This is why you don't join the Peace Corps.

As I mentioned in a previous post, I'm branding myself as the next Oprah, only I'm young, I'm humble, and I'm unable (which you must distinguish from "unwilling") to publish a photo of my face anywhere (as I prefer to only get beaten up if it's part of "role playing"). Also, I, unlike O, realize that building schools for underprivileged girls is less important than talking to them about the importance of getting laid frequently and by the hottest man possible (please notice how I said "man" and not "men" as I also emphasize the lesson of Not Being a Ho).

So, as a humanitarian, I volunteer frequently. No. Wait. Come to think of it, perhaps I can only say that I dabble in volunteer work on occasion. No. Hmmmm.... Really, I think that I may have only volunteered once in my life, and it's the story I'm about to tell you.

I recently convinced my girlfriends to work at a charity benefit as hostesses. Basically, there's a group of middle-aged "bachelors" who regularly throws parties and then donates the money to The Ronald McDonald Foundation. We agreed to work at one of these parties, which involved sitting at a table, welcoming guests, and collecting their donations. Meanwhile, the "bachelors" kept our champagne glasses full. I know, I TOTALLY rough it when I volunteer. I mean, it's WAY more uncomfortable feeling gassy due to consuming 2 bottles of champagne than it is picking up a damn soda can off the beach. Puh-leeeease.

Anyhoo, one of these middle-aged "bachelors," whom I will call Pervy Viet Man, took a liking to one of my friends, whom I will call Alice. Alice is an attractive, fit, highly-educated girl in her early-20s. Pervy Viet Man is a 40-something year-old, overweight, balding, 5'4" Vietnamese man with a thick Vietnamese accent. For those of you from the square states who have never before heard a Vietnamese accent, let me tell you something -- it is perhaps the least attractive accent on the planet. The intonations are somewhat similar to the sound of elephants mating. [Sorry, Phuong and Lan (my Vietnamese manicurists).]

I'd like to share with you the email that Pervy Viet Man sent Alice after the event:

Hi, this is [Pervy Viet Man] from the XXX Bachelors Club. How are you doing skinny? Still clubbing with your friends?

Couple things I want to ask you:
1) The next party is at the XXX Club in XXX on June 29. Can you help? I know it's a long drive so you can stay over night at my house in XXX if you want. I'll let you have my master bedroom and king size bed. We don't send out invite yet until 2 weeks before the party. You're the first to know.

2) Summer is here I'm looking for somebody in the city to walk with to get more exercise as opposed to hitting the golf course over the weekend. Care to join me sometime? Your lunch is on me.

That email is officially the LAST MOTHERFUCKING THING any girl would want to find in her inbox. An email that announced the death of her ENTIRE fucking family by gunshots to their faces would actually CHEER HER UP after that creepy ass bullshit email!

Please, if any of you have EVER received a creepier email, forward it to me immediately and I will pay you $1 million. Or I'll post it on my blog. I know that both options would be equally rewarding to you, particularly given my widespread readership.


LESSONS LEARNED:

1. Volunteering is for suckers.
   

OMG. I am like SO fucking popular.

I hope the other female bloggers don't feel all threatened and shit about that chart above, which pretty much demonstrates that my readership base is UNFUCKINGBELIEVABLY GARGANTUAN.

Now, when I address my "readers," I can be more specific by saying something like, "my 6 readers." This is where you're realizing that the chart's scale is neither in the thousands nor tens of thousands. No way, baby! I'm rocking the SINGLE DIGITS!

Don't worry. I won't let this get to my head. For now. I can't promise I'll remain so down-to-earth once I hit the double-digits. That's a whole different ballpark, motherfuckers! But I know I'll get there. I'm going to ride my irresistible charm and razor-sharp wit straight to the top!! (Which I define as having 25 readers)

I'll continue to post my stats because I find them fucking hilarious. What on EARTH possesses me to continue to write to entertain 6 fucking people? And you must be TOTAL LOSERS and FREAKS if you actually read my bullshit! Shit! God, we need to get lives.

A question more important than "What is the meaning of life?"

I'd like to address a question that people stop to ask me on the street almost every day. No, it's not the question "Are you a model?" But that's a good guess. The question is, "What makes a hobag a hobag?"

I think it's important to answer this question for many reasons. First, nothing's worse than being a ho while thinking you're a normal girl who's "just having fun." This could lead to many awkward situations, such as turning 30 years old and wondering why none of the 485 men you've slept with have proposed to you yet. Second, ............................. second, ..............okay, I guess there is no other reason why the question is important. Basically, I just want to figure out whether my girlfriends and I are skanks or not.

Here's what I've decided are the symptoms of Hoism, which will now be the standard for the entire world going forward:

You ARE a hobag if ...

