It Usually Takes Me More Phone Calls Than That

Profile Sent in by Gwynne:

About me:

I'm an actress and I do admin work in a studio. I love my work and I'm out on a lot of auditions. I love to try new restaurants in the city, and my favorite places (luckily) are all within a few blocks of each other. I can still go until 4am, so I want to use it or lose it! My favorite animal is the jellyfish. It goes with the flow but don't mess with it or it will cover you with gashes and to make it all better, people will have to pee on you. If you show up to our date smelling of urine then I will laugh at your jelly stings. Seriously. I know actors who I can call with a phone call and they will come and pee on you.

What Watching Too Much Disney Will Do to You

Email Sent in by Chris:

Hi,

I have been a baker for pharaohs and a master of eagles. I have been a virgin-wrangler for princes and eaten at the tables of lords among rodents. I have screamed atop cliffs and rode top winged horses! If your life is similarly impressive, then write me!

Or DIE.

Julia

A Man of Questionable Timber

Story Sent in by Laura:

Ted promised me a first date "like no other." He took me out to a late lunch, then asked me to follow him to a park where he said he worked part-time.

We drove there in separate cars. The park was thick with trees and trails, but there were several families around, walking here and there. After about a minute's walk down the trail, he turned to me and said, "Point to any tree. Any one. Your favorite."

I smirked, wondered what he was up to, and pointed to a tall pine, about ten feet off the trail.

"Good choice," he said, then went up to the tree, slapped his hands together, and pushed at its trunk. He tried it from different angles, screamed at the tree, then held up a finger to me and said, "I'll be back."

He returned a few moments later from his car with an ice scraper. "Stand back," he said, then attacked the tree with the scraper, chipping off bark.

"What are you doing?" I finally found my voice, "Stop it."

He stopped, then ran past me without a glance. He came back with a hatchet, and yelled a battle cry as he went for the tree and hacked at it. I yelled at him to stop, and when he didn't, I turned and made for the park headquarters, right next to the parking lot. I went inside and told to the woman behind the desk that Ted (who at that time I still thought worked there part-time) was attempting to cut down a tree a little way down the trail.

The woman asked, "Ted? Ted, you said?"

"Yes."

"I don't think someone named Ted works here. Hold on a second."

She picked up a radio and spoke to someone who I guessed was a ranger. She gave him the information, then thanked me and offered me a cup of water. I declined, but waited inside the station for about 20 minutes. When I stepped out, Ted's car was gone. I went home and never heard from him again.

Out of Business

Profile Sent in by Dinesh:

My ethnicity:

None of your business.


My education:

None of your business.


Favorite things:

None of your business.


Last read:

None of your business.


Who I'm looking for:

None of your business. (write back with measurements plz)

Deliciousness Follows in Her Wake

Email Sent in by Greta:

Hi.

What is your biggest secret? If you tell me you may trust me. This isn't no fib. Might be a nice way to learn more about each other. I will tell you mine.

Aunt Jemima's in town and she is here for you. What will you tell her? Ok so. Where for a first date???

Clyde

Season of the Witch

Story Sent in by Edgar:

Angela and I were in the middle of a solid first date dinner. We had met online (I wrote her first) and, having had spotty luck with online dating, it was nice to be out with someone who seemed to have her head screwed on straight.

That was before we were in the midst of talking about something benign when she blurted, "Want to meet my sister?"

I looked around, thinking that perhaps her sister sat at a nearby table, watching to make sure that I didn't make any wrong moves. I asked, "Is she here?"

Angela reached into her handbag and pulled out a worn, one-eyed stuffed green frog with the word "sister" hand-stitched in red thread three times, one on top of the other, on its pale chest. She set it on the table, leaning it up against the salt and pepper shakers.

She didn't give me any further explanation other than a vague smile. I asked, "What is this?"

She said, "My sister. Well, not my real sister. She's bound to me through blood, though. She belonged to a friend I used to have when I was younger. My friend died in an accident and her parents gave her to me."

The creepy, one-eyed frog kept its silent watch. I said, "It must mean a lot to you."

"She does," Angela said, "I know my friend is still alive as long as I have her. She comes everywhere with me. I'll be buried with her."

"Hopefully not anytime soon."

Angela replied, "No. I know when, though. She told me. I mean, I still have about 50 years left, but still. Want me to ask her when you die?"

My appetite waned. "No, thanks. I like surprises."

"What if it's tonight? You'd want to know that, wouldn't you?"

"If it's tonight, I'd rather enjoy the rest of my time than worry about exactly when and how it'll happen."

Angela picked up her froggy friend and pressed its face to her ear. Angela giggled and said, "You're tickling me," apparently to the frog, then glanced at me and said, "It's not tonight. It's during the winter, though."

"This coming winter?"

"I don't know, but you'll die during the winter. Have a nice life!" she said as if she was going to up and leave that instant, although she didn't go anywhere.

I thanked her for the information. We continued our chat about this and that, we left the restaurant, she thanked me for dinner, I bid her goodnight, she kissed my cheek, and thus ended one of the strangest experiences of my life. She went off to go creep out some other guys and I went off to go die some winter.

"Beauty" Tips

Profile Sent in by Kolleen:

The most private thing I'm willing to admit:

I frequently change my hairstyle to match the hairstyles of the girl I'm seeing. I've done this so often (and my hair is so versatile) that my hair will frequently do a better job of looking good than yours. You'll beg me for tips and I'll be happy to supply them as long as you adore my fragrant seed.

So That's Where Your Excitement Gland Is

Email Sent in by Isaac:

I felt a mighty excitement in my butt when I read your profile. That is where my excitement gland is. It busted against my chair like another heartbeat, so what do you say to writing me butt-butt-back?

Marcia

Lowlander

Story Sent in by Melinda:

Tim and I met on a dating site and had been going out together for nearly two months. Cindy, a local friend who I hadn't seen in a while, messaged me to ask if I wanted to hang out with her and meet her new boyfriend, coincidentally also named Tim. I suggested making it a double date.

We all met up in front of a sidewalk cafe. I embraced Cindy and introduced my Tim to her and other Tim (who I'll henceforth call Timothy). Tim nodded a hello to Cindy, then shook hands with Timothy.

Tim asked, "Your name is also Tim?"

Timothy joked, "I know, right? What are we going to do?"

Tim jumped into fighter's stance. "There can be only one!" he yelled, then pounced on Timothy, knocking him to the ground and nearly hitting the poor guy's head against a hydrant.

Tim pummeled at Timothy with his fists as Cindy screamed and I tried to pull Tim off. Timothy, however, had a few tricks of his own, and in seconds, he was on top of Tim, hitting his head repeatedly against the pavement. "Are you done?" Timothy shouted, "Are you done?"

Cindy and I were screaming at both of them to stop it. Timothy stood and brushed himself off. Tim leaped from the ground at Timothy's legs, I guess to try and take him down again, but Timothy landed a few kicks, and it was over. Tim was on his back on the ground, groaning.

Timothy said to Cindy, "I don't know about you, but I'm leaving." He turned and left, with Cindy at his heels.

I helped Tim up. He asked me, "Where does he live? I'll kill him in his sleep, I swear."

Tim was banged up, but he'd be fine. I asked him why he attacked Timothy, and Tim replied, "He started it."

Timothy, in truth, had done nothing of the sort. For the rest of our short time together that day, Tim made plan after plan (out loud) about how he was going to ruin Timothy.

Our relationship didn't last much longer.

"For Some Reason"

Story Sent in by Douglas:

Lisa and I were classmates in college, and I had a crush on her. I took her out a couple of times, but she didn't really seem to think of me as anything more than a friend. My third time hanging out with her, I tried to kiss her, but she pulled away, gave me a hasty hug, and wished me a good night. Still, she called me the next day to ask if I wanted to hang out again, so I guess I didn't creep her out that badly.

She kissed me during our fourth time hanging out, but it was a quick peck on the cheek. She said, "I'm not really looking to start anything right now, or get into anything physical with anybody. For some reason, guys have taken advantage of me and I just don't want to put myself through that again."

I told her that I understood, although I was disappointed. She and her housemates were throwing a party at their place on a forthcoming weekend, and I looked forward to spending more time with her, even if it was platonic.

When I arrived at the party, the place was already packed, with more people arriving by the minute. Music blasted, and Lisa was already tipsy. At one point, she said to me, "I'd totally make out with you, but I can't. I won't let guys take advantage of me again."

Less than ten minutes later, I discovered her on a couch, surrounded by people, making out with two guys at once. Not long after that, someone poured a bottle of what I think was tequila all over her head and she lapped it up as it poured down her cheeks. Guys ground against her as she danced, she screamed out every word, laughed uncontrollably, and she couldn't keep her mouth off of anyone who walked by her. I was pretty grossed out, and spent time with some other friends who were there.

The party wound down, and I made quick rounds to thank the folks who ran it, before leaving.

I eventually found Lisa. She was passed out under a blanket on the couch. I called out her name and tapped her face a few times. She moaned but didn't open her eyes. I pulled the blanket off of her and discovered her in a black thong and nothing else. I tried to wake her for about another minute before I finally scooped her up, carried her to her bedroom, put her in bed, under the covers, and left.

From what I heard, she turned out just fine, although neither of us ever contacted the other again.

Abashed Potatoes

Story Sent in by Jennifer:

First date dinner with Jim was eye-opening, to say the least. When he first saw me, right in public, he checked out my chest and said, "Whoa. Hello, bazongas!"

I stepped back and covered my chest with an arm. "Okay, then. We doing dinner or what?"

At dinner, Jim ordered steak and took special care to ask the server twice if mashed potatoes could be ordered as a side. I didn't notice it at the time, but apparently he secreted some away in a pocket or napkin or some such place. He otherwise behaved himself through dinner, although his manner was brash and overbearing.

