The other day I got a message, via an internet dating site that shall remain nameless, from a woman from Los Angeles. Yeah, the one in California.
"Oh, you want to have coffee? I'll hop in my jet. See you in five hours."
It was obvious from this message that it was a mass email scam of some sort. It was completely generic, the author had obviously never read my profile, and the syntax was painful.
Oh, and in the Description area, the following was listed:
So not only is someone trying to take the money they mistakingly think I have, they're trying to do it by tempting me with a bald midget three time zones away!
"Here's my checking account number, Mini-Me's sister! I love you!"
At least pretend it's a tall blond from Louisville like the good scam artists do. Of course, even then you can tell it's a fake, mainly because the email is written like this:
I read profile and have you many manly things I like. I live in your city and enjoy the places and things people in your city enjoy. How about local sport team? They are team I like. I am tall blond considered the very good looking. I search for man to love forever and you are man.
Write me at svetlana@
Of course, these easily identifiable scams are nothing compared to the real dates. Oh, real dates, how you disappoint and frustrate me.
I recently had a quick dinner with the most humorless, critical, self-important woman to ever ruin a quick dinner.
I was chastised for not composting. Repeat: I WAS CHASTISED FOR NOT COMPOSTING.
I'm overweight, I hate my job, I had to sell my Acura to a scrap yard, and my social life has been reduced to me trolling on internet dating sites. Shame on me for not thinking to intentionally let garbage rot in the backyard. Go fuck your hat, Broomhilda.
She droned on and on about knitting hats for the homeless, which is very nice; good for her. But WHY BE A BITCH TO ME? I'm right here, trying to carry on a conversation with a cyborg from the planet Cuntron 5. At least fake being nice, god damn it!
And god help the homeless if they ever have to meet the "mystery angel" who knits their hats. She'll spend hours analyzing the life mistakes they've made. She'll wonder why they just didn't go to college or at least learn a trade. And why the pesky alcoholism and/or drug habit?
"You can keep the hat. Winter ain't that cold."