The Nappy Diatribe

TROLLING FOR ASS ON MYSPACE

Posted 04/07/2007 at 4:56 PM  |  6 comment/s

Being socially awkward as to go to a singles bar with a colostomy bag and an unpleasant attitude, an emotionally crippled bastard like myself longs for the days when the only thing standing between my unimpressive phallus and a corn-fed booty was a couple of random Blackplanet messages. That was my site right there, a safe haven for a degenerate like myself, an interactive website that was my own virtual pimp - hooking up random sexual encounters so convenient that it made my paranoid trips to the clinic over the following months that much more bearable. That type of impromptu backseat fucking, weird "my husband will know if I've been with someone else, so stick it in my butt" requests, awkward hand-jobs, and quickie blow-jobs in the confines of their grandmother's apartment - dalliances that you don't mention to your wife while answering the obligatory "How many people have you been with?" questions. But as the site became less popular, I got older, and I grew tired of always scrubbing my cock raw with an S.O.S pad after the most casual of sex, I stopped using that particular site as my own personal catalog for picking out women with big booties and the lowest self-esteem this side of suicidal dwarfs.

But wouldn't you know it. As soon as I started writing in my blog and felt that I could forgo my germaphobia and begin penetrating a myriad of womens' holes sort-of guilt free - that's when I realized that chicks tend not to go for dudes who openly admit they are assholes with a habit of pre-ejaculation. That's why I was happy when myspace came along - kind of like Blackplanet on steroids. And with my written word improving leaps and bounds since my BlackPlanet days, I figured chicks would be lining up to bang me, sending me breast pictures, them fellating bananas and shit, even sending me the most intimate of ovary shots that they could find on their precious hard-drives. Man, was I wrong. Here are some of the roadblocks I've encountered every time I've sent a chick a "Hey baby, how would you like to get mercilessly fucked by a chubby black writer who will talk about it on his blog?!!" messages. (Before I start, here is my myspace address, ladies.

Just deny me as a friend and get the fuck on already!: The funniest thing about myspace is how people seem to think that a friend request without a note accompanying it is a crime punishable by god. Like most men who frequently exhaust their respective porn stashes, some late nights I find myself scanning myspace profiles saying silly shit to myself like "Damn girl, those perky titties sure make a nerd like me want to double-click that icon!!" But besides the most deviant of reasons for sending her a friend request, it's possible her band's songs might have been particularly catchy to me at the time, or her blog post where she eloquently waxed poetic about her bra preference were what made a brother possibly one day put her in my Top 8. But more times than not, you will get a rather irritated response from a woman that might sound like this: "Um, do I know you? I don't grant friend requests from people I don't know, so you will have to tell me something about yourself first!!" Huh? Tell you about myself? Ok, I like to sodomize women while screaming out my prison number, and in my spare time I play with voodoo dolls that I've made from the hair of several ex-girlfriends - "Will you accept me now???" I'm saying, am I asking you to be a myspace friend or trying to coerce you in giving me the god-dammed kidney that you don't use? Am I asking you to do the most menial of tasks, or asking you to consummate an arranged marriage? Just deny my friend request and move the fuck on, sugar. Being lectured by a chick who I only found cute in the wee hours of the morning when I ran out of lotion and my carpal tunnel acted up is not my idea of a good time.

You know, there is a thing called contraception: God bless the very ground they walk on, there are actually women out there who seek me out, open to the very idea of possibly signing a binding contract under a law that I call "S.A.D.A.B" (Suck A Dick And Bounce). But besides bed-ridden white girls, and women so old that I'm sure their vaginas could be used to scrape off unwanted car paint, I seem to attract nothing but women with kids. Don't get me wrong, I love kids and wouldn't mind "stuffin' my lovin' in the sweet muffin of a chick who already had a couple of loaves already come out of her oven" (sorry). A couple of kids are fine - I'm great with children as long as I don't have to be a lifelong father figure - but the women on myspace who seem to contact me have enough crumb-snatchers on their pages to make it seem as if they were trying to start a fucking baseball team. Talk about Little Old Lady in the shoe and shit, I'm usually nice to these women but I can't actually see our spirited online back and forth going much further, primarily because I just know that I'd eventually make "clown-car" jokes when referencing her vagina.

Tom is an evil bastard!: One of the worst myspace features, something that I'm certain Tom included just to torment chubby dudes with low self-esteem issues everywhere, is how you are told if the person read your message or not. Man, nothing questions your self-worth more than a few days passing before the recipient responds to your message - diatribes where you very graciously offered to eat "mac and cheese" off of her supple buttocks.

Treat em' like a Prostitute: For some reason unbeknownst to me, strippers don't like it when you offer them cold hard cash for their sexual services in your very first message. I'm a pretty progressive guy - I know that not everyone who takes their clothes off for money is trying to wade the muddy prostitution waters - but I just see myself as offering them a decent business opportunity. I mean, as degrading as dancing to Lil Wayne records are, shaking those gluteal muscles for men who couldn't tell you who the secretary of State was if you held a loaded cannon to their collective temples, having a chronic pre-ejaculator who would only spend the better part of five minutes thrusting on top of you seems like an obvious upgrade.

That's who you chose, really?: I can't front though, I've encountered a handful of smart and beautiful females who weren't the worst relationship prospects in the world - even having many spirited back and fourths with these lovely ladies. But because I'm lazy, or possibly because she lives entirely too far, the lines of communication sputtered like farts in Jacuzzis after a while. It's just funny to me when I see the dudes that they eventually pick as boyfriends, a nerdy lot that gives you the impression that their mothers lived next to a nuclear reactor when they were pregnant with them. I can't tell you how many times I've commented under their new boyfriend's picture with the cryptic message of "Really? Are you shitting me?" If I knew they were that fucking desperate I would have stuck it out a few more weeks. Jesus Christ.

de.licio.us digg Furl Reddit YahooMyWeb

Trackbacks

Trackback url for this entry: http://blogs.vibe.com/cgi-bin/mt/mt-tb.cgi/974

Listed below are links to blogs that reference this entry:

Add a Comment

You must log in or register to post comments.

Comments