I’d since tossed in the towel when it comes to online dating, but a thought occurred to me: If I’m giving up, I might as well go out with a bang, right?

And since writing a serious profile that highlighted all my positive traits wasn’t doing dinky squats, I think it’s time I started having a little fun and doing what I do best: pissing the ever living crap out of people.

Here’s a copy of my newly rewritten profile for your perusal, which I titled, “NO FAT CHICKS!!” Bask in the glory that is my manly brilliance:

I am, quite simply, the man of every woman’s dreams. I’m also Italian, which means I can cook, I can sing, and I can love in ways you could never imagine, even in your wildest fantasies.

But if you want me, you must be worthy of me. Here are a few things you will need to fulfill before you should even consider contacting me:

• You must be at a normal, healthy weight. Fat, obese chicks need not apply. Please, don’t kid yourself. If you don’t like it, stop eating and join a gym.
• You must have a positive IQ and have a college education. Stupid women are unattractive. In addition, if you think MySpace is the greatest thing in the world then you have no redeeming quality whatsoever. Please go join a convent and spare us men of your vacuous, mind numbing idiocy.
• You must hate liberals. If Obama is your god not only will I not contact you, I will superimpose your face on naked photos of Richard Simmons and post them to Facebook and MySpace for all the world to see, which will include the captions “For a good time call…” along with your cell phone number and email address.
• You must have no tattoos or body piercings in places other than your ears. They are not cool. Such self mutilation is a sign of a mental disorder. Get help you sick, sick girl (and stay away from magnetic material.)
• You must not dress like a 2 dollar hooker working 42nd Street in Manhattan. It does not make you look sexy. It makes you look like a hooker.
• You must not drink (or drink only on rare occasions). If bar hopping is one of your favorite pastimes, then please don’t let me stop you from continuing to enjoy it… alone.
• You must not have children. If you messed up in a previous relationship and got kids out of that deal, that’s not my problem. Go collect welfare if you want a sugar daddy, you promiscuous monkey ho.
• You will treat me as the rare diamond that I am, because let’s face it, you’ll never find anyone better than me. You will treat me with the respect due a man of my high stature and valor. You will love me like a king, and in return I will love you like a queen (maybe.)

If you can manage to fulfill all of the criteria above (and you’re hot looking too), then let’s talk! If not, then I would suggest signing up for TrailerParkTrash-Match.com and maybe, just maybe, you’ll be able to find your soulmate there.

Think I’ll get any responses?  

While I was ferociously at work here at my desk (surfing a few dating sites), I happened to look up and saw the Commissioner walking by with the Chief of Police.

OH SH__

I quickly closed my browser window and started shuffling papers to look busy. The Chief of Police saw me, his eyes wide, probably because I was the last person on earth he wanted to see, especially with the Commish there standing next to him. They greeted my coworker, then the Chief quickly tried to usher the Commish out before I could get a chance to say hello.

Too late.

“Heeeeeey Commissioner, pleased to meet you!” We shook hands. He happened to notice my 8×10 frame of a big question mark that was sitting on my desk, and asked me what it was.

“Oh, that’s the girl of my dreams.”

And we all laughed.

“Hold on, I have a picture of my ex in my wallet.” I took it out and showed them:

And we all laughed.

“By the way, can I have a raise? I really need the money.”

And we all laughed.

Actually I didn’t think it was THAT funny, but oh well. The conversation ended just as quickly as it started, with the Chief letting out a huge sigh of relief as they left our section. Dweeb.

If you’re curious in learning why Chiefie Weenie doesn’t like me very much, there’s a whole back story on that you can read up on in case you have nothing else to do, which you probably don’t.

Recently got this email out of the blue:

Hello, my dear friend!

Maybe, you could fly to me tomorrow and bring me to your home, to get married me and to call me your sweet wife. It is my bright pink dream. I know that it can’t be not tomorrow and not even the next day, because I am nobody for you and my letter will turn out to be big surprise for you. I am right.

But I am able to change everything right now and from pretty stranger I want to become very special person in your life. If You would be ill and I would be happy to take care of you; You would have interesting news into your life, and I would be close to you to share happy moments with you. Don’t you agree that it is real happiness when you come after work and light windows of sweet home wait for you, when you open the door and you feel sweet kisses and hugs onto your body? I think that nothing in the world can be compared with such simple family happiness. I need it very much and my letter, which you hold into your arms, proves it.

You need not to look for me long, I am right here and wait till I can greet you warmly.

Have a good mood
Irishka

I cried for several minutes. Here was someone who was a complete stranger, and yet she made my day. You can tell she had so much love and warmth to give that she felt compelled to write me a letter (even though it meant having to struggle to write it in English), just to show me how much she cared. Here’s someone who totally gets me, and the only thing I have to do is fly over there to bring my sweet angel back.

Anybody want to be my sponsor? Please, it’s for love.

The news have been sucking rotten eggs lately, so I’m sticking my head in the sand for a while to keep myself from getting even more depressed.  Luckily I stumbled across an old Bruce Campbell commercial that helped cheer me up.  Good old Bruce, he can make me laugh without even trying:

It’s true, I don’t have it, but man do I NEED it.  I need it BAD. 

We have a clipboard in our section that shows a list of the latest death notices for workers or workers’ relatives who recently passed away. I noticed one woman had a tendency to check the list every day when she walked by our section. She was doing it again today, so I said:

“Checking to see if the hitman did his job?”

She looked at me without emotion and then walked out of the room.

I turned to my coworker. “Why does nobody appreciate my sense of humor?”

A friend of mine recently sent me this humorous cartoon, evidently seeing parallels between the comic strip and my nonexistent dating life. Such a kidder he is (who should be thankful I don’t live close by as I would have kicked the little bastard snot in the face.)

First of all, it’s not nearly accurate (I have a much bigger pillow), but besides that, when is it ever cool to poke fun at someone’s misery, unless it’s me doing the poking? That’s just wrong on so many levels.

What really irks me though is the fact that this poor kid in the cartoon can only dream about meeting his soulmate (particularly over the Internet), and yet people I know have met the love of their lives in much the same way, only in their case it was for real.

Would you really hold it against me then if I hoped the earth would open up and release a Cloverfield type monster that was designed for no other purpose than to crash their wedding? Just the thought of it chewing up the bride and spitting the little whore-slut out in bitty bits while the groom can only look on in horror…. Whoo! It just makes me tingle with warm fuzzlies, ya know?