The Internet is full of fat liars who are ugly, OR, The Perils of Dating, Part One

All right everybody, for about the past month I've been going on a series of "Internet dates." Now, before we get into the excrutiating details of how AWKWARD every single one of these was, let us review why I submitted myself to this torture and what rules/caveats/escape clauses I set up for myself.

Why I did it: Because I was bored, so bored, patient and dear reader. Furthermore, a friend of mine had lameneted what a pain in the ass Internet dating in general typically is, and so, in the mold of great participatory journalists of the past, I decided to channel my inner-Plimpton and subject myself to the slings and arrows of mericless Lady Internet.

The Rules/Caveats/Escape Clauses: The rules, only using, ugh, chicago.craigslist and, ugh, myspace I would go on a minimum of two dates (one from each website) and "test the tepid waters." I think that was the only rule, the only caveat was not going out with someone too below my superficially demanding standards of "attractive." The only escape clause was being able to bail out at any given time on any given date. Of course, the subjects to this experiment were not informed of what they were a part of.

First up was craigslist, and WOW! there is nothing nice I can say about the craigslist experiment. After responding to a number of "women seeking men" listings and filtering through a number of photos and emails I came down to two finalists for the vaunted craigslist date.

Contestant #1: A sultry lass from Chicago's near Westside looking to "have a good time," and felt that "we should grab a drink." Tony Ritz, after receving her picture as an attachment felt like "suicide." *CAUTION, DEAR READER THE FOLLOWING IMAGE IS HARMFUL!*


Forensic Breakdown: Well, clearly, "she's" wearing a wig to cover up her massive "five head" which is a result of "her" receding hairline. "Her" protruding brow suggests an element of the lower primate order; while her defined jaw line betrays both a criminal element and perhaps the fact that "she" is a "he!" Bum. Bum. BUUUMM!

Contestant #2: Okay, contestant number two was also found in the dredges of romance that are the craigslist W4M, she's a 23 yeard old* who moved to Chicago from LA for college. Here's her photo**


Wondering what the asteriks next to her age and photo are all about? Well, she lied about being 23, actually 20. And this photo has to be from when she was at least four years younger and forty pounds lighter.

Based off the photos alone I'm sure you can guess who I went on a date with. Yep, Contestant #2. So let's cut to the quick and review what all was wrong with Contestant #2:

For starters, she was two fucking hours late for our rendezvous. Originally we had agreed to meet at 9 pm and she pushed it all the way back to 11 and changed venues. Changed venues from a bar-where they are plenty of witnesses-er, patrons. From bar, to???? her front yard. Brilliant! I met her in her front yard, and from there she proceeded to drag me to a late-night Mexican restaraunt. Upon arrival she ordered a whole fucking meal and expected me to watch as she stuffed her already bloated face full of more unecessary sustenance. Appalled at this, I continued with the date merely for the sake of science. As I fought back convulsions of apoplectic rage from her tardiness, necessity for eating in a manner most befitting of a barnyard animal and her sloven appearance-Cowgirl was wearing-unbelievably-mesh gym shorts and a baggy tee shirt-we moseyed back to her apartment where she offered me a forty and I obligingly accepted. Our conversation at the her late night feeding had been awkward but at least mininmal, thanks to her pie hole blessedly being full of food for the most part. The conversation that ensued in her front yard, as I desperately tried to fight back my revulsion with swallow upon swallow of malt liquor, was forced and incrdibly awful. The highlights:

Her: "I like to play video games. I have every gaming system that's been released since the first Nintendo."
Me: Mouth agape, stumblling to conjugate a complete sentence.

Her: "My brother is the one with all the looks, but he's a bigger nerd than I am."
Me: Fighting back tears, of rage? fear? I couldn't tell at this point.

Me: "Well, I'm really tired. I'm going to get going."
Her: "Can I have a hug?"
Me: "I don't think so."

Coming Soon! Part Two! "When the going get weird, the weird go professional!"