In part one of this Open Letter, we outlined the circumstances that may bring a normally lucid, forward-thinking (okay, we’re reaching) human of any sexual persuasion to the seemingly Salmonella typhimurium-drenched buffet table of Craigslist. Craigslist is indeed like a restaurant that narrowly tap-dances its way out of Health Board-mandated shutdown every few months, and only because the inspector really loves those fucking spring rolls.
Today, in part two, we address the women of Craigslist. Avec torque.
Ladies. Women. O, curves-endowed soul-searchers of the night. Uncle. We get it. Seriously. We get it already. You like tall non-smokers with Master’s degrees. Who love dogs, fondue, and cuddling. And you don’t want to see pictures of man-junk. Furthermore, it is said that you hate the drama. Fan-tastic. Got anything else to share? Mystery is alluring, dear reader (citation needed), but vagueness for its own sake is simply not going to win you any points in the great poon-up or post-off. Posts that put forth little more than “I like dogs and yoga LOL”, followed with a challenge for the menfolk (those hapless, witless wretches who will be first-responders to your lovelorn distress call) to be original, be witty, be clever, are doomed to horrible, flaming failure.