• you lost your virginity before you learned how to do long division (sorry, no exceptions for rape or child molestation as we all know that people who were sexually abused grow up to become skanks with low self esteen).

• your only criteria for whether you should give a man a blowjob is whether the dick will fit in your mouth, which is particularly relevant since there are already two other dudes' dicks in there. When it can't fit, you let him stick it up your ass.
  

• you tell people the number of men you've slept with, but you have to use the words "plus or minus 100." After you notice the looks of disgust on people's faces, you defend yourself by chiming in, "Just kidding! The real number is actually [insert amount of $ in your checking account]." If you fall into this category, then you're not just a hobag -- you're a broke ass hobag, which is the worst kind. But don't worry, it's also the most common kind. There are only a few rich ass hobags in the world. We commonly refer to them as "It Girls."
  

• you do the walk of shame so regularly that you've created an optimal route home that ensures no one will ever see you. This route involves a tunnel you've burrowed yourself and perhaps maybe a zipline or two. You've strategically hidden ninja outfits in bushes throughout your neighborhood. You carry your change of thong and your toothbrush in a hollowed-out Bible.

• you're able to ask 27 qualifying questions regarding condom preferences, but you don't ask any because you don't even use condoms. This is because it feels "sooooooo fucking amazing fucking without one!" You don't even care if it's a military man. Or a frat boy. Or an ex-convict. A dick is a dick, right?
  

• you purposely masturbate before an open window that directly faces the window of your neighbor; however, that window belongs to the room of a 6 year-old boy, who is also the son of a local pastor. You've repeatedly told the pastor that his son is a "little fucking liar."

CONCLUSION: Despite this unbelievably high standard I'm setting for what makes a hobag a hobag, it seems as though, somehow, I am NOT a hobag. I'm very relieved and will be emailing the results of this test to my parents shortly. Are YOU a hobag?!?! If so, it's okay. Don't feel bad. It's much better being a hobag than a prude. Everyone says so.

Craigie Awards: Photo Submissions

Hello, dear reader(s).

As part of my Masochistic Craigslist Experiment, I will be presenting awards, which I will call Craigies, to the unwitting respondents of my Craigslist ad.

I will first begin with Craigies awarded for photo submissions. Please note that while I'm ABSOLUTELY DYING (seriously DYYYYYYING) to post the actual photos I received in order to better tell the stories and also add a color besides pink to this vagtastic-looking blog, I think that posting photos would be heinously bitchy because stupidity and ugliness do not justify such cruelty. But DO NOT for one fucking second take this rare act of kindness on my part to be a sign of weakness because, in addition to being delightfully charming, I'm unbreakable. UNBREAKABLE.

• Most Annoying Photo: One dude sent me a photo of himself in a MASQUERADE MASK. Psst! Phantom of the Opera! I can still tell YOU ARE UGLY.
  

• Most Repulsive Outfit: A man with an afro sent me a picture of himself wearing a purple, leopard-print, short-sleeved, button-down shirt. No, I did not pull those adjectives out of a grab bag of synonyms for BUTT UGLY CLOTHING DESCRIPTIONS. What this shirt needed was flames on it. Not printed flames. Real flames. Engulfing it. Like in Backdraft. And I'm hoping for his sake that somewhere in the background of this photo there sits a faithful seeing eye dog that explains this "situation" (not that that would stop me from mocking and spitting on him or kicking his dog for not doing its job). Oh, by the way. This wasn't a candid shot where he was out with his friends at one of those "unbelievably creative, unique, and rare" Pimps and Hos parties that is the theme of EVERY OTHER FUCKING PARTY IN THE WORLD. No. This was a fucking posed, "professional" studio photo, so planning, time, money, AND delusions actually went into this bullshit picture. Let us offer a moment of silence for his penis, which has never before felt the soft, warm touch of a vaginal wall. Amen.
  

• Most Idiotic Mistake: One guy sent me two photos. In one, he looked hot and athletic in a basketball jersey -- totally bangable. In another, he looked like he'd spent the past 4 years eating fried, chocolate-dipped hippopotamus lardballs. Now, which is probably the more recent one? Yes, even the idiots among us (god why are there so many of you) know that we generally pack ON the pounds as we age. What was Tubbo McDoritos thinking?!!? Why the FUCK would I give a mother fuck if he USED TO BE FIT? Why the FUCK is he showing me what he WOULD HAVE LOOKED LIKE if he hadn't let himself go?!?! Do 47 year-old cougars try to pick up men by saying that they USED TO BE 17? Would I date a merely middle-class man who USED TO BE A BILLIONAIRE? Fuck no! Fucking grow a brain.
  