After dinner, he offered to take me on a walk through a park, but I told him that I needed to be up early the next day to drive my sister to an appointment. He then took his handful of mashed potatoes from God-knows-where and smeared them across the top of my chest. I hit him away and wiped it off, and all the time he pointed and said, "Ham and potatoes! Ham and potatoes!"

I called him an asshole, then stormed away and went home.

He wrote me an email the next day in which he wrote:

Dear Ham:

Sorry! Make it up to you I promise!

No hard feelings.

Potatoes


I never gave him the chance.

Who'll Stop the Rain?

Profile Sent in by John:

Who I'm looking for:

In my last relationship it never rained. The day he broke up with me it rained for a week straight. I will know if you are the one for me if it never rains when we're together.

Making People Laugh

Email Sent in by Jenny:

Hey! :)

I just wanted to shoot you a quick message.

I really enjoyed your profile. It seems as if we have a few things in common with one another. We're already off to a great start ;)

I'm Richard by the way. I'm a stand up comic who travels the country telling jokes and sometimes I make people laugh lol

Maybe you could come to one of my shows when I'm in your town :)

I should tell you this though...

My ex broke up with me for having what she called an overly large penis. I tell you this because it ruined that relationship and the one previous to it. BOTH times I was blamed for not telling them from the start about it's size.

So, I'm not going to make that mistake again. I need you to know this now, up front, from the start about me.I don't want to be broken up over it for a third time.

I hope that doesn't scare you away. I'm not at all trying to be rude.

I hope to hear back from you :)

How Urban Legends Start

Story Sent in by Wayne:

Clara, who I had been seeing for a little less than a month, invited me to her house for dinner. She volunteered to do most of the cooking, and my job was to clean and set the table. As it was my first time in her apartment, I didn't know where she kept the silverware and dishes, so I opened several drawers until I found the forks and knives. That was the easy part.

While Clara ran out to grab a couple of extra vegetables at a nearby market, I looked in every cabinet in the kitchen, but couldn't find bowls and plates. I expanded my search to the living room and still couldn't find anything off of which to eat, not even paper plates or styrofoam bowls. Odd.

Finally, I thought, "What the hell," and I made for the bathroom. There were extensive cabinets within, and sure enough, in the very back of a cabinet above the sink, I found a stack of very ornate blue, yellow, and white plates. They looked so nice that I wasn't sure if they were truly meant for eating off of, so I did one more sweep of the kitchen. Despite checking in every cabinet, nook, and cranny, the only dishes I found were the ones in the bathroom. I took two of them and set them on the table with the silverware.

Clara came back with a bag of veggies, saw the plates on the table, and yelled, "No! No! Not those plates! Never, never, no!"

She pushed past me, scooped them off of the table, and ran for the bathroom with them.

"I'm sorry!" I called after her, "I couldn't find any other plates. Where do you keep them?"

"There are no other plates," she yelled back, and then she did something queer.

She came out of the bathroom, hugging one of the ornate plates against her chest. "Fine China," she said with a strange smirk, "We don't put out the fine China. We don't put it out. Do we put it out? Oh, no. We don't put it out. Never, never."

I said, "Um, I can go out and grab some paper plates–"

She shook her head. "Not paper. No. China. Fine China. The fine China we never use. We never, never use it. Never, never, never."

She stood still and stared at me. I said, "Uh, well, okay. I guess we can eat off of, er, a napkin or something, right?"

She shook her head again. Her voice was a high whisper. "No napkin. No plates. Fine China. Fine China not to be used. Never, never."

I said, "Okay, then I guess I'm done setting the table."

She nodded and opened her apartment door, then stood aside, as if waiting for me to leave.

"Are you kicking me out? I'm sorry I used your fine China–"

"Never, never the fine China."

"Yes, and I'm sorry I took it out. We can still have dinner together, can't we?"

She kept one hand on the plate, but pointed the other one out the door. I took that as a no, and so I left the weird girl's apartment, stepped into the elevator, and went downstairs, to where my car waited.

Just before I arrived at my car on the side of the road, I glanced behind myself to see Clara following after me, her hands still pressing the plate to herself. I asked her, "Everything all right?"

She said, "It's just the fine China. You just can't touch it. No one can. Never, never, never."

I asked, "Are you okay? I mean, seriously, can you be straight with me for a minute?"

She said, "It's just fine China. You haven't said a word about it, and you must never touch it. Never, never."

"Okay, then." I opened my car and left. In my rear view, as I drove off, I saw her walking after my car. She didn't know where I lived (at least I don't think that she did), but for the rest of the night, I wondered if in the wee hours, my doorbell would ring and a creepy girl with matted hair and an ugly plate would show up at my door.

I See Where This Is Going

Profile Sent in by Angela:

The six things I could never do without:

My van
The Olsen twins (now that they're of age)
Chloroform
My shack out in the country
Soundproofing
Pasta

That's Handy

Email Sent in by Vernon:

Hello,

When I was a little girl I had an encyclopedia set on my shelves. Do you know what it means as a little kid to have the sum of worlds knowledge in simple books on your shelf? Nowa days people just go to the computers to tell them the answer as if a computer had all the answers. Anyway I was curious what you thought about that.

I'm Heather and I live in Hoboken. I have written a lot of poetry and I have published some of it. I write lyrics for local bands and I want you to know that if you are in a band I will take then hand off of a local singer and attach it to your other hand. Like if you have a right hand already then I will take off the local singer's right hand and attach it to where your left hand used to be so that you will have two right hands instead of a right hand and left hand. I hope that makes sense altough I can explain it better if you need me to.

Keep in touch and tell me what you're up against.

Heather

Loser Maki

Story Sent in by Victoria:

Andy and I really hit it off online. He sent me a quirky, unusual first message, and we never ran out of things to talk about. "Don't worry," he wrote me, "I'm not one of those guys who sends you pictures of their schlong."

"Thanks," I wrote back, "That's happened, and it's unpleasant."

"It's happened to me, too," he wrote back, "See?" and he attached pictures of five guys' dicks to his email. That was a bit much, but I tried to have a good sense of humor about the whole thing.

"I never want to see that many dicks at once ever again," I wrote back, "Which is probably something you say every weekend."

He responded to my ribbing in good spirits, and all seemed well.

For our first date, he invited me out to a Japanese restaurant that I had always wanted to try. We met outside, hugged, went in, and sat down.

He handed me a menu and said, "Let me know if you have any questions. I've probably ordered everything off this menu at some time or another."

I scanned the food options, and indeed, I did have a few questions, as the restaurant used Japanese transliterations, as opposed to English translations, on their menu. For instance, they listed unagi, tekka maki, and kappa maki as opposed to eel, tuna roll, and cucumber roll. I pointed to one of the items and Andy said, "Oh, that? That means dick." He flashed me a smile, then said, "Remember when I sent you all those dick pics?"

That email had arrived a few days earlier, and as such, it was impossible for me to have forgotten it. I replied, "I do. Now what does this really mean?"

He asked, "Do you have to use the bathroom at all?"

"No."

"Okay." He looked at where I pointed on the menu. "It means 'egg.'"

About a half-hour into dinner, I did have to use the ladies' room, and so I excused myself to do so.

When I returned to the table, I found a pile of five diIdos on my seat. Andy sat there as if nothing was wrong. "What the hell?" I asked him.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Get these off my seat."

He frowned, then leaned over the table to look at the diIdos that he had somehow sneaked in, under his coat or wherever. He said, "Ugh! DiIdos!" then looked up at me and said, "Well? You going to sit on them?"

I stared at him, amazed at his brazen stupidity. He said, "There are five of them. Get it? Five diIdos?"

"I get it," I snapped, then glanced around and said, "Take them off my seat."

"No," he replied.

I grabbed my coat and left the restaurant. He texted me mere minutes later: "Five diIdos," and a few minutes after that, "Um…… not sure what I did to deserve that! Reschedule???"

I thought about writing him back to explain it. However, I figured that if he couldn't answer that for himself, then no amount of discussion on my part would help him.

Not Now. Not Later. Not Ever.

Email Sent in by Yolanda:

Yo I think I saw u the other day no kidding. You were in a white dress and I followed u all through campus and up to ur dorm. WIsh I coulda been inside when u took that dress off, know what I mean ;). So hell u wanna hang out?

Donnie

Next Mindswap, Trade Up

Profile Sent in by Mandy:

About me:

Ho long since dad push the kabosh on things. I have lived veriously in his attic his spare bedroom and in his shoes. Maybe you can tell me why in amer we use an elctoral college and not voters like everywhere else on the planet? Heh my father yelled this at the boob tube before he put his shoe through it but I was livig in the shoe at the time! That is why I now live around broken glass and cathode rays. The electricity is all ok but the mindswaps are what bother me most.

What a Coincidence. It's My Steal-a-Stranger's-Car Night.

Story Sent in by Steven:

On a Tuesday, Laci and I scheduled a date for a week from that coming Thursday. We spoke most of the days leading up to it, and the day of, I called her to chat and to confirm our evening's plans. Her phone went to voicemail, so I left a short, looking-forward-to-seeing-you-later message, and went on about my day.

Not long before our date that evening, she called me up to ask if I could meet her at a different spot than the restaurant we had picked out. It wasn't much further away, so I drove there, parked, and found her, for all intents and purposes, dressed for a jog, complete with a neon yellow windbreaker.

She slapped me five, jogged in place, and said, "Hey, so I forgot that tonight's one of my running nights. I usually run for an hour then shower and then go straight to bed."

I replied, "We had a date scheduled for tonight. Remember?"

She said, "Well yeah, but it's my running night, and I forgot about that. I have some spare leggings in my car if you want to run with me."

Before waiting for an answer, she opened a nearby station wagon's back door and pulled out a wrinkled set of skin-tight leggings. It looked like they'd just as soon fit an elephant as fit me, and I'm not overweight.

She handed them to me, hastened the pace at which she jogged in place, and popped in a set of headphones. "You can put them on here and catch up. I'm already late."

