OK Stupid [a PSA on the perils of online dating]:

Let’s get ratchet… Miley-style

I’m talking about tongue punching your fart box

after you’ve had a long night of sweating on the dance floor,

after partying with the girls,

or after a hard gym session.

Your asshole, my tongue–

sit on my face and let’s 69

but only if you kiss me after.

I don’t usually break the ice with jokes about planes

because they fly over people’s heads,

but let’s play,

‘cause you are an awesome sexy-hippie,

and ma’am I am afraid you are entirely tooooo gorgeous

to be on this site–

I’m gonna have to ask you to leave…

preferably… with me.

I’ll twerk on ya till a sweat drip down my ball,

but did you hear about the bakery

that caught fire in OKC today?

That business is toast.

You are a marvelous chocolate chip pancake

in a sea of burnt waffles,

and I hope you’re into

gagging and choking on massive hard cocks.

And, obviously you’re aesthetically interesting,

but a buddy of mine was looking over my shoulder

just now and claimed that– without a doubt–

your profile was written by a dude.

I came to your defense, of course,

but it got a little out of hand

and now we’ve got a $20 bet going…

so, just between you and me,

am I about to lose $20?

If you’re nice, maybe I can

eat your pink taco buffet when you’re on the rag.

And why don’t you love Jesus?

And why don’t you want kids?

And why are you still single?

Cupid is not happy about that at all.

‘Cause I want to see you deep-throat,

gasping for air,

until your eyes get teared up

and your eyeliner is running down the sides of your cheeks.

Where did you go, Vanish-Anna?

I don’t understand it.

Whatever I did wrong, I’m sorry.

Please keep talking to me–

I need you.

Just answer me this:

Why did the cookie go to the hospital?

Message me back for the answer.

Please just message me back.

I want to give you all of the hickies.

In hidden places of course–

you’re a teacher.

Did I lose your interest when I said I hated poetry?

When I read your profile and looked through the music you love,

my heart skipped a beat and I envisioned

the hours of us driving into the setting sun,

windows down,

your hair dancing with the wind.

And hell yeah, I’ll take you to McDonald’s,

but you can only order off the dollar menu

and you better order a water, not a soda!

I would very much enjoy engaging in the typical ritual

in which I destroy half my paycheck on dinner and an activity

while awkwardly building rapport with you

in hopes of getting a kiss on the cheek at the end of the night.

For dessert, we can pack your asshole full of gummy worms,

pressing my lips against your booty hole,

pulling them out one at a time with my teeth

like Lady and the Tramp

after they have been marinating in your sweet-smelling stank hole.

I fucking love red-heads,

so I’ll be bold and blunt.

Would you like to get together this morning and have great sex?

I was going to come up with some awesome ice breaker that

referenced something we may have in common

Buddha can’t think of one.

Hey sexy.

You’re sexy.

Very sexy.

Are you real?

Too good to be true.

Damnnnnnnn fine.

Hey, what’s up with your teeth?

Are you trying to hide them?

Ever chat with a married guy?

Could be fun.

So, I was wondering if you might be interested in dating a couple?

Hey girl, you into couples?

I wanna watch you pleasure my wife if you’re into that–

she’ll return the favor.

If I run out of toilet paper,

I expect you to wipe my ass with your bare hand

and then smear it across your forehead

to signify your devotion to me.

Hi, do you happen to have a shovel?

Cause I dig the shit out of you.

You’re the kind of woman I’ve been looking for

for a very long time.

Have my babies–

please.