I don’t know what you are or how you got hold of me.
I DON’T. NEED. A FUCKING DATE.
For the past couple of weeks I’ve been opening my inbox (that’s what she said) to find an email from MyYearbook.com telling me that I have been matched up with NEW DAILY DATES!!
Let’s just scroll on down here and take looksie at who you’re setting me..
(click to enlarge…IF YOU DARE..)
What are those, elephant seals?
Oh..oh look…you’re sending me MORE!
I had NO idea my penis could just detach itself and flee screaming.
I realize I’m not that great myself (lie) but seriously..this is the best you can come up with?
Because the last time I checked, I wasn’t an Interstate trucker in desperate need of a grandmother offering handjobs for a rock of crystal meth.
(They haven’t approved my application yet)
I mean..I even went to your site just to see if this was some weird inbreeding chat room shit and I see THIS on the front page:
Who do I have to blow to get THOSE suggestions?
I’m guessing I have to fondle the balls of the woman I got in photo number 3.
Just to recap:
You know how to make a guy feel special.
Like “King of the Trailer Park” special.
No offense, ladies.
Whatever the fuck you are.