With that, she jogged away, leaving me right next to her open car with a set of tiny jogging pants in my hand. I was confused at her behavior, and also amazed that she'd be fine with leaving me next to her open vehicle. True, we had spoken online and over the phone for a few weeks up until that point, but still, I wouldn't have likely trusted someone I had just met in person to be alone with my car while I just ran off.

I tossed her pants back into the car, locked the door, shut it, and just left. I decided not to reach out to her unless she called me first. From that day to this, I haven't heard a word from her.

Friendless. Brainless. Helpless. Hopeless. Hairless?

Email Sent in by Ethan:

Hello Mr. Sir Mr.:

You've got way more hair than is healthy. Trim it or let me and my girls buff your freshly bald head to a waxy finish! We have never had a complaint! I am part of a secret society of women who want to see all bald men on earth. Will you join us? You don't have to be a woman. Only bald.

We like bald men because it is indicative of character. Bald men take this quote from a bald man web page: "Old wives stories state the men with no hair have had their strands burn up because of their awe-inspiring passion." I have seen it in action and it is true to be believed!

Note in closing it is Alec BALDwin, not Alec HAIRwin. Noodles and such. LOL.

Mae

Leaves and Left

Story Sent in by Joanna:

Fred and I had some mutual friends, although we primarily moved in separate circles. I always thought he was thoughtful and good-looking, so when he invited me to a Labor Day barbecue with his friends, I thought it would be a good way to spend time with him.

He asked me to come by early, to help him set up and to hang out. He said, "It's not quite the first date you deserve, but consider it maybe a prologue? I'll take you out to dinner next week, if you'd like."

With butterflies in my stomach, I went out that morning to the grocery store, grabbed some burger rolls, hot dog buns, and condiments, then drove over to Fred's house.

The pleasant smell of burning leaves filled my nose as I parked and walked around to the back of his house, as he had instructed me to do. When I made it there, I discovered him standing alone, with his back to me, over a grill, flames licking nearly as tall as I was.

"Fred?" I called out, "What's going on?"

He turned to me and said, "I'm burning leaves. Purging last year away."

I put the stuff I had bought on a bridge table. He glanced at it and said, "I have money for you, for that. Still, I was thinking of burning the money in here. Might help."

"Please don't do that. Might help what?"

He looked around and said, "Help me find more leaves."

There weren't many left in his backyard (this was early September, after all) and the smoke was already permeating everything. I asked him, "Maybe you should get some charcoals on there."

He grabbed two big handfuls of leaves said, "The past year must be purged!" and threw them on the grill. Smoke rose up and covered everything nearby. I coughed and yelled his name a few times.

He strode over to me with a clenched fist, then opened his palm. Dollar bills fell out, onto the ground. "Scramble for your monies," he said, "I have an entire year to purge."

He returned to the grill, waving his arms up and down, like a priest over an offering. I grabbed the cash. It was a dollar short, but my eyes were so teary and hot, and Fred was behaving so strangely, that I took it and left.

I didn't contact Fred and he didn't contact me. A couple of weeks later, I bumped into Phil, a friend of Fred's who Fred had told me he had invited to the party. I asked Phil how Fred's barbecue went.

Phil replied, "What barbecue?"

"This Is the Best We Can Do, Folks"

Story Sent in by James:

My first date with Emma was a campaign stop and I didn't even know it. We weren't 10 minutes into dinner when she asked me, "Do you think I'd make a good President?"

I replied, "Well, you're nice and personable."

She said, "Yeah. Plus, you know me personally and that counts for a lot. I'll bet that you don't know anyone else running, at least not personally."

She had me there. "True."

She said, "Then will you write me in for President, next election?"

I replied, "What are your stances on the issues? Plus, don't you need to be 35 to run for President?"

She said, "You'd think I have my work cut out for me, but I don't really. Only about 1.2 million people voted in the last election, and I only have to convince half of them. I've already started a blog, and if I can just convince 600,000 people to vote for me, then I might actually be the next President."

"Uh…"

"Once you know how to work the system, it's amazing to see how easy it can be." She gave me a wink and took a drink.

"I'm pretty sure that more than 1.2 million people voted, last election."

She shook her head. "Forty percent of the eligible public voted. That's 1.2 million."

"There are more than 3 million eligible voters in the United States."

She gave me a strange look, then said, with a straight face, "There's only about 3 million people, total, in the United States."

I said, "Think closer to 300 million."

She snorted, then said, "That's like–wait." It dawned on her. She finally figured it out. Right then and there. Her smile turned into the scrunched face of a first-grader who was trying really hard to comprehend multiplication. She asked me, "How many people live on Earth, total?"

I replied, "Something around 6 billion."

"Billion?" she repeated, "As in, a million times a million?"

"No. That would be a trillion."

"A trillion people?"

"A million times a million is a trillion."

She shrugged and said, "Whatever, professor science. Math was never my strong suit."

Simultaneously feeling bad for both of us, I said, "It's okay. Presidents don't need to know math."

"Thank God," she said, and she held up her glass for a toast. I toasted her, and she spent the rest of the meal detailing her political beliefs, which were standard, rank-and-file, right-of-center. As I said, she was very pleasant and gregarious, but I'm attracted to intelligence, and so her candidacy for a second date was weak, at best.


*
Happy Presidents Day from George Carlin.
 

Assuredly a Future Politician

Story Sent in by Molly:

My first college date was with a fellow named Vincent. He was in my first-semester political science class, and he spent a lot of time chatting me up before, after, and sometimes even during classes. He usually made me laugh, and so when he asked me out on a dinner date for a Friday night towards the end of the semester, I accepted.

He said that he'd pick me up at my dorm, and so I put on one of my favorite outfits and readied for him. He arrived on the doorstep right on time, with a bouquet of flowers.

I thanked him for the flowers and asked him, "Want to come in for a second? Grab something to drink?"

He replied, "Do you like the smell of ass?"

It was a curious question, and after a pause, I replied, "Not particularly."

He shrugged, pointed at the flowers, and said, "Because I picked these out of slave girls' asses!" He leaped at me, then jumped back, then ran away.

I watched him go, then put the flowers into water, then called him up. It went to his voicemail, and I left him a message in which I asked him what that stunt was all about.

I heard from him an hour and a half later. He called to ask me where I was and explained that he had been waiting for me at the restaurant.

We had never picked a specific place, and even though I didn't plan to continue with the date at that point, I instinctively asked him, "Which restaurant?"

Silence from his end, then he replied, "I guess it would help for you to know that, huh?" He hung up on me.

He ignored me for the rest of the semester, which at that point, was only another two weeks. I'm not sure what went through his head, and I've still yet to figure it out.

Utterly Shocking

Story Sent in by Armand:

I was on the last stage of my date with Alessandra. We had enjoyed a nice dinner (although she had been pretty quiet throughout), and I offered to walk her home. She accepted, and once we reached her doorstep, she turned to me with a strange request.

"I was wondering if you could come in for a second to help me switch out an old bulb. I'm no good at these things."

She led me inside and showed me an old wall sconce at the bottom of her stairs, near the door. It was definitely an antique, and had even been painted over. The bulb within it was dead, and so I unscrewed it, handed it to her, and then she ran to her pantry to grab me a new bulb to install.

She came back, handed me the new bulb, I screwed it in, and hit the light's switch. It didn't work. I said, "It could be the bulb, or the light, itself. Do you have another bulb to try?"

She gave me a puzzled look. "That's not what's supposed to happen. I'll grab another one." She disappeared into her pantry as I unscrewed the first bulb, and she returned with another. I screwed that one in. No luck, either.

"It's probably the wiring," I suggested, "This is an old sconce."

She said, "It hasn't worked in years. It was supposed to electrocute you."

That made me freeze. Her tone didn't betray a hint of humor. She then put both of her hands on me and pushed me toward the door. "Enough out of you," she said firmly, "Get out, now."

"You… wanted it to… electrocute me?" was all I was able to say as I backed out her front door.

She didn't answer, but once I was outside, she slammed her door shut and locked it. I still had the first new bulb I tried in my hand. I brought it home to use in my own lights, and never spoke to Alessandra again.

Wait 'Til You See What's in the Salad

Email Sent in by Robert:

(Robert says: "Jenny had herself pegged as a baker in her profile, so I wrote to her, asking what her specialties were. My mistake.")
*


THANK YOU FOR WRITING ABOUT MY COOKING. LAST NIGHT I MADE BLOODBREAD. EVER MAKE IT. IT IS BREAD WITH BLOOD IN IT. IT SHOULD COME OUT LIKE JELLYBREAD. LAST NIGHT MY BLOODBREAD CAME OUT WITH THE BLOOD ALL LIQUIDY. HORSE BLOOD IS BEST TO USE. I USED BLOOD FROM THE GROCERY. STORE. DO YOU LIKE BAKING TO.

JENNY

Young Sherlock Holmes

Story Sent in by Elizabeth:

On my first date dinner with Peter, he explained to me all about how he was between jobs:

"My old boss saw me coming in early, staying late, and so he took advantage of that and gave me more work with less pay. When I essentially blackmailed him for a raise, he found some b.s. excuse and fired me, almost on the spot."

I asked, "So what are you doing now?" He had worked in I.T. for some time, and I guessed that he was hot on the trail of some new job.

He replied, "Freelance loss prevention. A buddy of mine did it for a while and made more in a month than I make in a year."

"Freelance loss prevention?"

He picked up his already-used metal fork, turned it over and over in his hands, breathed on it, wiped its handle, and studied it from all sides. He said, "The last person to use this was a Hispanic male, 30 to 35 years old. He ordered chicken."

"Uh…"

But he wasn't done. He then inspected his spreading knife and said, "A woman used this one. Female. She was young. Possibly under 10." He looked around as if to spot her somewhere, then returned to it. "She has a good singing voice."

I laughed. "You can tell all that by looking at it?"

