12 June, 2009

Thank God It's Briday

Thirty one women have decided that they want in on the unceasing joke that is...
A) The economy of the United States of America.
B) The news media of the United States of America.
C) My life.
D) All of the above.
That's right, today's theme is multiple choice! Wait, no it's not.
Fuck it, let's just jump right into it. Initiate...
Page three: Nataliya is all alone on page three, and here's where I'm getting conflicted. While she's blonde, she has the following things going for her. Firstly she's twenty six, so we'd at least be on the same level of maturity. Secondly, she's an atheist, which means she thinks, or at least isn't going to just say Russian Orthodox for any ulterior motivations. Thirdly, she's a drinker. Fourthly, her favorite music is "retro", which can at least guarantee that she has to put effort and thought into record shopping and doesn't just gobble up everything MTV and AOR tells her. Fifthly, fifty of her one hundred fifty four pounds is centralized in her rack. I know Briday has morphed into more about who's a suitable fit for the U.S. rather than who I ought to marry (albeit using my marriage criteria), but can I have this one, guys? Please? I mean - Wait. What are those? Are those - ? No. Couldn't be, I mean she overcame such odds as claiming to have chestnut hair when she's clearly blonde. I mean, she - Damn it. I've known this girl. She wears UGLY SHOES.
Page two: Ladies, if you really want to land a man in the U.S., you should know that, while brutish and unrefined, we're insecure man children who hold a number of stigmas toward a number of subjects. One of those subjects is women who take pictures of themselves like it's weawwy wate and Uncwe Weo came into their bedwoom and asked if I wanted to pway a speciaw game.

Yeah, don't do this.
Naturally, Anna is out along side five other blondes and eight boring ones.
Before we leave page two, I want to address two last things. First, ladies, I know some of you are desperate, even to the point of giving up that ass to a guy that looks like me, but really. You represent a reputable *cough*bullshit*cough* service, not Uncle Pappy's Good Time Slut Ranch.
This...

... is not a good idea.
Secondly, Olga - yes, I'm talking to you - you saw my profile, that's why you wrote to me. When you saw from my profile pictures that I play in a band that requires strenuous physical activity, yet at some point you figured it would be a good idea to say this:
I listen to almost anything that gets me moving or helps me mellow out. No hard rock and screaming in my ears.
I listen to almost anything that gets me moving or helps me mellow out. No hard rock and screaming in my ears.
No hard rock and screaming in my ears.
I hate you.
Page one: Three blondes and twelve boring ones. The whole page. Can I address just one more thing?

YOU'RE NOT A FUCKING PROSTITUTE!
Yes, I get that you're in a sex slave catalog, I get that you're going to fuck somebody for a green card, I get that outside of buying a push up bra that you've done dick all to prepare for life in a different country. I get all that, I really do. But do you know what kind of idiots you're going to get if you keep flashing the goods like that? You're going to get somebody with the same English speaking skills as you, which I guess is a plus, but come on. "Huh-huh, Ah sure do lahk dem tiddies, huh-huh." Have fun with that.
This week, then, we have only one woman that is fit for coming to the U.S. (aka marrying me). Meet...
Irina is a teacher with intermediate English skills who doesn't drink and dresses like a (Dare I say it?) classy hipster. Of her taste in music, she says, "Different one - but it depends on the song! Some pop songs I like but some are really awful – there is no point in them!"
See? Critical thinking skills. Rather than making blanket statements about entire genres, she weighs the merits of each piece of music with which she interacts.
And while this is getting me a little turned on because, hey, I like my musics, alas, I can not bring Irina to the U.S. This task, I pass on to you.
Until next week, keep your romances brief and keep your briefs dry.

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