This is a conversation with a friend of mine the day OKcupid blocked everybody’s pictures for their stupid “Crazy Blind Date” promotion.
I want you to remember this. She gets over one hundred messages per day. She is in her 30’s. One hundred messages per day. She is a single mother. One hundred messages per day. She lists her body type as “a little extra.” One hundred messages per day. Her “looking for” only lists “friends.” She gets one hundred messages per day. You get zero messages per day.
You, being a man, will never get one hundred messages, and I don’t give a fuck who you are. I don’t give a fuck how handsome you are, how rich you are, how much game you have, how brilliant your profile is. You will never get one hundred messages in one day. She gets one hundred messages every day.
Now look, this is my best friend, and in my opinion she deserves a million messages per day. Any man on Earth would be lucky to date her, except me. She is smart and funny and pretty and she sucks a mean dick. Her profile is fucking brilliant, too, and she changes it all the time with fresh material that’s completely off the cuff but funny as fuck. That profile should reap a bunch of messages. And while she doesn’t list looking for casual sex, anyone with a half-functioning fuck radar can tell she takes the cock easily, and like a master. There is a vibe about her that screams “I will fuck you on our first meeting.” Subtle signs like the photo of her with pink panties around her knees pissing between two parked cars. The piss is photoshopped out to comply with the family-friendly standards OKCupid enforces, on the site I use to find teenagers to choke while I’m rawdogging them. And “new friends” is even more of a joke with her than it always is with OKCupid; everyone knows it’s just a merciful way of letting losers down. But still. Still.
One hundred messages per day.
Of course, without the pictures, she got zero messages just like you. It’s not the personality. She and her brilliant profile get one hundred messages per day and an equally pretty but stupid and boring girl also gets one hundred messages per day if she looks like she might give up the ass. And it’s because all men are animals who are constantly striving hard to fuck anything that moves. Every man in the greater Los Angeles area on OKCupid has messaged her. And if they haven’t, it’s not because they’re not looking for a quick piece of ass. It’s because she’s over 30. If you live in Los Angeles, you have messaged her. Don’t feel bad that she didn’t write back. She gets one hundred messages per day; answering all that shit would be a full time career.
All men are animals striving hard to fuck and all men are constantly thinking about women, seeking them, tracking them, cataloging them, strategizing about them. The bartender at El Prado knows the name of almost every first date I come there with when they’ve been in six months ago. He has no idea who the fuck I am and I’m there twice a week dressed like Oscar fucking Wilde. My interns come into work telling me about humorous chats with the security guard on the way in. I could drive through the gate with a bomb in my front seat and that fucker wouldn’t notice me. No woman I hang out with has ever had to drive by the Home Depot parking lot and fill a UHaul with Mexicans to help her move. One hundred messages per day.
One hundred messages per fucking day. Guys drive by her at the bus stop and ask her to get in the car. There’s always some guy she met in the grocery store, some guy she picked up at a concert, some friend of a friend who met her for two seconds and added her on facebook and got her number and asked her out– the population of the Earth is 90 per cent men and every single one of them is pushier than you. No one has any compunction about taking a shot. It’s like that on the internet, and it’s like that in life. When you’re talking about a woman between the ages of 18 and 35 with somewhat agreeable bone structure and skin unlike that of Edward James Olmos and a body type that doesn’t make you think she sleep-eats whole Costco jars of mayonnaise with a wooden spoon– there are more ferret owners in the United States than this sort of person. There are more Armenians in America than hot women. There are probably more amputees. And these vanishingly rare women are being doggedly pursued by a much larger slice of the demographic pie that is basically all men on Earth. Married, wheelchair-bound, elderly, doesn’t matter. All men want that same pussy, and none of them mind saying so in the most hamhanded ways imaginable. Three and a half billion of us on the planet for maybe 25 million of them and maybe five of us aren’t loud over-forward jerkoffs. I get about one new piece of ass a month and I feel like I must be tying up 80 per cent of the world’s pussy supply.
No wonder, then, that women aren’t out there looking for us, and in fact are out there actively fleeing from us. They are out there finding a new bar where there are fewer guys and they can relax. And then one or two guys find out about this bar, and let’s go to X place because there are girls there, and it takes about three weeks for a scene to go from a bar where maybe you’ll get laid to a Bar Where Girls Used To Go. In the “game” world, they tell you not to have a “scarcity mentality,” but that’s like telling the lead paint eating kids in the inner city school they can be whatever they dream of. I mean, maybe, but most likely you’re gonna be a hooker or a convict. There is a motherfucking scarcity reality. Over 30, single mother, “a little extra,” looking for just friends. One hundred messages per day.
What’s the lesson to take from this? I don’t fucking know. Don’t feel bad, I guess. It’s tough out there. One hundred motherfucking messages per day is what you’re up against. Dudes calling out of cars, inboxes full of dick pics. If you have gotten laid even once in your life you’re like the Sierra Leonian kid digging in river mud who finds a Blood Diamond. It’s a wonder we all don’t just stay home and jerk off.