He put it down. "I know. It's a gift. But if you know what to look for, the signs are all there."

I asked, "What about that knife indicates that the last person who held it was a good singer?"

He pointed out its edge to me. The tiny serrations seemed a bit worn down, but not the sort of thing you'd notice unless you were looking. He said, "Those have been recently worn down, but not too powerfully. The person who held it has a strong personality, even if he or she may not have been strong him or herself. Probably a singer, around 10. Likely a female."

I had a small, worn, bronze keychain that had been my grandfather's. I passed it across to him and asked him to tell me what he could about it.

He looked it all over and then said, "It's bronze. It was a gift. A 10-year-old girl who's probably a good singer gave it to you..."

I cracked up. He finished, "…or a relative. Someone close. A guy, who was weak towards the end of his life."

My laughter stopped. It was a good guess, although given the charm's obvious age, I suppose it couldn't be that big a jump to figure that it had belonged to an elder person.

He gave it one more look, said, "And you're wearing blue and white-striped underwear," and handed it back to me. "Now, that's something you can actually prove."

I laughed. "But I'm not going to."

"Come on."

"No."

He pointed to my plate. "It was used by an accountant with two kids last. That good enough for you?"

I shook my head and finished my meal. About every minute on the minute, he'd point to something else and tell me who had used it last, how old they were, whether or not they were a good singer, and so on. By the end of the date, I used my own powers of deduction to figure out that I wouldn't be seeing him again.

For the record, I was not wearing anything blue and white striped that day.

Someone Has To

Profile Sent in by Rita:

What I'm doing with my life:

I am all in favor of women's lib. Women should have the right to do things as men do. Equal pay, sure. Equal opportunities, yeah! Pee standing up? Well, maybe... give men maternity leave? Well, maybe not, but... Front lines of combat? Oh wait! Uh no thanks I hear you say for gender equality! Hmmmm that was fast! Grow up and act your gender.

The Shame of Mr. Potato Head

Email Sent in by Christina:

Hi Chrissy:

I'm really glad to hear that everything went well. Congratulations! In your honor I have made potato figures of you and I, out of two potatoes from that bag I told you that I bought. Among everything else that I bought at the market yesterday I am most excited about the potatoes.

The male potato is me and I painted humanistic expressions on him and even dots that are the color of my own eyes. On the you potato I have painted your face. I drew clothes on my potato version of me but left you nude because I can sometimes be playful and dirty. There's even a line on the you potato that looks like a rear end! I used that as a guide to place the rest of your features.

I then gobbled up your potato and it was delectable!!! Thank you!

George

A Soft Answer Turneth Away Bath

Story Sent in by Reed:

Gwen and I dined together at a cafe on our first date. We had only met online about a week earlier, so a lot of the time was spent asking questions back and forth. She was nice, but seemed somehow a little dim. As in, I told her that I was reading a book by Paul Harding, and she laughed at his last name for about a minute, then said that she didn't read unless it was the newspaper or for a class. Given that she was out of college for a few years, that didn't bode so well.

In the middle of a talk about a shared interest in gardening, I excused myself to use the restroom, saying something like, "We'll continue in a sec. I'll be right back."

In the otherwise-unoccupied men's room, I opened a stall and dropped my pants. Less than a minute later, the door opened, and Gwen's voice echoed off the tiles. "Anyone besides Reed in here?"

I froze. What was Gwen doing in the men's room? She went on, "I'd love to find some hardy plants to last through the winter, but last winter killed just about everything that I left out, and now I have to–"

"Gwen!" I shouted, "I'll be right out."

Silence, then she said, as if offended, "Oh, I'm sorry. I thought you'd appreciate the company."

I heard her footsteps and the door open and close, then quiet once more. I finished up quickly, and as I did, I heard her giggling, and then the door open and shut once more.

I busted out of the stall with an angry look on my face (honestly, I'm not sure why. It's not like I was going to run at her and chase her out of there) but she had really left that second time. I washed my hands and returned to the table.

She was there, wearing a frown. She said, "You didn't have to be so mean to me."

I said, "I didn't mean to be mean, but you were, you know, in the men's room."

"So? I was continuing our conversation. I thought you'd maybe miss me or something. I guess I was wrong."

"I was going to be right out. Do you usually follow guys into the bathroom to talk to them?"

"My ex let me do it all the time. I'd sit on the edge of the bathtub and he'd crap his guts out. If you're different, then hey, I guess, not a big deal. You just could've been nicer about it."

She was pretty despondent about it through the rest of our time together, and it convinced me that one and only date was the right way to go.

Angelina Jowly?

Profile Sent in by Danny:

About me:

I'm known as Jowly Fungunner in certain circles. You should know not to mess with me or my friends. Last guy I dated found out the hard way. Mm hm. Leave it at that if you please.

Jowly Fungunner is the name I've had since my grandfather was old enough to give me a nickname. I always loved it and since he passed a year and a half ago I now use that name wherever I can and this is a place where I can. Sorry if you don't like it. Not for everyone. Hope you don't mind.

My jowls (see my pics) are normal size.

I Will Leave You to Your Meaty Fate

Email Sent in by Rosaline:

I was walking minding my own business on a summer day when the area between my thighs began to chafe. Remembering childhood remedies of yore, I ran to the closest store to buy some baby powder. No sooner had I applied the powder when I realized that my thighs smelled pretty good.

I walked into a super market's butcher section! Asked them to identify the scent. Roast meat and potatoes! One of the lads rung out. Well, that was enough for me! I promptly wiped my thighs all over their establishment (glass, steaks, et al), so as to hopefully increase their sales (and earn myself a hefty cut, in the bargain!).

Ah, summer jobs. Yours?

Anthony

Sometimes, Everyone Loses

Story Sent in by Amy:

David and I went to elementary school, junior high, and high school together, but only really became friendly around senior year. We had two classes together, he sat near me in both of them, and so we'd end up talking and working together regularly. He was always nice, if a little quiet.

Fast forward to prom season. He asked me to it, and I accepted. We had a nice time, and as far as I could tell, he thought of me only as a friend. I would have considered dating him, if he made the first move.

The first move came shortly after prom weekend. He asked me out on a date, and one date became two, two became three, and we ended up together through the early part of the summer after high school. It was a great time, although we were heading closer to sleeping together, and I wasn't sure if I was altogether ready for that. Still, David was very understanding and put no pressure on me at all.

When I was finally ready, we had been together for about three months. We were at my house, my parents were gone, he was very sweet, I was very comfortable, and clothes came off.

Then, about a minute away from the loss of my virginity, he smiled and said, "You know what? I changed my mind."

Wow. Talk about the last thing that anyone ever wants to hear at that particular moment. I sat up in bed and asked him, "What's wrong?"

He sat down and stared at me with a smirk. "Remember that time in first grade when you called me an assbutt?"

I replied, "No." I sincerely didn't.

He said, standing and putting his pants on, "Well, you did. I can't really forget that, so I don't think this is going to work."

I laughed. He had to have been joking. Three months of laughter, dates, smiles, hugs, kisses, movies, a trip to the beach, finding creative places to make out, all of that… for a stupid little revenge thing? Right here? Right now? Really? Really?

Really.

He left.

I went through a bit of a dark time after that, as I'm sure you can understand. I found a great guy in college, though, a year and a half later, and although he and I aren't together anymore, we're still friends.

Never found out what happened to David the assbutt.

Mad Baggins

Profile Sent in by Diane:

About me:

I'm short. 5'2". I have two masters degrees, and yet most women are more hung up on my height than on anything else about me. On request, I will wear stilts on our date, so as to not completely humiliate you. Far be it from me to interrupt the good things you have going on with that 6'5" thrice-divorced garbage man or that 6'1" manchild who still lives with his parents. It's okay! I'm short! I'm clearly worth less than they are!

Maybe it's not my height that sucks. Maybe it's you who sucks. Just a thought!

Why Are the Windows Barred in Your Profile Photos?

Email Sent in by Henry:

Hihi Henry ho!

I am so glad you wrote me. Normally I ignore every message I get but yours shouted out to me somehow I wonder why??? ;)

I've had a strange dating life probably strange than most! What are you doing for Valentines day! I will be busy on that day coming up soon.

So you. Your profile says you teach martial arts. Hi-ya! I know karate! Karate chop! Ever karate chop a guy to death? That would make you a killer and I don't date killers, murderer.

Don't write me back evil vicious killer,
Debby

Be Cautious When Your Date's in Heat

Story Sent in by Mel:

Adina and I had enjoyed a pleasant, first-date lunch and were taking a walk through a suburban neighborhood when we passed a fenced-in yard. A German Shepherd sat on the porch and watched us as we strolled by.

"Aww!" Adina cooed, "Who's a good dog? Who's a good dog? Aww."

The dog watched us but didn't move. Adina went on, "Here, boy! Here, boy! Come on! Come here!"

The dog (boy or girl, I wasn't sure) watched on, blinking. It otherwise didn't move.

Adina sighed, then rapped on the fence. "Come on, boy. Let's go. Mama doesn't have all day. Come on. Come here."

I cut in, "Maybe he's comfortable up there, in the shade."

Adina ignored me and walked into the yard through a gate. She strode toward the dog and said, "Here boy, here boy, here–"

The dog was on its feet and bolted for Adina. Adina screamed and ran back for the fence. I helped her over it as the dog snapped at her, missing her, likely, by inches.

Adina screamed expletives, pounded on the fence, and threw a nearby rock at the dog (and missed). She turned to me and shouted, "Well?"

"Well what?"

"Aren't you going to do something? That animal almost killed me."

"What would you like me to do? Go in there to get killed, myself?"

She said, "Go in there to throttle it, or tell the owners at least."

I replied, "But you were kind of trespassing on their property."

She said, "And that excuses their animal's behavior? If you're too much of a pussy to do it, then I will."

"I don't think you should go back in there. Really."

