Junkbuzzed

An Open Letter to You Who Troll Craigslist

PART I: The Situation.

Boys and girls, pimps and hos, gather ’round the fan for a sec. It’s time for a little come-to-Jesus on the subject of date-trolling your friendly neighborhood Craigslist. Because it ain’t pretty, folks. You have stumbled, bumbled, and fumbled your way through ill-conceived form letters, capped-up hissy fits, demands of blowjobs and roses, and every spam-artist from NOLA to Nigeria.

This is what Craigslist is here for. Easily attained, NSA sex; used furniture; the occasional zombie sighting; and ultimately a refuge for the nerdy, BBW-sturdy, and sex-over-30 crowds. You prayed, you wept, you toiled and sweat, you wished upon a star domain and woke up to your wildest dreams. You are why Jesus turned a stack of moldy old Robert Heinlein novels into the internet.

So let us set things right. Let us lay down a few ground rules. A gauntlet, if you will, of style and sense. MORE>>

A little background: I am your Snarling Misanthrope. I am a single male. I am neither college-age young nor grad-student young-ish. I am not tall. I am not well-tanned (I am so hopelessly wan that Al Gore has repeatedly threatened to use me as a natural light source). I am not ruggedly handsome. I am also not effeminately handsome. I do not possess washboard abs, or ass cheeks that can split walnuts. (They can however mush marshmallows.) My man-junk does not measure out to 8 inches, even if I perform a grueling series of twirling pizza-dough stretches with it. I do not drive a flashy car. My bank statements are not going to impress anyone, including myself. And…brace yourselves…I smoke, too. Which seems to be a sin far worse than defecating on a priest these days.

Surely then, you think, I must be a wretched creature, hiding in the catacombs of the intertubes, covering my hideousness with bitmaps and old Huffington posts, and wallowing in my own languid filth, utterly and hopelessly alone, while wearing a hairshirt made of cigarette butts. With a lot of cats mewling in my fetid wake.

But somehow, unbelievably - nay - miraculously - when I post, I get responses. And some of those responses turn into correspondences. And some of those correspondences turn into - wait for it - dates. You know, like go-outside-in-the-company-of-a-girl sort of dates. It’s true. Dates. From real girls. American ones, even, for all you Lou Dobbs’ jock-sniffers out there. And you know what, boys and girls - you can too!

First, let us ascertain why we – and we means you – are here. And let us be honest with ourselves on this matter. There is probably at least one critical (and critically sensitive) reason as to why you are trolling for dates on Craigslist. Please choose from the following options:

- You were picked on in middle school, leaving you withdrawn and shoe-gazingly shy to this day. Chances are that you make your living either as a middle school teacher or a blogger. (Hi, Mom!)

- You are married. You are also bored. You would like some fun/attention/sex behind Significant Other’s back. Or, if you are a cuckolding enthusiast, in front of.

- You are lazy.

- Your ass is all herped-up. And it’s easier to send an e-card than it is to, well, come clean.

- You have struck out in all the bars in all the land, never finding your stripper-with-a-heart-of-gold-teeth / rock star doctor with a strong jaw line who still cries over the cancellation of Veronica Mars / nice Christian girl who will take it in the pooper on the first date / Denzel / Gisele / dude with junk the size of an immersion blender. You hope to find this person here. Get used to disappointment.

- You are, in a word, fugly. There is no shame in fuglyhood; this is why we cultivate and celebrate wit.

- You, a hopeless romantic, left your girl/boyfriend on a toilet seat for two years. Suddenly you find yourself single, and with a cold toilet seat.

- You are a spammer. And you are deeply concerned about the effects of a prolonged recession on the sex-worker industry.

Whatever your reason(s), you are here. To paraphrase our great American philosopher Roddy Piper, “you are here to chew bubblegum and chase ass. And you are all out of bubblegum.” So let us get down to the nitty-gritty.

 

Part 2 will be posted next week, where we talk to the women.

Related posts:

1. An Open Letter to You Who Troll Craigslist: For the Ladies

May 8th, 2008 Posted by The Snarling Misanthrope | Form (Letters) Over Function, Getting Your Spank On, Niche Cliché Pastiche, Success Stories, The Money Shot, The Perils of Meatspace | 4 comments