"I Slept with Sixteen Different Girls this Week
I have the morals of a SEWER
Why? Because I manipulate
within hours of meeting them .
Craigslist, dating sites like
It's almost as if I slip them
everything - and everyone -
But there is no such drug. In
that you can use starting NOW
Look, I'm talking about some
this isn't ethical, nice, or
HEY! Stop being jealous of
Isn't it time to just say '
While I'm tempted to steal this and turn it into a poem, I suppose I'm more interested in the fact that someone, somewhere, wrote this delightfully crude email, and moreover, that they probably making money doing it. Well god damn. Where do I sign up?
Truth is, I don't know where to sign up, because if I could, I would. I've tried explaining this to friends, and while they usually respond by sucking air through their teeth, changing the subject, or simply looking at their shoes, I stick by my convictions. This dude is probably sitting in his flannel pajama bottoms right now, (can't you see him? there's a bit of mustard crusted to his swollen, uncovered belly), writing these emails in all of three minutes, firing them out, and then letting the insecurities of the internet public get him paid.
At least, that's what I'm inferring from the automated messages that you inevitably end up with when you do any sort of scandalous emailing on the List. Most often, they're not bro-tastic messages like this one, but grammatically-challenged emails penned, supposedly, by real women. And while I'm sure that there are some real women, i.e. prostitutes, sending out some of these messages, for the most part I'm inclined to believe that some dude in Alaska (or wherever) has built a website and posted a bunch of photos of scantily clad 19-year-olds (which he pulled at random from the web). At that point, your clientele's loneliness has done the work: all that's left to do is charge the poor fuckers with the promise of meeting Cindy or Veronica or Miracle, eventually.
Perhaps that's terrible. Maybe this system is feeding on people's weaknesses, and leads only to more hurt, to further estrangement. Perhaps, perhaps.
Personally, I think it's a kick-ass entrepreneurial idea. I've been swimming after that sailed boat for like, 9 months. I usually reply to these emails by asking how much money is to be made doing this sort of work, or how they got started doing it. They don't ever write back. Or maybe they do. Maybe the email that showed up at 1:37 this morning was a long-delayed response to one of my inquiries. Perhaps the writer, that mustard-spattered guru, sensed my desperation through his computer. Maybe he sensed my loneliness. Maybe he was trying to tell me something.
Or maybe he just doesn't give a fuck. He has the morals of a sewer rat, after all.
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