• Most Likely to Live with His Mother: Hmm... now WHAT on EARTH would possess me to think such a thing? Could it be because he sent me AN ENTIRE FUCKING PHOTO ALBUM OF PHOTOS OF HIM AND HIS DEAR MOTHER?!!!? Hey, Mama's Boy! Here's the typical order of events: 1st date where YOU PAY --> numerous other fun/romantic/creative/adventurous dates over the course of months/years --> asteroid-sized rock on my left finger --> introduction to your family where mommy dearest sits down and TORTURES me with your LAME ASS family albums as I feign interest about what an adorable boy you once were!!!
  

• Most Unnecessary Special Effects: One picture completely confused me because of its weird editing that added NO VALUE whatsoever. He took a photo of himself and then cut out the picture of his head and then pasted it slightly to the right of his body. As you can imagine, THERE IS NO APPARENT FUCKING REASON FOR THIS other than to show he has delusions that looking disembodied would get me off. HEY, FUCKOFF, nowhere in my ad did I mention, "BTW, my full name is Hannibal Lecter."

• Best Movie Impersonation: Ever see The Blair Witch Project? Remember how CREEPY AS FUCK the characters looked when they would turn the camera on themselves in the darkness, with only the tiniest bit of light shining onto their frightened, shadowy faces? Yeah, so how do you think I felt when I opened my goddamn EMAIL hoping to see an Abercrombie-Like Adonis only to have some FUCKED UP BLAIR WITCH MOTHER FUCKER LEERING AT ME?!?! SHIIIIIIIIIIT! I almost started crying (I never actually cry for I'm incapable of tears and most feminine emotions). I thought the freak was going to seriously come flying out of my laptop, kill me with a stick, and hang my half-eaten corpse from a tree in the wilderness. I still can't believe I live to tell this story. I now know exactly how cancer survivors feel, and beating death validates something that I've always believed -- that I really WAS put on this earth to mock and judge others and that I am meant to continue doing so for decades to come. And this is a blessing to us all.
  

• Most Age Inappropriate Suitor: I couldn't believe it, but a fucking GREAT GREAT GREAT GRANDFATHER responded to my ad. I actually read through his entire email hoping to read a story about how he used to sip tea with George Washington. To make matters worse, Father Time was wearing a fanny pack and about 45 extra pounds around his midsection. I don't even know how he was standing upright on his own. Suuuure, geezer, you're just "leaning" on that fucking pole. I bet you're hiding a defibrillator behind that damn tree, too! Are you also going to tell me how proud you are of your great great grandson, Alexandros, King of Macedon?! And is your baby picture found somewhere among the Lescaux Cave Paintings? Here's some handy advice: if someone is so fucking old he used to WALK ACROSS WHAT WE NOW CALL "THE PACIFIC OCEAN," a photo is utterly meaningless in his pursuit of a girl in her 20s. Either email proof that you are worth over $100 million or fuck off.

Please don't rape me.

I'm beginning a Masochistic Craigslist Experiment in order to (1) see if Craigslist is a good place to try to find a man and (2) entertain you motherfuckers!!! Do you see how GIVING I am? I could be wasting time re-building hurricane-torn homes, but I instead choose to find innovative ways to inject your lives with laughter while simultaneously inserting mine with mortification.

Yes, I'll date creeps off the internet for fodder. I suspect that I'm opening Pandora's Box of Social Intercourse, but don't try to tell me that it's dangerous or that I'm crazy because I'll do anything for a good story -- even if it means jeopardizing my dignity, sexual health, and life. Also, I've already been raped once, and I heard it's not so bad the second time around. Kidding. Really. Everyone likes rape jokes.

One of my girlfriends tried this Craigslist thing before and received hundreds of photos of penises. So far, I've received about 50 responses with 0 penises. Shit! What did I do wrong? I mean, Thank goodness. Penises....ewwwww!

Over the coming days, I'll share with you some of the unbelievably fucked up responses I've received. And, of course, I'll tell you ALL ABOUT the dates (minus the "action" because a lady never tells, and obviously, I am a refined, classy lady).

Let's be excited. What wonders will Craigslist hold for us?!?!

Gangbangs, though fun, are not romantic.

This is a little tale that will demonstrate how fucking clueless and inept I am when it comes to men, dating, and everyday common sense. In other words, it's no different from any of my other posts.

A boy I had met at a bar (stop judging...where else am I supposed to meet high-caliber man? my fucking "friends" aren't doing SHIT to introduce me to people) called me and asked me out for drinks. We agreed to meet at a local wine bar for we both happen to be quintessential yuppies (yes, between 7:30 AM and 6 PM, I am a real working "professional" who doesn't use the word "fuck" in every other sentence).

