TELL YOUR MOM I WOULD HAVE BEEN HAPPY TO PAY HER, HAD THE RIMJOB BEEN OF HIGHER QUALITY

Sunday, November 07, 2004

I Joined A Computer Dating Service

Drunk, lonely and online, I decided to join Yahoo personals to try and find myself a girlfriend. Since my social interaction with the opposite sex has been limited for the past, I don't know, six or so years (the predictable consequence of despising human interaction) and since I never meet girls anymore, mostly due to my horrible personal appearance and a hateful personality.

I didn't have many photographs of myself (why would I possibly want one?), but I manged to find one from a company picnic (I ended up getting poison oak, the whole afternoon was a fucking nightmare) that I posted. As for having to describe myself, when I know for a fact I'm a miserable, worthless, angry prick was pretty difficult. Hi! I'm Phil! I like sunsets! just seems unacceptable. 'Be yourself' is still the worst advice I'd ever gotten (if I was myself, I'd be lucky if I just got arrested).

Some of the females seemed okay, some seemed like obvious monsters, some seemed like someone grabbed a photograph of a model and stuck it on the web to dupe someone. How a human being can try to describe THEMSELVES in a paragraph and still sound so deeply unappealing boggles the mind. A portion seem like nice people, but it doesn't make sense that anyone attractive would need to use a dating service. I'll be honest, I'm an ugly mean fuck that can't get along with people, so I need to pay a computer to find me dates. As per my assumption, many of the female's photos were indeed disturbing, but some were quite easy on the eyes. I wrote emails to a few, (another difficult task) so I'll see if any reply. I won't get my hopes up, but I hope I didn't waste $19.

Oh, my cousin Mike called today. Mike is a real piece of shit. He only calls if he wants something, but rather then just spitting out whatever favor he needs, he has to go through increasingly exasperating social niceties.

"Hello?"
"Hello."
"Phil, it's Mike."
"Hi."
"What's going on?"
"Nothing."
"How's everything going."
"Fine"
"[hour long story about things I don't care about, people I've never met nor plan or doing so, completely devoid of any content worthy of sharing with another person, interspersed with myself saying, every five minutes or so, 'uh huh'.]
"Uh huh."
"So yeah [another hour leading up to asking me for a favor, after he fucked something up]"

Mike fancies himself a writer, even though I don't think he's actually ever written something. Besides being a worthless human being, totally unreliable, and boring to boot, he is dismissive of everything.

"Yeah, so Mike, I watched Visconti's 'The Leopard' the other night."
"Well, yeah, that's a good movie. Except the wedding sequence goes on too long, it's really obnoxious."

To top it off, for all his aspirations to being a writer, none of it is a legitimate desire to create or express himself, it's all fashion - he just wants to be hep. He wants to see himself on a book jacket, dressed in hipster clothes, driving a hipster car with a model girlfriend on his arm, and especially; have every action no matter how minor, be venerated as art. For him, being a writer, even the ambition, is just fashion. I'm never nice to him. I dislike talking to him, and I make no attempt to disguise it, but he calls ever couple weeks anyway, asking for some oblique favor, all after being subjected to having to listen to his bullshit. Mike used to live in Hawaii, too, before he moved to New York. I don't like New York one bit, for all it's pretensions at being a bohemian enclave filled with intelligent people, it's just another Yuppie hell hole. Mike tried to make it in New York, then fucked it all up. Now he lives in Pittsburgh. He keeps asking me to visit him, but I would rather be subject to unspeakable tortures at the hand of the Devil himself. He keeps threatening to come out and visit me, which will be a dark day in human history if it ever comes true. He has the condescending obsession with White Trash culture, despite that typically infertile field having been mined already for all it's worth. He also loves camping, the outdoors, the desert, the mountains, bad neighborhoods, and if you ever have to spend time with him, he isn't content to ever relax, and will willingly start a disaster to keep everyone unhappy. His need to be seen as some kind of unconventional, uncompromising rebel because he'll willingly go through a lousy neighborhood or go camping in some out of the way spot is too sad for words.

I remember once in Grade School, making some comment how I hoped a classmate of mine would die. My Teacher, a typical Hawaiian fuck, got a concerned look on her face and said 'you can't actually mean it, can you?' Yeah, I did. So, when I say I hope Mike gets some horrible, painful disease, causing him to be bedridden in constant pain for decade or so, gradually wasting away until he is dies, I mean every word of it. I hope Mike is soon a corpse.

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