“The Book Of Love Was Written By A Sadist” Was Written By A Retard

Hey! You! Do you have a girlfriend or a boyfriend or a husband or a wife or an “it’s complicated” on Facebook? Of course you do, you stud, you’re gorgeous. Especially you. But for some people, those with less fortunate faces, finding the right man, woman or monkey to make hideous noises and smells with isn’t always so easy.

If you’re struggling, then the best thing to do is start an incredibly bitter blog about how precisely none of it is your fault and EVERY SINGLE GUY IN THE WORLD IS AN IDIOT OR FAILS TO MEET YOUR EXACTING STANDARDS.

“The Book Of Love Was Written By A Sadist” is what you need, where an undateable, unlikeable twat covers her ‘adventures’ in e-dating. (such as they are – think the Famous Five but with bitterness and disappointment, instead of ginger beer and homoeroticism.)

She delights in taking apart the private messages sent by other members of the dating site she’s on. Hilarious! People on a dating site! Sending messages! And sometimes they’re not to her tastes! God, let’s see just how fucking terrible they are. I bet they’re horrendous! I mean, if you’re going to blog about it, then I bet they’re hi-larious. Pant pissingly funny. Tena Lady inducing. I hope she has some hilarious banter to add!

Gorgeous eyes, beautiful hair fantastic smile. You must be a GODDESS!!!

**He would be correct

or…

hello. name’s Eric. read your profile and i thought i would say hi. just curious…. are for real? it just seem you’re a little raw… not that it bothers me. just saying

**I won’t be going out with Eric either. Not because of anything that he said but because of his pictures. His smile screams to me “GAY”. I love my gays and my roommate is gay so nobody can accuse me of being a homophobe but in one of his pictures he’s actually trying to deepthroat a sushi roll…need I say more?

Oh.

Right.

Um.

Still, I’m sure there’s some enjoyment to be found in hearing about her grooming routine.

And now, I’m going to let you gentlemen in on a little secret. The hair doesn’t just grow on the sides of our pretty little lips. Oh no. It grows everywhere! Up towards your belly button all the way down your crack. Ever get a brazillion or Playboy wax? Didn’t think so, men. I ask you to try getting your butthole waxed, paying $100 and still trying to keep a smile on your face. Why don’t you try it sometime? I guarantee you will have nightmares and trouble sitting for weeks.

Even her own family have nothing to like her for. Her Christmas Eve family toast showed off the accomplishments of everyone. Except her. A whole year of her life wasted.

(Cheering and clapping followed by a long, hard blank stare in my direction)

…and to Melisa…

(Crickets)

(Chirping)

(Loudly)

…to Melisa…Gosh! We just love you!”

“But mummy, I updated my blog 43 times and went on a million dates with a million assholes.”
“That’s nice dear, but Cindy got into college. That’s a real thing. Not just your shit. I wish you’d been a boy or a stillbirth or something.”

At least someone in her family loves her:

This morning my 23 year old cousin found it a fitting time and medium to call me a whore on Facebook

She’s still in a position to dole out relationship advice, which is like The Pope advising on condoms or Jodie Marsh on nuclear physics:

* People that are “Separated”. In the eyes of God and the law, you are still technically married. You shouldn’t be looking for a date. Perhaps that’s why you are separated in the first place. Ever consider that?

Surely what you’d prefer is a tedious blow-by-blow (not that – although she probably would manage to make that boring too) account of each and every fucking date:

We settled down to eat and he began sharing stories with me about his karaoke adventures and past Halloween costumes (apparently he makes a good looking woman?). He was nothing short of flamboyant and I found myself forcing myself to laugh just so to not hurt his feelings as he did appear to be somewhat nervous around me still.

Nothing short of flamboyant! Dresses as a woman! C’mon…

He offered to sleep on the couch but I said he could join me in bed. All thoughts of him being gay had been swept out the window when he put that tank top on. We talked a little more and finally Flame Boy attempted a kiss. Suddenly Flame Boy wasn’t so flaming. I’m not sure what switch turned on but something happened and he suddenly had the confidence and self assurance of a male gigolo. I can honestly say without hesitation that he was the best make out partner I’ve ever had in terms of skill. I complimented him on his abilities for I like to give credit where credit is due. To which he replied…

“Do you remember the end in Revenge of the Nerds where the cheerleader was amazed at the nerd’s ability to make love? He said it was because they’ve had plenty of time to practice. That’s me. I’m a nerd.”

Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

But a tank top, making her think he’s MORE straight?!

Try reading this – I’ll wait for you. Oh, you’re back. That didn’t take long. Cos you didn’t read it, did you?

Let’s have a quick look into the various guys in her life:

Nigerian #2 – I won’t even waste a whole 3rd blog entry on him. He had the audacity to tell me I was using him for sex and was argumentative because I felt like sleeping after working a 12 hour day and then driving home from Vegas (a five hour drive). Then when I couldn’t describe my life’s dreams, hopes and aspirations in 30 words or less he said I wasn’t as “driven” as he. Well, fuck him and his trying to shove it in my ass every time I wasn’t paying attention.

Ugly John – I met this guy several years ago through a friend. He looks good on paper and has a voice so sexy your panties almost come off by themselves. However, he’s ugly as homemade sin in person. I know that he’s been practically in love with me from the beginning but I’ve never felt any spark for him in a way that makes me want to “settle down.” Perhaps that’s why lately he’s felt it necessary to shit on my dreams and every idea I’ve come up with to try and better my financial situation. He takes playing the devils advocate to a whole new level. Not to mention, the moment I told him I had quit drinking he stopped asking me out. I know this is because he can no longer “drink” me into bed. Fuck him for being desperate and transparent.

Ugly John! Fuck HIM for being desperate! Even though she drunkenly slept with him! Lots! With such a lovely personality, how can she *possibly* be single?

The Redheaded Stepchild has the honor of being quite possibly the worst lay in history. At least my history. And that’s saying a lot considering I’ve been around the block a few times.

Aww, how did you meet Redhead?

He started instant messaging me here and there insisting on meeting for cocktails and weed. I wasn’t interested in him romantically. Until he told me what he did for a living and posted a picture of the house he lived in, in the Hollywood Hills. Me? Shallow? Abso-fucking-lutely.

Brilliant. But what if he wants to get you naked?

Anybody that can make me laugh and tell me I’m pretty has a half decent chance of getting to see me naked.

Oh yeah?

“Honolulu, it’s got everything. Sand for the children, sun for the wife, sharks for the wife’s mother.”

He’s rich, too!

Due to my timing (ahem) we weren’t able to have sex but I did get a chance to check out the non-too-impressive goods. Of course I’ve been surprised in the past by “little” men so he wasn’t out for the count by a long shot.

Still, at least the guy with the diddy willy has a shot, right?

That night we had tragic sex. Things started out okay as I put him to work massaging me. I was still angry with him for being broke. Not his fault I realize but mad at my unfaltering bad luck. I hadn’t even asked him for money…EVER! Yet, when I needed it the most, he just happened to have switched bank accounts over a holiday weekend and hadn’t pulled out enough before getting his new ATM card. JUST. MY. LUCK. The poor guy didn’t even know that deep down I was plotting his death. In my head I’m a really evil woman. This I know and I’m able to mask it but evil none the less. I made sure he hit it from behind because a) I have a great ass for doggy style and b) I was watching TV. However, with him going semi limp it was hard to concentrate on South Park when I felt like he was stabbing my clit with a pencil. Eventually, he finished and I left him to hog the covers and pass out so I could chat it up with a hot cop I had dated a few years back online. A few hours later I came back in to find sleeping beauty taking up ¾ of my bed and not wearing any covers. I was not impressed. Not sure where I get off thinking that I’m the only one allowed to carry a few extra pounds but I do. So fuck it.

How can I put this any more bluntly: You’re a fucking idiot. You deserve to be single, you stupid, judgemental cunt. You’re not perfect, you’re a fucking retard, and the fact that you get any dates at all must be down to a single flattering, well angled and lit shot on your profile. You’re a high maintenance fuckhead, an idiotic twat and clearly have more standards than your personality can match. You won’t meet Brad Pitt on a site called “Plenty of Fish”, so why not take your “few extra pounds” off the computer and go outside, meet people and have a good time, instead of bitterly whinging online. Waah, waah, fucking waah. You deserve to die alone.