So I agreed to go out with this boy, "Google Boy #1" (I originally wanted to just go with "Google Boy," by my foresight cautioned me that I'd better number these dorks because I'll likely whore it up with Google to try to get a free lunch ticket to their world-renowned cafeteria). Ehhhhh.... fuck it! His real name is "Andy," which I'm revealing because the bastard later rejected me.

When I agreed to go out with Andy, I warned him that I had already made dinner plans with some friends visiting from the UK (for I am a beloved global figure), so I'd have to call Andy afterward to figure out where to meet up.

My friends showed up at the restaurant and had brought other friends, so I was now with four black men. Unbeknownst to me at the time, 4 black men + 1 girl ==> gangbang. Or, it might lead to something like these men running a train on me. Anyhow, I was oblivious to all of this at the time and never stopped to wonder if Andy, a white, boarding-school-bred, Duke- and Cornell-educated Googler, would find it weird if I were to show up to our date with these four black men. Fuck you. Even genius must rest at some points.

So I went to the wine bar to meet Andy -- with Arthur, Ole, Kole, and Ade in tow. I then witnessed the flesh of a white man somehow manage to lose even more color. Andy was both confused and scared shitless. I ignored this obvious discomfort and focused on my priority of the evening: DRINKING. So I screamed out, "Let's drink, bitchesssssssss!"

We proceeded to guzzle a few bottles of wine together and then moved onto a nearby lounge so that we could dance the night away (no, Andy had not run home crying like a little bitch yet ). Arthur, Ole, Kole, and Ade were amazing dancers. The girls all wanted to freak with them. Andy... Andy danced like a deaf white boy, and the sad thing is, he was getting ALL into it. NO, it is NOT fucking "cute" when a guy TRIES to dance even though he can't. It's fucking humiliating and uncalled for. It's the reason why I have to cram a damn straightjacket in my fucking clutch every time I take a white man to a club.

I eventually grew tired of watching Andy struggle to find the beat. A hooker would struggle less with reading An Introduction to Modern Astrophysics. So I invited him to sit down with me so that we could chat alone and get to know each other better. This is when Andy finally confessed his feelings about this first date of ours. He told me, "When you first walked in with four black guys, I was totally weirded out, but then I thought, 'This girl must be a freak!'" And so he asked me out on another date (he would later learn the hard way just how freaky I am, but that's a story for another day).


LESSONS LEARNED:

1. You can take a man on the world's worst date, but if he thinks you'll let him do anal, he'll ask you out again.
2. Nerdy white boys are intimidated by black men, even if the black men are highly-educated and have refined British accents; therefore, do not bring such black men on your dates with nerdy white boys.
3. You should arrive at your dates alone, not with a group of men (I actually had to go back and ADD this because it completely escaped me when I first wrote this).

Coming Soon: A New Target ==> ME!!!

An interesting issue was broached to me the other night -- fairness. I was at a bar with one of my four readers, and this reader told me that it's totally fine for me to bash on my dates as long as I tell my stories fairly. I immediately told him to fuck off and find another blog because I don't have time to worry about being reputable. I'm protected by ANONYMITY, baby!!

But then I pondered the possibility of my identity someday being revealed, particularly as the inevitable popularity of this blog spreads across the land and I am crowned the Carrie Bradshaw of the 20-something singles set. If you are to worship me, I must value honesty at least slightly. And so I've decided to present a more balanced tale of my "love life." I hope I can forgive myself for this someday.

Also, I must confess something that will come as a shock to you, particularly if you are someone who actually knows me: I'm not perfect. Yes, I know it's hard to believe. I spend most of my time finding the exact opposite of that to be true, but then once in a while I fuck up BIG TIME, and I'm reminded that no, I am not perfect, and, in fact, I am far from perfection. So far from perfection that I could squint into the Hubble Telescope and not make out even one corner of perfection.

So what does this mean for you? This means you'll get to hear stories about all the times that I totally cock blocked myself with a guy and then got spit out like the gum you just realized you've been chewing all afternoon but had lost its flavor and softness hours ago. By the way, that was the world's perfect analogy. It really cuts to how a man will keep you around because it's convenient and he's too busy thinking about other things, but he one day realizes, "UGH! Why the fuck am I still working on this when I can get something new and tasty?!" and then hurls you out of his life. Ingenious. I know. It can't be stopped.

I suppose that you're now expecting me to launch into a hilarious, self-deprecating story about one of my failures, but, sorry, nothing's coming to mind yet. Searching for my mistakes in my immaculate past is like trying to find dirt on Gandhi. Good luck, bitches! But I'll come back to you with some good shit. Seriously, I will. And it'll be worth the wait.