The dog had been prowling close by the fence and didn't take its eyes off of us. I seriously thought that all parties involved, dog included, would be much happier if Adina and I just went on our way.

Adina, however, didn't see it that way, and she yelled at the dog again. "Get away! I'm coming in."

She entered the gate, and the dog ran at her again. Adina screamed, backed through the gate, fell backward, and I had to be the one to close the gate before the dog could make it to her.

Adina scrambled to her feet, screamed at the dog, and then ran down the road at a pace that told me that she didn't really want to be followed.

All I could do was turn to the barking dog, say, "Sorry about that," and walk on.

Ideal Second Date: Driving Across a Shooting Range

Profile Sent in by Sammi:

My ideal first date:

I will take you to the driving range and will drive. Ever drive across a driving range before? Not with golf clubs with and actual car??? So much fun best to use an old car and can't go to the same place more than once a year or so or they call the cops! Gret fun first date idea.

Awkward Delivery Room Conversations

Email Sent in by Eric:

I am seeking a prince for the princess that is me. I will be Bubba. You will be Gump! But I will not die in Vietnam. Preferably you will kick the bucket first. With some mating, you and I (Bubba and Gump) will create shrimp. Bubba Gump Shrimp! Get it!

Claire

An American Legend Comes to Life

Story Sent in by Josephine:

On his profile, Reggie seemed clean-cut, sane, and funny. He wrote me first and I was excited to be in touch with him. We made plans to meet at a local farm stand, browse around a bit, then go out for lunch.

Reggie's photos, turns out, were a bit misleading, and by "a bit," I mean, "extremely." In person, he was morbidly overweight, wore a plaid, red and black checkered lumberjack shirt, had a massive, unkempt beard, and had somehow poured himself into a pair of tight-as-painted-on jeans. For all intents and purposes, he looked like…

"Paul Bunyan!" he said, extending a hand to me, "At least, that's what everyone else calls me."

I shook his hand hesitantly. "You don't look at all like your pictures," I pointed out.

He pulled out a key chain and showed it to me. It was a pewter woodsman's axe. He said, "Can't go around with a real axe, but I figure this would be a fitting substitute."

"Okay, why Paul Bunyan?"

He went on ignoring me. "I don't have my blue ox, yet. But check this out." He pulled out his cell phone and showed me a photo of what looked like a paper-mache blue ox, about a foot tall, sitting on a table, covered in newspaper. "I made it myself."

"Wow. So why Paul Bunyan?"

He replied, "Because that's just who I look like. I've even gotten paid to be a Bunyan impersonator at a couple of gigs."

"You don't look at all like your photos."

"No, I look more like Paul Bunyan, now." He laughed.

I said, "I'm going to go. I'm sorry. I just thought you'd look more like your photos."

"Whoa, hello Miss. Superficiality." He then turned around to face the farm stand and said, "I'm coming, Babe!"

I went home.



*
Non-American readers! Find out about Paul Bunyan here.

Window Undressing

Story Sent in by Kevin:

Lucy and I were out to dinner together, first date. At one point, she asked me, with a smile, "Anything I should know about your past? Any restraining orders?"

I replied, "None that I know of. You?"

She said, "None against me."

"Any against anyone else?"

"All my exes. Yeah."

I asked, "You've taken out restraining orders against all of your exes?"

She nodded. "They all come after me. Don't know why. You probably will, too."

I laughed. "Are you serious? I don't think I'd 'come after' you."

"Just what they said, themselves. One of them broke every window in on my ground floor."

My mouth opened. "Oh my God. Did you call the cops?"

"Didn't have to. We reached an agreement." She leaned closer to me and said, "He said that if I let him sleep with me one last time, he'd pay for my windows to be replaced and give me some extra." She winked.

"Ugh, what a creep."

She gave me a funny look, then said, "Uh, I took him up on it. Free windows and cash on top?" She laughed.

"Seriously?"

"Seriously. Why the hell wouldn't I?"

I couldn't help myself. "Because you probably could've gotten the money from him if you called the cops. Because it's kind of prostitutey."

She shrugged. "It all worked out. He got me the money less than 24 hours later. He knew I would've gone to the cops if he didn't. And it's not prostitutey. I didn't sell him sex for money. I got new windows and some extra cash on top. Don't see too many prostitutes going around with new windows, do you? I think that makes me shrewd. A businesswoman."

"You're right," I fake-agreed.

Incidentally, our first date was also our last.

Gravity Prevails

Story Sent in by Alice:

Eddie and I were enjoying dinner together at a nice restaurant on our first date. He ordered us a couple of cocktails, then pointed out something about the waitstaff who happened to be carrying martinis from the bar to various tables: the glasses were unusually shaped, and two of them together interlocked in a way such that the waiters could carry them in one hand.

"Awesome," I said, impressed.

He said, "Yeah, but unstable. Like if their hand slipped, they'd have twice as much mess to clean up. Still probably better to use one carrying hand per glass."

I nodded. I believed him. Then, he said, "Watch, I'll prove it at some point. Not right now."

I wasn't sure what he had in mind, but I found out soon enough, during a lull in the conversation. He looked at me and said, "Sometimes, I feel like just doing this!" and just as a waitress walked by with two martini glasses in a hand, he swung his hand up from under the table and hit it under the glasses, splashing out their contents and sending one of them to the floor.

"Oh my God!" she yelled.

Eddie's hand went to his mouth but he couldn't mask his smile. "Whoops! Clumsy me," he said.

The waitress gave him a look, then said, "Don't worry about it, sir," but the way that she said it made me think that perhaps Eddie did indeed have something about which to be worried. She went to work cleaning up the spill.

After she had left, I said to Eddie, "That was dumb."

"Why? Just proving a point."

"You did it on purpose."

"Shh," he said with a wink. Was I supposed to be impressed?

A well-dressed woman came up to us shortly thereafter and asked Eddie, "Why did you knock a glass out of my waitresses hand?"

Eddie said, "Oh, that was an accident." He turned to me and asked, "Right?"

I replied, "I guess. Accidents happen."

Apparently I wasn't sufficiently convincing, because the woman (who I guessed to be the boss) said to Eddie, "I'm going to have to ask you to leave, sir. I'm sorry."

I was anticipating an argument from Eddie, but his eyes shot down, he stood up, and left without making eye contact with the woman or myself. I was then expecting the woman to turn to me and say something, but instead she just went back toward the kitchen.

Eddie texted me about five minutes later and asked, "Is she still there?"

I texted back, "In the restaurant? I don't think she's leaving."

He then wrote, "Want to go somewhere else?"

I replied, "No, thanks."

He wrote back, "K," and that was the last time I heard from him.

Vampires Used to Be Cool

Profile Sent in by Virgil:

About me:

I am ONLY attracted to White and Hispanic males. IF YOU ARE NOT WHITE OR HISPANIC AND YOU CONTACT ME VIA THIS WEBSITE, YOU REALLY ARE A RAPIST TO ME BECAUSE I AM TELLING YOU "NO" RIGHT NOW.

I am here for ONLY one thing: long-term commitment with a White or Hispanic male, not petty chit-chat, no casual/conventional dating: no "open" relationships. Take the time to read my entire profile if you think I am honestly attractive. I totally do NOT want to be with a guy who smokes (that means all smokes!) You can easily find someone else if you're a smoker. Not White or Hispanic? I block YOU because I already stated that I'm interested only in being with a White or Hispanic guy. NO FAT GUYS! I like White and Hispanic guys that are in good/decent shape for obvious reasons and that includes no hourglass shapes. I'm on a mission for another Atheist!! Where in this Hell are you?! As a goth, I am practically roleplaying a vampire, deathly pale and regenerating myself alone. Similar beings solely will be embraced.

I appreciate individuals who challenge or question mainstream society, especially its lousy mainstream music.

I need a talkative, assertive guy due to my non-outgoing personality. With another quiet person, we'll bore each other to death. It's been proven far too often. Ideally I am searching for a compatible goth/rocker type of guy (someone I can relate to), but I like guys who are extremely similar to the goth/rocker sort.

Please note that I am a little bit chubby compared to models, currently, although I workout and I enjoy walking. Feel free to find your dream woman elsewhere if a model is what you're after. I don't cheat: Attraction IS a MUST, so please have up-to-date pictures (plural). Without multiple pictures, I am convinced that you are either of the following: unattractive, not commitment-minded, or a lesbian. If you have only one picture or less, I do not need you at all. A minimum of twice per week get-togethers is my strong request because I am searching for a real relationship. If you are extremely financially well-off, please do not contact me atm. I live on a budget currently. I'm hoping to find someone with similar interests mostly in music and gaming. I am an artist, although I rarely draw unless I'm in a particular mood which calls for it. I'm not into sports and I don't want to hook up with a sports fan. A movie every so often is cool, a concert, museums, restaurants, or a trip to a bar... Feel free to take initiative :)

I am introverted, shy, and quiet in person compared to most females. I'm a loner naturally, but I can open up with the kind of guy who can carry a conversation with me. I'm not the most feminine type of female considering my rocker/goth/punk clothing, though I'll dress in 'elegant goth' on rare, worthwhile occasions. I have surface piercings on my right arm and at the base of my neck. I'm a part-time student juggling part-time work as well, but I mention this because I go through busy phases for legitimate reason.

I enjoy gaming, surfing the net, and listening to awesome hardcore music. I like most animals/pets, and I enjoy nature. I'm loyal, honest, compassionate, fairly observant, and I can be a good listener to a White or Hispanic male ONLY.

YOU MUST BE WHITE OR HISPANIC! ! !

Lastly, I want someone who makes me take my profiles down permanently because yes, I want a LTR again.

(age range 25 - 43 ideally; younger than me is ideal)

Therapize This

Email Sent in by Kira:

You sure seem to be a busy lady! How do you find time to work, play, commute, live, and schlob a good man's knob? I can usually go in under 5 mins, but sometimes I like to take an extended time, and I do not schedule these times in advance I decide on them on the spot. If you are allowed to take over an hour to orgasm then I'm sorry but I will make you wait on my pleasure too once in a while ;).

