month coma, I began having the visions.

People, including family and respected doctors, have gone through great lengths to discourage the authenticity of these “visions”, telling me that a mixture of psychedelic drugs and extreme brain trauma could bring about such hallucinations. But it’s all condescending nonsense to me. Jesus told me so. Jesus tells me lots of things and boy oh boy do I listen. Why? Cause he’s the freakin’ son of God, that’s why. And I know I’m not the only one. Anyway, when Jesus told me to change myself into a woman, I didn’t think twice about it. I went to the doctor and had my tally wank cut and split and started taking hormone pills. Now only about 2 out of 5 people can tell I used to be a man, which is an amazing triumph for me. Of course I do miss peeing standing up, because let’s face it, peeing standing up rules!

So now that you have some idea where I’m coming from, this is what I’m looking for. Since I stand at about 6’2 and like to wear heals, I’ll need a man that is at least 6’5. No exceptions! Athletic career minded individuals get top priority. Beards and stigmatas are a big turn on. You must love Jesus, or at least really like him. I will be telling him all about you and it’s important that you stay good in our Savior’s book. Don’t ever make me chose between you and Jesus. You will lose. Remember that you and I get old, but Jesus stays the same age. Also on a quick side note: Jesus is neither black nor white, but in fact Asian, I’m guessing Taiwanese or Laotian, but I’m not totally sure. I enjoy going out or staying in. Movies and hiking are great. Doing whatever Jesus tells me to do is also great, so you should have no qualms about dropping everything to volunteer to picking up trash or, in some cases, stomping the life out of the occasional homeless person on a rainy Sunday afternoon. It’s all his will so it’s all good. I don’t dig much on Satan, bad breath, or cats. Other than that I’m pretty flexible.

If you’ve made it through my long winded personal and think there might be some chemistry between us, please do not hesitate to e-mail me. I plan on chillin’ with the Christ man around 8pm tonight so holla at me for a holy threesome. BYO blood and crackers.

P.S No Fatties!!!

Slightly used crack baby

I have one slightly used crack baby that is free to good home. I found it in a Johnny Foodmaster’s dumpster about six weeks ago. I can’t figure out what race it is because the face is in that constant “I just put a whole lemon in my mouth” crack baby look. If I had to guess I would say part Cambodian part Eastern European. Also not sure what sex it is, yesterday I could have sworn it was a girl, but today I’m thinking boy. It is very easy and cheap to take care of. Just pretend it’s a Chea Pet and sprinkle it with sugar water ever couple of days. It also does not have the ability to cry, it more like huffs and puffs like a tired dog. Sometimes it makes a whistling noise. You may also want to wash it, as I haven’t gotten around to doing that yet.

Uses I have found for the crack baby: Cleans up spills, unclogs drains, works surprising well as a roach motel, tax and welfare benefits, makes a good conversation piece, holds open doors, pick up chicks, spare football (not a good basketball), and perhaps a meal, though I couldn’t find any decent recipes. I would love to keep it but my wife says it has to go and if I divorce the skank, she’ll take my house and that wouldn’t be cool. First come first serve.

P.S. No Fatties.

Flipper Baby W4M Post

Okay, so I've posted before and had overwhelming positive responses, but I still haven't found my haystack needle yet, which, let's be honest, is the sole purpose of these personal ads.

A little about me: I have a great smile, a winning peronality, beautiful blue eyes, and know a lot of funny jokes. Unfortunately, my mother did a lot of drugs while she was pregnant with me. Her favorite was to smoke cigarettes dipped in formaldehyde, she called them "clickems". Due to her irresponsible behavior I was born with flippers instead of arms. Most men are able to look past this small deformity and see the bright wonderful girl behind the flippers. I have also had some other unlucky moments in life. A few years ago I was trying to get the hang of rock/paper/scissors with a friend while waiting for the train. She kept throwing out the scissors and due to my flippers, I couldn't counter with rock, only paper. She wouldn't stop teasing me, so finally I flipper bitch slapped her and she retaliated by pushing me. She probably didn't know her own stength and I'm sure she didn't mean to, but I fell in front of the train and both my legs below the knee were sliced off. So if a legless flipper girl is too much to handle, don't respond.

I enjoy long rolls down the beach, swimming(with floaties), waving at cars, piggy back rides, New Kids on the Block, Bukkake, Batman II, and Southern gangsta rap (especially Juvenile).

I don't like bowling, skateboards, drugs, swimming without floaties, crossword puzzles (or anything else involving writing utensils or any utensils for that matter), horny penguins, country music, or sitting in the back of pick up trucks.

I would like for you to be at least 6ft, have some sort of graduate degree, and have a built athletic body. Also you must be hot. I don't think that's too much for a special girl like me to ask for.

Believe me, there are benefits to having a flipper girlfriend. I only weight, like, 60lbs, so you can use me to curl during your workouts. Since I have no legs, sex can be really kinky. For example; when I am on top you can spin me around like a dradle. I won't even get into flipper jobs yet, that's a surprise for the lucky guys. I also don't mind you taping us and showing us to your friends, just don't show my dad because he gets real pissed, trust me.

So let the responses pour in and maybe I can sort you all out and find my needle.

P.S. No Fatties!!!

