You got two options: she’s either never going to give you the picture, or she’s going to be ugly. That’s it. And yet I bite, every single fucking time. I get a message from a girl who is pixellated out or black bar over the face or simply, you know, an Ansel Adams photograph or some shit and I bite every time. Because I have to know.
And no matter how many times—it’s either nothing, or ugly, every single fucking time—I still can’t just trust myself and internalize the fucking rule. I can’t take a second and reason with myself. Like, anyone who doesn’t list their body type– do you think they have a spectacular fit body? A guy who doesn’t list his height- do you think he’s dunking on (I cannot name a single defensive NBA player)? Do you think a dude who doesn’t list his income is hiding Mitt Romney levels of untaxed capital gains in the Caymans and that’s why it’s gotta be a secret? No. No. If someone is not explicit about a piece of information on OKC it is because whatever quality they’re hiding is a liability to the point of freakishness. Continue reading
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