So you are a therapist? I read an article that said that therapists need more therapy than the people they therapize. What do you say to that? Is you wack?

Well guess that's it. No no no!

Ross

In Other News: Severed Head Found in Shrubs

Story Sent in by Nathan:

Theresa and I spoke for a week online and then decided to meet up. Online, she had come across as bubbly, personable, and quick-witted. A good conversationalist, I had little doubt that we'd have a good time together in person. She worked at a Whole Foods, I co-owned a couple of local convenience stores.

In person, things were different. I met her in a park. She was on a bench, and she seemed to be in a rather dour mood. I asked her if everything was okay.

She turned slowly to me and said, "I don't understand it."

I looked around, to see if perhaps what she was talking about was immediately obvious. It wasn't. "What don't you understand?"

"Anything," she said, and then turned away from me, eyes staring vacantly ahead.

It may be a good time to mention that Theresa wasn't much of a blinker. In fact, in the almost-minute that since I had first seen her, I didn't catch her blinking once. It was creepy, but I was worried about her (she had mentioned a shaky relationship with her roommates - could there have been a problem that morning?) and so I sat down next to her and asked, "What's wrong?"

"I just don't understand it," she said again.

I asked her, "Can you tell me what happened? Is someone hurt?"

"Come with me," she said, then stood up. I stood up, too, and she walked us all the way around the bench until she stopped and sat down right where she had just been. She stared ahead and I was left standing there, confused as anything.

Of course, I also wondered if she was having me on, so I asked her, "Would you like to cancel for today? It seems like you'd rather be alone."

She extended a hand to me, and I went to take it, but I saw that it was filthy, as if she'd been digging in the dirt. Instead, I sat down next to her, noting that I still hadn't caught a blink, although by that point, certainly she must have. Right?

She put her hand down and said, "Okay. It is buried. The deed is done and that's all I'll say." She lowered her head to her lap and then, after a moment, snapped it up and blinked. She looked around and saw me again. "Nate?" she asked, "Hey!" she swung her arms around me and gave me a hug.

"Hey," I said, hugging her back, "What was that all about?"

"What was what all about?"

"'The deed is done,' 'I don't understand it,' you know, all of that weird stuff you were just talking about."

She gave me a look and replied, "I don't know what you're talking about. Could've just been a trick of the sunlight."

"A trick of the sunlight?"

She stood up. This time around, she blinked about as much as a normal person and said, "Ready for lunch?"

Lunch we did, and we had a decent time, although I couldn't forget my first impression of her. I brought it up again over lunch itself, and she once more disavowed any knowledge of her strange behavior. I asked her how her hand became so dirty, and she replied, "I was sitting in a park. Hands get dirty."

Maybe. Regardless, the entire affair creeped me out enough to not ask her out again, even though we've remained acquaintances (turns out, we know some of the same people). To this day, I have no idea what her little episode was all about.

Nor Will I

Profile Sent in by Marissa:

What I'm doing with my life:

I'm a mime. Deal with it. I put on the makeup, the black and white outfit, and make most of my living through miming.

You should be grateful that I'm a mime. If I wasn't I would be out screaming at children and throwing hot pizza in their faces. I will accept thanks via e-mail, although I would also like to extend the offer for me to mime for you. You have not seen anything like it.

Has Grandma Always Been Like This?

Email Sent in by Jake:

It's apparent that you have the best profile on here. I think you should write me but pretend that I never wrote you this message asking you to write me in the first place. That way when we have grandkids and they ask us for a school project how we met I can tell them "your grandfather messaged me first" and by then we might have even forgotten that I was the one to write your first in the first place and then we'll die having forgotten the truth forever and no one will ever know. Just you and I. Dead. Go ahead and I'll be waiting.

Suzanne

But My Upstairs Is Vacant

Story Sent in by Rachel:

Frank and I were a blind date set up by an online matchmaking service. We met right outside of a restaurant, and after a first hug in which he pressed his whole self to me, we stepped back from each other, he sighed in what sounded like relief, and said, "You have a perfectly-shaped bubble butt."

"Uh, thanks?" I replied, then said, "Let's not talk about my butt. How was your day?"

The small talk commenced, and we sat down inside the restaurant. It was a noisy Italian place, but I had been there before and the food was good.

At one point, before the food arrived, Frank said, "My boy downstairs is really excited to be here."

"Your boy downstairs? You mean, like, your apartment neighbor?" I had never heard the phrase before, plus it was loud in there, okay?

He grinned. "Yeah. My neighbor."

The food came, we talked about this and that, and then once more, he brought up his "friend."

"After dinner, I should introduce you to my boy downstairs."

"Who is he?" I asked.

"He really wants to meet your Polly Pocket."

Boy downstairs. Got it in a flash. Ugh, gross! I put my fork down and said, "I don't think this is working. You and I."

He looked genuinely shocked and said, "Oh my God, I'm sorry. I was just kidding around. I'm just used to goofing off with my friends, but it was stupid for me to bring any of that up here. I'm sorry. I promise I won't bring it up anymore. Let's just have a nice dinner..."

And so on. He seemed sincere, so I gave him a stern look and went back to my meal.

A moment later, he said, "My boy downstairs loves the way you eat. Maybe he'll knock on your back door later and—"

I wrested my wallet out of my purse, put enough to cover myself down on the table, picked up my plate, hurried to the waiters' stand, asked for a box then and there, and then left with my dinner, without so much as a word to Frank.

That was a couple of years ago. Recently, I was at a local mall with two friends, and we had sat down in the food court over some lunch. Frank walked up to our table.

"I remember you," he said, "and that juicy butt of yours. Like a bubble! Mmm!"

I said, "Can you get away from us, loser?"

He shrugged and said, "Whatever. I still don't get you at all." He then turned and left us alone. I predict a lonely life for him.

Above the Waist, I'm a Sparrow. Dealbreaker?

Profile Sent in by Thomas:

About me:

I am a normal girl who likes fun stuff. I'm good going out for drinks or fun or having fun while staying in. Just depends on the mood I'm in when the night hits. My music tastes are 90s pop but some alternative. Gotta keep it different, know? Ha.

I love spending time with my girlfriends and my friends are a huge part of my life! Their opinions count quite a bit toward me and so if you and I get along then you'll probably meet them before long. Don't worry they are all very nice! ;)

Guys 21-25 please! I am at MWSU studying biology. What are you studying in college?

You should probably know that below my waist I am actually a giant earthworm.

The Doormat to a Woman's Heart

Email Sent in by Reena:

How would you like a guy who can pound back SIX BEERS IN ONE NIGHT? How about a guy who LEAVES YOU STRANDED ON THE SIDE OF THE ROAD? Or a guy who WIL EAT YOU OUT OF HOUSE AND HOME?

You WOULDN'T LIKE this guy??? That's strange! That's the guy my ex left me for! He sure sounds like a GREAT GUY! Knowing that a guy like that can be lucky is great news for the rest of us! We can all fart and pee all over you, and you'll be fine with it! You just love being treated like doormat!

I attached a pic of you! You will probably love it and want to go down all over me! Just because I treat you like trash! You love it! You know you do!

Robert!


*
Reena Says: "Here's the attached picture. Not a bad likeness, actually."

Pinhead

Story Sent in by Richard:

On my fourth date with Emma, I was pretty sure that things were going to go serious. We had known each other for about five weeks, had spoken via email, instant message, text, phone, and, as I said, we had already had three successful dates. What could go wrong?

Emma's brother, it should be noted, was in the Marines. Over dinner, she mentioned that he had been shipped to a new base. I quipped, "I've got to hand it to him. That's something I could never do." I was referring to the act of joining the military and serving. Some men are made for it, in my opinion, and some aren't. I have no problem confessing that I'm not soldier material, but I'm glad to send my tax dollars their way, support them, and be grateful for the protection that they provide. That was how I meant it, anyway.

Emma replied, "Oh, are you one of those people who's against the military?"

"No. I actually admire them."

As if she didn't listen, she made a stupid voice and said, "Military intelligence, ho, ho, ho! Is that you? One of those people?"

"No."

"My brother puts his life on the line every day. Show some gratitude."

It was unlike Emma to have such an outburst, and I wondered what was wrong. I asked her, "Is everything okay? I meant that I admire him. It's not something that I would choose to do with my life, because I'd make a lousy soldier. Not because I don't think being a soldier is for stupid people."

"My parents hate it, and we fight about it constantly. I have zero patience for people who question my brother's decision."

"Okay."

"Do you understand me? Zero."

"I'm not questioning anything. I admire him."

"Whatever."

I guessed that Emma was fresh out of an aforementioned argument with her folks, and that's why she was running so hot. I attempted to diffuse her with, "Regardless, I'm sure it means a lot to him to have your support."

"My parents would die in some bombing if my brother wasn't out there, protecting them. I just don't get how anyone can't see that."

The rest of dinner was tense, and she was rough with her cutlery, with her drink, and with her manner. Still, I hoped that my plan of bowling after the meal would help her forget her stress.

Nope. When she first took hold of her bowling ball, she threw it, overhand, down the lane, complete with a barbaric yawp. It slammed against the slick wood, attracting glances from surrounding bowlers. When she returned to the seats, after what became a gutter ball, she flopped down and folded her arms.

I asked her, "Is everything all right?"

She stood up and walked over to the bowling ball rack, picked one up, and said, "Pretend this was a cannonball, heading straight for your head. Now, pretend that my brother is off on the sidelines, willing to jump in front to take the hit. Would you let him?"

I thought for a moment, then said, "I'd rather duck."

She shook her head. "Not an option."

"Why not? If your brother would have enough time to jump in front, then why wouldn't I have enough time to duck?"

"Because you wouldn't! It has to hit you or him. Who do you choose?"

"I already told you I support your brother's choice."