Tickets to a beating 4 sale

My son decided not to come home last night. Big mistake. Now I'm going to have to beat his ass. This ass beating has been a long time in the making. It is not simply a result of his most recent absence but rather a string of events including but not limited to: Not taking out the trash, talking back to his mother, getting Cs in school, getting a speeding ticket, smoking cigarettes, and chronic masturbation. I'm sure most of you will agree that this kid needs to get his shit rocked and I can promise that it will be worthy of an audience.

The plan: I expect him to come home around 8pm, so it would be best if you could get a ride here or walk because I wouldn't want him to get suspicious of all the cars in the driveway. I can probably fit about 15-20 people in my living room, which is most likely where the beating will occur. These seats will be equivalent to front row or behind first base, and will therefore be the most expensive. My kitchen can host another 10 or so people and I'll have a standing area in the dining room and doorway of my bedroom. I would suggest getting here around 6-7pm, as I will be spending these hours warming up by getting piss-faced drunk. I think I speak for everyone when I say that it's only right for a father to be shit-hammered while wailing on his son. You are encouraged to drink with me, though I will be overcharging for beer like any other sporting event.

As of right now my arsenal contains: One leather belt, two phone books (yellow and white), my high school ring, a pillowcase filled with beer cans (empty of course, I'm not a monster), a pair of steel toe boots, as well as my elbows and knees.

I figure the ass beating will last between 7-10 minutes with a halftime for folks to use the restroom and for my son to think about what he's done. For an additional $20 I will allow you to kick him once while he is down or sucker punch him once while he is not looking. But I will not hold him down because that it just plain wrong and I will not be responsible for any malice actions he may deliver towards you, though I figure he won't have too much strength by that point. Also, you may want to bring some kids of your own to show them what might transpire if they piss you off.

Living Room - $40
Kitchen - $20
Standing Room - $10
Children Under 12 - $5

Grant my dying wish W4M post

I'm not very affluent in computer use, so I'm having my grandson type this personal for me as I dictate.

I am almost 85 years old and I've never had an orgasm...ever. I lust for waves of pleasure to radiate through my osteoporosisized bones. My husband finally died in a freak dynamite accident while fishing and I am now able to purue the big "O". Fifty years of four inches never did it for me and he is just as cold now as he was in the sack.

I'm looking for a man between the ages of 18-85 who will fill the vacuum of my womanly needs. Since my fertile days are over and I probably won't live to see my next birthday, I'm not worried about using protection. STDs and sperm do not scare me, so wrinkles and liver spots should not scare you. I recently got what they call a "Brazilian Wax". The ladies at the spa told me it would take at least ten years off my cooze. I also apply chap stick to my labia on a daily basis to prevent cracking. Obviously I still take care of myself.

I'm about 5'2 and shrinking, maybe 75lbs, thinning white hair, gray eyes, and sagging in all the right places. I use a 2004 turbo walker and still chew most of my own food. I have no teeth, so your tally wacker may find my mouth most warm and friendly.

I can get senior citizen discounts at most participating venues, as well as good parking places if you like, so I make a great date. I can't see too well so it's not important what you look like, as long as you're not colored. I can't hear too good so you should have no tribulations about screaming in my face. I occasionally need help getting to the bathroom as well.

I enjoy bridge, staring out the window, forgetting who I am, planning my funeral, duck butter, prunes, GTA: Vice City, and bridge. I am also 420 friendly.

Please don't hesitate to email me and make an old girl's wish come true, as I am busy cleaning the cobwebs out of my nooks and crannies. I will also provide the appropriate lubrication and magazines and will not rule out the possibilty of putting a brown bag over my head while you cornhole me.

P.S. No Fatties

Cat Woman W4M Post (aka Can you handle this?)

I really don't think I need to be posting this, but my family thinks I should have a boyfriend and I guess this is an effort to humor them. I am 5'6, 115lbs, blonde hair, green eyes, tan skin...well, you get the picture. Anyway, my life is already full right now, as I work a great office job and my after hours time is competely consumed by my cats. I have thirteen of them and they are my life. That is why I don't think I need a man. I love my cats so much, especially Winky, he's all black except for a white patch over one of his eyes, that's why I call him "Winky".

Obviously, if you want to be a part of my life, you have to like cats, all the time. I keep the litter boxes clean and all of them are fixed. They are not noisy and for the most part are people friendly. But they are always watching. Always watching. I close the door when I use the toilet now. Sometimes they talk about me, they think I can't hear them but I can. They are plotting. I know it. Eyes always following me. I don't even get to watch what I want on tv anymore. Wait...Ok, they're gone. Winky is the only one I trust. I've had him the longest and he would never turn on me, at least I don't think he would. God bless you Winky. The other twelve are Judasses. Sometimes I'm scared to come home, sometimes I'm scared to leave home. I don't feel like it's my home anymore. It belongs to them.

I haven't been with a man biblically, so to speak, in quite some time. I have toys, but they're mostly cat toys. I'm afraid that if they don't like you they may try and do something to you, maybe even try to hurt you, and I couldn't handle that on my conscience. NO DOGS!!! They hate dogs. If they even smell a dog on you there is no telling what may transpire.

So, I like men that are a few inches taller than me, have a good sense of humor, do not smoke or do drugs, but a little wine is okay every now and again. I don't like men who steal my pills, because they are for me and only me. Oh God, somebody please help me. I can't do this anymore. They tell me they can read my mind, they tell me to watch what I say, but I don't believe them.

P.S. No Fatties!!!