Wednesday, February 15, 2012

Dear OK Cupid

A lot of you already know that I've been playing around on Twitter a lot, because I love Twitter. I mean, I love it more than almost anything. There is so much WEIRD on there, like Dogs Doing Things  or Death E-Books or Harry Finch. Twitter is where all the odd people go to babble surreal nonsense into the void and hope it comes back as prophecy, it's basically a bunch of Cylon hybrids all hooked up into the nets and screaming. It's a living breathing subconscious death trip. Also, there was that time the tsunami ate Japan? And I was up late at night watching it live with a million little icons chattering away about it, and it was a social high like you've never felt before, disaster and immediacy and man, I feel bad if you're not using Twitter correctly and all you've got in your feed is a bunch of friends and food trucks.

So my own very inferior contributions are BridgetCallahan and Dear OK Cupid. The latter is my ongoing conversation with the insanity demon that is free online dating, and since I worked on writing samples all day for other things and haven't got a lick left in me for the blog, I'm just going to give you some of my thoughts about that whole Vortex of Inferiority Complexes with some cut and paste. Whatever, it's the day after VDay, you are all bitter anyway, even the happy ones. We are romantically hungover. We need to drink some orange juice.

Dear Ok Cupid: "Staff Robot thinks you'll like them." Staff Robot sucks at this game.

Dear OK Cupid: Why do they keep asking if I like black guys? Does my profile pic look racist?

Dear OK Cupid: Once upon a time there was a guy who wrote ARRESTED DEVELOPMENT in his profile, in all caps, all by itself.

Dear OK Cupid: The more obscure the bands you put on your profile, the more I assume you cannot drunk fuck.

Dear OK Cupid: If you list Pulp anywhere on your profile, then I know all you DO is drunk fuck.

Dear OK Cupid: when I see that someone in the bathroom at the bar has been cutting their pubic hair cause it's on the floor? I think of you.

Dear OK Cupid: how about a sister site where all members' profile pics have to be of the last person who bothered to love them?

Dear OK Cupid: how about if I ignore or stop replying to someone, you have them killed so I never have to run into them at a bar ever?

Dear OK Cupid: If you are a middle aged white guy who's into Zen Buddhism, you might as well just say "divorced".

Dear 22 yr old Hook Up Artist: Maybe you are shirtless because you are trying to guilt me into buying you a shirt? In which

Dear OK Cupid: How about a feature where you offer to sleep with someone only after they complete 3 dares of your choosing?

Dear OK Cupid:So you listen to "everything"? You'll like my friends band. Experimental noise rock on Casio with Korean lyrics & cat samples.

Dear OK Cupid: I'm no longer talking to boys who have numbers in their profile names. I think you're all robots.

Dear OK Cupid: Is it okay to run promotions for myself, like "If you buy me drinks, I'll let you talk about The Hobbit"?

Dear OK Cupid: I had a nightmare that you started to allow people to post videos on their profiles.


  1. There are no inferior contributions on Twitter, except for the clearly inferior, a dust heap to which your tweets have not been assigned.

    Great line about hoping the babble comes back as prophecy.

    Thanks for the mention. It's grand to be called weird. Feels like a knighthood.

  2. I knight you Creator of the Infidel and his Narrative.

  3. Good christ.

    This post evidences my faults to a fault. Don't ask. It's complicated.


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