"So you'd rather it hit him, then. You jerk." With that, she threw the bowling ball at me. I dodged to the side, but it grazed my upper arm and smashed against the back of a nearby seat.

"Hey!" someone yelled.

I turned to her and screamed, "What the hell is your problem, you psycho?"

She cringed backward, her face crumpled, turned red, and she yelled back, "Stop yelling at me!" She then grabbed her coat and bag and ran off, down the lobby, and out of sight.

Plenty of eyes followed her, and then those same eyes turned to me. "Show's over, folks," I said, "Sorry."

I ended up finishing the game for both of us, gave the bowling alley her information, as she had left without returning her bowling shoes, and went home. Never heard from her again.

You Do Mean Botox... Right?

Profile Sent in by Cameron:

About me:

YO DOOD. I am an all business woman who takes no nonsense. If I think u playing me then u r outside! U under my skin the wrong way and u r outside! I've had buttocks on my face and around my eyes so I can look the way I'm supposed 2.

By "Certain People," You Mean, "Wife"?

Email Sent in by Mona:

I write this email at 3:41AM in the hopes that you will hear me. I am a nice guy with a simple wish: the wish to slap your thighs and watch the blubber jiggle. you so juicy. Let me come over and do this (MUST be before 6AM) and I will give you anything you want. If you read this after 6AM then you can discount it. Certain people shouldn't know I do this if you know what I mean.

Trevor

Ahead of Yourself

Story Sent in by Alice:

Lamar, in one of his online messages to me, wrote, "In all of your pictures, your head looks kind of small. Is that just a trick of the photos or is it really that tiny?"

By this point, Lamar and I had established enough of a rapport for me to take his comment with a sense of humor. I replied, "I assure you, my head is regulation-sized. No one has ever been put off by it."

In person, though, Lamar was definitely put off by it. His first words to me, in a public park, were, "Oh my God. Your head is so tiny."

I gave him a funny look and said, "Hi, Lamar. It's nice to meet you."

"I just can't get over how small your head is," he went on, "I bet I could fit it all inside my mouth, if I tried. Can I?"

Before I could answer, he opened wide and went for my head. I jumped away and said, "You know, I'd prefer if you didn't."

"I really want to try it, though. Just for fun."

"My head is fine. Cut it out."

"It isn't, though. It's too small."

I gave him a dark look, but was ready to bolt if he tried something else. "Is this going to be a big deal for you? I'd like to know now."

He straightened up and said, "No. I'm sorry. I just think you're adorable. That's all. You have the head of a three-year-old on an elephant's body."

My mouth hit the ground. He jumped right in with a hand wave and a quick, "That doesn't mean that you're as large as an elephant! Oh no. I mean just relatively speaking, size-wise. Your body is fine but if it was the size of an elephant–"

I put up my own hands in surrender. "You know what? Never mind, Lamar. I'm going home. You're obviously a dick."

Then it was his turn to take the offensive. "Me? A dick? Me? You're not even listening to me, and all of a sudden, I'm a dick? Me? All of a sudden? All of a sudden?"

I stepped back again and said, "Yeah. Okay, I've got to go. Don't follow me," and I left him standing there.

I heard him laugh, and he yelled after me, "Come on! I was just kidding! I know I could fit your head in my mouth!"

Without turning around, I screamed back, "How about my fist?" He didn't have a response to that, although I kept glancing behind myself to make sure that he wasn't following.

That night, out at a diner with a friend, I told her all about the date and asked her if she thought that my head was small.

"No," she said, "In fact I've always thought it freakishly large."

Oh well.

You're a Political Intern?

Profile Sent in by Lianne:

About me:

Tell me your greatest secret and I will never tell anyone. This is an exercise in trust. If you want to email me then you must spill your greatest secret. As a show of good faith I will tell you mine: I work at a job where I am actually expected to be nude all day. Now spill yours!

But You're Crazy Enough to Be

Email Sent in by Steve:

I have loved many men. Some have been made of wood, some of metal, some of knit wool, but none substitute for the real thing. I then propose to you a trade: you take me out for a no-obligation dinner. I will give you good conversation and the privilege of being seen in public with me in return.

I AM LADY GAGA.

Some might say that I am Lady Gaga. I am not. It has been said that I am a dragon lady. Again, to this I say I am not.

I AM LADY GAGA.

No! No! No! You can be as sad about this as you want. I am just a normal girl who wants to have a nice night out with a nice guy. Why are you all saying this about me? I digress:

I AM LADY GAGA.

No I am not. End the tape. Clearly I have some talking to do. Look at my photos. I am clearly not Lady Gaga.

What do you think?

Esther

Cow and Chicken

Story Sent in by Lewis:

Amber and I were out to dinner together on a date. She scanned the menu then slapped it down on the table. "Their beef here is great," she said, "I'm getting their beef."

"Cool," I replied. I decided on a chicken cacciatore and put the menu down.

"Getting the beef?" she asked.

"The chicken cacciatore," I replied, "But I'll try some of your beef, if that's okay."

"You should just get your own. It's that good," she said.

The waitress came by. Amber said, "We're both getting the beef!"

I cut in, "I actually want the chicken cacciatore."

"We both want the beef," Amber said, raising her voice.

I smiled, then repeated to the waitress, "The chicken cacciatore, please."

Amber gave me a look as if I had just slapped her in the face. The waitress left, and Amber said, "You're seriously not getting the beef? Their beef is outstanding."

"I'll trade you some of my chicken for your beef. Sound fair?"

"No! I'm not parting with a single shred of my precious beef."

"Suit yourself."

"I'd rather self-guillotine then part with a shred of it."

"Got it."

Conversation was awkward after her admission, and she didn't seem that interested in me, anymore. When dinner came, she cleaned her plate well beyond what I had expected. Every bit of mashed potatoes, beans, beef, and sauce, was gone within 10 minutes.

"I love their beef!" she repeated, "You should've gotten it."

"But I didn't. Want some chicken?"

"Sure, but you're not getting any of my beef."

I looked at her empty plate. "I'd assume not, since you'd have to open yourself up to give it to me."

"I'd open myself up, just to eat it again. Beef!" she said.

"I'll have to come back here and try it."

She gave me a stare, then said, "You're a jerk, you know that?"

"Because I want to try the beef here, sometime?"

She replied, "The more you eat here, the less will be left for me."

"They'll find more."

"Whatever. Jerk. I'm not going to open myself up for anyone. Least of all you."

"What if I ordered some of their beef, right now? Would you open yourself up for me if I gave it to you?"

"Probably. It's that good."

I called the waitress over and ordered some of their beef to go. Amber was excited. "You'll give it to me? You really will?"

I replied, "If you open up your insides for me. Only then."

She went noticeably rigid, then said, "I wasn't really going to open myself up."

I shrugged. "Then I guess I'll keep the beef for myself."

"Can I have some?"

"No."

She didn't say another word. My to-go order arrived, the check came, I paid for my chicken and beef, and she paid for her own meal. Without another word, she picked up her purse and left as soon as she threw in her cash.

I had the beef for dinner the following night. Tasted sour and awful.

Forget I Asked

Email Sent in by John:

Just curious: where do ur balls go when u sit?

Allie


John Responds:

They just sort of tuck themselves out of the way. Why? Where do your balls go when you sit?

From,
John


Allie Responds:

My ex lost one during flopsex. Found it behind my bed after breakup lol. I have it wrapped in toilet paper under the batroom sink.

Allie

Vandalism Loves Company

Story Sent in by Vera:

Over our first date dinner, Walter asked me about my job as an elementary school teacher, and specifically with regards to discipline. He told me, "I had a terrible teacher in third and fourth grade. Two years in a row, of all the luck. She was a terror to the students. She was already old when I was there. By now, she has to be close to 80."

"And she hasn't retired?" I asked.

He said, "She just hates kids so much, she would die if prevented from making their lives miserable."

He alternated between drinking and complaining about this teacher until he stopped talking altogether and instead giggled uncontrollably. I asked him if he was okay, and he said, "I am, I'm just imagining that teacher's head on a stick, and it gave me a good idea."

Creepy, but it ended the conversation about her, and so we moved on to other things. After dinner, we took a walk and he led me to his old elementary school, a little over a quarter-mile away from where we had eaten. He hopped a fence and ran up a field, leaving me there.

"Walter!" I called after him, but he didn't turn back. I guessed that he was ditching me, and so I turned and left.

I had almost made it back to my car when he called me. I picked up and he said, "I just put a few rocks through her window. Where are you?"

"I went home," I said.

"Oh. Never mind, then," he replied, then hung up.

Three's Revenge

Email Sent in by Mel:

I need your help. If you give me safety pants then I will unzip your brain from your body. This has everything to do with dancing: the number 3 is not important, but 1,2,4,5,6,7 and 8 are. It is dangerous to be here. At night, TAKE THIS MY LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT HE IS HERE

Zachary

Romancing the Stones

Story Sent in by Kyle:

Denise wore a pair of earrings to our dinner date, each with a dangling, flashy blue stone. They were simple and pretty and I told her so.

"You think?" she asked, "They're real sapphires. They were my grandmother's."

"Well, they're beautiful. You have good taste."

She gave me a smirk, then said, "They're not really sapphires, and they weren't my grandmother's. You really thought they were?"

I replied, "I had no reason to doubt you."

She went on, "I made them myself at a bead store. If you really thought they were real, though… hmmm, want to do an experiment with me?"

She explained a plan in which after dinner, we would go to a jewelry store and attempt to pass off her fake earrings as real, to see how much she could make from them. I said, "A jeweler will be able to tell the difference, I think."

"You couldn't tell."

"I'm not a jeweler."

"Hmm."

After dinner, I followed her to a nearby jewelry store, where she asked the jeweler behind the counter for an appraisal. He took one look at them and handed them back to her. "They're costume jewelry," he said.

She silently took them back and hurried out of the store. I followed after her and asked, "What do you want to do now?"

