Nuking the OKC profile again. Might make this a monthly feature.
What I’m Doing with My Life
I’m basically a hobo with an apartment. I was fired from my job in February for just sheer horrific not giving a fuck and since then I’m paid by your tax dollars to drink and masturbate. I have no idea when or how I will get another job. I have applied for dozens and dozens of them, that I am supremely qualified for, and have heard nothing back. It’s OK. Working sucks. I can’t not admit that to myself. I can’t say “I loved my previous job and am really excited about building a career and synergy and outside the box blah blah blah,” so, I am not qualified to work. I complain that people won’t hire me but fuck man, they shouldn’t hire me, because I don’t give a shit about them or their company and I will only hate them for making me show up. I will coast on the least amount of effort possible. I will jerk off at work if there’s any privacy. Who wants that around.
I’m unhirable. I’m undatable. I have friends who are women who take care of every emotional and intellectual and like, cuddling aspect of my life, so I’m only on here looking for sex. I fuck an awful lot of women off this web site and I never use condoms. Or I did, last time– for the first time in years a girl made me, and I was aware of my dick inside her the way you’re aware of your arm when it’s fallen asleep. I wonder what she had that she was so adamant. Probably herpes, judging by her haircut. Condoms don’t prevent herpes. Nonetheless. I want to pour a couple drinks in you and have unprotected sex. For me to want something more you would have to be pretty god damn remarkable, and you’re not. There are a million of you.
On the plus side I really am as tall as I say I am. I am not secretly bald. And being unemployed I have plenty of time to enhance my chest, arms and buttocks. They are meaty and robust. My shoulders have muscle fibers that visibly kind of wrestle with one another when they’re tense. You can only see it when I’m flexing, but, every time you see me with my shirt off I will be flexing slightly. You can tell because I’m gritting my teeth a little. Stop looking at my teeth, you idiot. Look at my shoulders. It took years to get them like this.
What I want is for you to be special enough that I don’t just use you for sex. And I need you to prove that to me just about instantly, on our first date. I need you to be so funny and sweet and thought-provoking that I abandon my plan to have you drive me up the hill from the bar and get you into my squalid apartment and pour cheap red wine down your gullet while a youtube clip of Claude Debussy plays through my tinny computer speakers, and then I carry you into the bedroom and after a couple fake girlish objections on your part I give you the raw meatpipe. I need you to make me think: Jesus, I really want to spend more time with this person. Maybe I ought to ease up and let shit happen at a more civilized pace. None of you can do this. Or a couple of you have; those are the girls who take care of me now. I can’t fuck them anymore because I can’t stay interested in sex with the same person more than ten times. I need you to make me interested in sex with you more than ten times.
I need you to do all of this and in return I’ll give you nothing but I’m pretty tall and I smell good and I have nice teeth. Also I have a cat, so, if you like cats, you know– I have one. That’s something.