She replied, "Find another jeweler. A stupider jeweler. I feel like being rich tonight."

I said, "I don't think they're going to fool any jeweler."

She said, "They fooled you."

"I'm not a jeweler," I said again.

"But you didn't look closely at them. I just have to find a stupid, old one and he'll pay me top dollar for them. I can bring him all the blue stones from the bead store and he'll pay me huge for all of them. You coming with?"

"I don't think so."

"Goodbye, then."

She half-jogged away from me. I didn't contact her again.

Dead as a Junkyard Dog

Profile Sent in by Julia:

About me:

Imagine Issac Newton, WIlliam Shakespeare, and ALbert Einstein all rolled into one. That is not me. I am junkyard dog, Arnold Shwartzenegar, and junkyard dog all rolled into one- don't forget that Shwartzenegar was smart enough to be a governor.


Who I'd like to meet:

Someone who is like Issac Newton, William Shakespeare, and Albert Einstein but in woman form. I want to be able to have sex with you and if you are a man then I probably won't even if you actually are Issac Newton, William Shakespeare, or Albert Einstein. I think that Einstein is dead now and I know that Shakespeare and Newton are. Please also do not be dead when you contact me haha.


My hobbies and skills:

junkyard dog

Or I Can Just Stay Here and Save on Airfare

Email Sent in by Howard:

Hi I'm Nina. Thanks for checking out my profile. I want to move to Australia by the time I am 30. Does that sound good to you? Lots of guys have a problem with moving for a woman, but they don't think twice about screwing her every day for a week on a shag carpet, leaving her pregnant, and then disappearing. No biggie, right? So I do not think that you moving to Australia with me is too much to ask. You can always move back to wherever you came from, but I can't un-give birth can I?

If you agree then write back.

Nina

Who's Your Pop?

Story Sent in by Alexandra:

Keith and I met in person after finding each other online. He offered to take me out to dinner, but told me that we'd figure out precisely where after meeting up.

Our meeting spot was in front of a bakery, and he asked me what I was in the mood for, regarding dinner. I offered, "Indian? Chinese?"

He pulled out his phone and looked something up, presumably some Indian or Chinese places in the area.

I said, "There's Beijing Wok or Bengal Elephant," which were Chinese and Indian places in the area, respectively.

He nodded and made a call. Once they picked up, he said, "Do you serve Coke or Pepsi products?"

They gave him the answer, and he hung up at once. He then called what I assumed was the other restaurant and asked them the same thing. They answered, and he hung up without a trace of emotion on his face.

He turned to me and said, "Those two are out. What else you got?"

I named two other Chinese restaurants in the area. He called them up and asked them both the same question. At the second one, he had to speak to a manager, as the person who first picked up apparently didn't understand what he was asking.

He hung up from that second conversation and said, "Maybe if you know of a restaurant that serves the one that you prefer, we ought to go there."

He sighed. "There's a pizza place I know of that has Coke. I'm fine going there if you are."

"I had pizza for lunch."

"So that complicates things. Story of my life. Anywhere else you think I should call? Otherwise I'll just expand the search."

I replied, "Is there really that big a difference between Coke and Pepsi products? I always found them similar."

He gave me the look of an admonishing teacher. "The differences are enormous. Taste aside, Coke's ingredients are responsibly derived, whereas Pepsi buys theirs from pirates."

"They buy their carbonated water and caramel color from pirates?"

"Essentially. Let's start walking to the pizza place and I'll keep trying some other places."

On our walk to the pizza parlor, he alternated calling up area restaurants and talking to me about Coca Cola's merits and Pepsi's shortcomings.

"Coke is venerable. Always has been. Their product tastes like quality should. Pepsi's is probably carbonated toilet water, and you can taste it. Seriously. Try one right after the other, if you can stomach the Pepsi. You won't regret it."

"I won't regret trying something that you just said tastes like carbonated toilet water?"

"Sometimes you have to learn the hard way."

Keith gave up after three more phone calls and we arrived at the pizza parlor. "Do you mind if we go here?" he asked, "You could have pasta or a salad or something."

It wasn't a big deal, so I told him that it was fine. He ordered pizza and grabbed a can of Coke out of the cooler, which was next to the counter. He turned to me and asked, "Want anything to drink?"

I grabbed a Pepsi.

He went rigid. He didn't know what to say. "You're kidding me. Put that—are you...? After all that... a Pepsi? Did you...? Um, let's see here... are—is, I mean, uh, if you, um, I think you should put that back."

I shrugged. "I like Pepsi."

He snapped, "I'm not paying for it."

"Okay."

He shook his head and repeated, "No way, I'm not paying for it," then turned to the counter and paid for his pizza and my salad.

Dinner itself was short. He alternated between cramming huge mouthfuls of pizza into himself and muttering, "A Pepsi, I can't believe it. I thought you were one of the different ones."

He bid me a hasty goodbye after the meal, and I returned home, where a bottle of Coke sat in my refrigerator.

Too Much Sun

Profile Sent in by Harry:

The six things I couldn't live without:

Hmmmm let's see. Blueberries, worker bees, having a good day, minding my own business when who comes into the chat room but lemontree! LEMONTREE! No one else is worth a whit but her! We don't even talk about Dallas in here anymore, and the new series is on and yet Lemontree gets every guy talking to her over the virtual campfire. I know I shouldn't let it bother me but all things are equal online, I'm just as nice as she is and yet no one says more than a barely whispered hello to me when Lemontree waltzes in. That is what I mean when I say I can live without anything but I must know Lemontree's secret. She is a ho in real life. Must be, a girl that popular. I will find out.

Other things I can't live without? Uuuuuuh.... beer?

I'll Be Darned

Email Sent in by Wendi:

I'll be Rhett Buter. You be Scarlet. I'll be heads. You be tails. I'll be yes. You be no. I'll be metal. You be wood. I'll be dinner. You be breakfast. I'll be sunset. You be sunrise.

I'll be apples. You be oranges. I'll be birds. You be fishs. I'll be yellow. You be magenta. I'll be waking. You be sleeping.

I'll be beer. You be wine. I'll be loud. You be quiet. I'll be bacon. You be a vertical bacon sandwich. Together.

Chris

The Wack Swan

Story Sent in by Jacob:

Vicky and I were walking around a pond after our first date – a Sunday brunch. On this day, we were treated to a rare sight: two swans, among the geese, gliding together over the pond's surface.

"Swans! Oh my God!" Vicky said.

They were large and beautiful. I had never seen them on that particular pond before. Next thing I knew, Vicky, who had been in a pair of jean shorts and a top, ran from my side and splashed into the water.

"Swans! Swans!" she shouted at them.

"Vicky!" I called after her.

She was unheeding. Geese honked and flapped from the water to the banks. The swans didn't honk at all, but as she approached them, flopping through the water, they took off, themselves, for parts unknown.

"Come back!" she shouted after them, "Stupid swans! Come back!"

Soaking wet, she dredged herself out of the water and we walked over to each other. "Man," she said, "Swans are dumb."

I asked her, "What were you planning to do if you caught one?"

She said, "I don't know. Cuddle it or something."

First and only date.

Well, Someone Has to Do It

Profile Sent in by Ed:

About me:

Fun me fact: I was dropped on my head as a baby. Yes really. It has not affected me at all. As luckily I did not fall far or hard. I studied proctological photography in college namely that I take photos up butts and send them off to scientists for medical purposes. I love my job even though I'm around butts all day. Worst is coming home smelling like your work.

What an Email Strange

Email Sent in by Andre:

We all masks wear. The question is does your mask match mine with? I am a local singer who wants nothing more than to meet people new! I was born and raised in area this. Went to college here around. Glad to have my roots here and I really love this place and people its. If you are originally from here, have you ever been to watertower the?

I've been a born performer since I was young very. I made the second round of American Idol when I was 10 only! Since then I've performed across the USE on tours 2. I want to scheudle a few more places to tour before the year out is.

What do you do for living a? I saw on your profile that you do consulting management. What does entail that? Do you give advice managers? Would I have heard of any of the companies that helped you?

Also, it was neat to see your work sculpture. Always good to have hobby a. Have you ever shown your anywhere work? Maybe make it more than hobby a?

Thanks reading for. I hope to hear you from.

Sonya.

Flatulicious

Story Sent in by Dara:

Ken and I met online and were out to dinner together on a first date. He was a healthy eater: it took him less than a minute to plow through half of his sole and mashed potatoes. Then, he looked up at me and said, "I'm gassy."

It was a foolhardy thing to say, but he mentioned it as if it was an average conversation topic, so I rolled with it. "Don't worry about it. I'm gassy in the mornings."

He fixed his attention right onto me. It was as if I had told him that I knew the precise date and time that he was going to die. "Really?" he asked, "Tell me about it."

I said, "It's nothing really that interesting. I wake up, do a few things, then feel better. I think it's normal, any time of day."

"What things?"

"Uh, going to the bathroom."

He stared like he didn't quite understand. He asked, "How does being in a different room make you less gassy?"

The conversation was wearing on me, and I said, "You know what you do in a bathroom. Once I'm done in there and have had some breakfast, I feel better. Case closed."

"Oh!" he said, "Peeing and poo-pooing." He giggled like a little girl.

The way he said it was funny, and so I laughed a bit, myself. He went on, "I love both of those. We sure are blessed."

I nodded. "We are." I ate more of my chicken Caesar.

Not long after that, he leaned across the table and asked, "What's it feel like when you crap?"

I pushed my plate away from myself and said, "Can we move on to a different subject?"

He pointed to my salad and said, "That'll be poop in just a few hours. You're just eating it now. Pre-poop."

"I just want to talk about something else," I said.

"Okay," he said, "Let's talk about…" and went back to his meal.

We didn't talk for the rest of dinner. He paid the check, and before we even left the restaurant, he gave me a huge hug, said, "Night night," and hurried away.