OK, being a frequenter of many makeoutclub-esque profile webpages, I've engaged in many an attempted online convo with the scenester girls occupying these sites. For the most part, many of them are highly non-responsive and apparently annoyed with me. A run-of-the-mill conversation with one of the various girls typically goes as follows (note the almost constant refusal on her part to adhere to the simplest of grammatical rules):
Me: Hi.
Her: whos this
Me: My name's adam. Who're you?
Her: You imd me
Me: Yes, but I think you technically still could answer my question, right?
Long Pause
Me: Alright then. Let me re-introduce myself. Again, I'm adam. who're you?
Long Pause. She'll answer after about a 3-5 minute delay
Her: im nicole
Me: Hi nicole. So what's goin' on?
Her: wear did you find me from?
Me: I'm thinkin' it was most likely one of the "profile websites"
Her: wthjc one?
Her witch
Me: Um, I'm not sure I remember. maybe it was makeoutclub
Her: lsp, mrh, ouc, lsac,moc?
Me: like I said, i think it was moc
Her: o
Me: Uh huh.
Her: cool
Me: yes, it sure is! I've a profile on suicidegirls. Take a gander if you'd like.
Excrutiatingly Long Pause.
Me: So, did you look?
Again, no response. During this period, she may or may not sign off. In that case, this will've been the end of the convo. If not, it usually proceeds as follows:
Her: sorry im talking to a lot of people at once
Me: Oh, well maybe I'll im you another time then
No response
Me: or maybe I'll just keep talking 'cause you've given me no reason not to
Me: so, here's a hypothetical scenario: you find yourself in your 40's. you now have a child. It's a girl. I'd say she's about 2 years old. So, she's just old enough to say a few words. One afternoon, as the sun's shining in through the blinds, you get a knock on your door.
Me: Your answer it and, standing there is a slender, monochromatically-adorned man. I'd say he's wearing a dark, navy-blue suit. He says, in a monotonous voice, "I have a proposition for you, ma'am."
Me: "See, although i may look insignificant, I actually have an important message to deliver to you." He pulls out, from a small pouch that was previously obscured, a metallic box. He continues, "At the flip of this red swtich, this world you so cherish will spontaneously erupt in nuclear warfare. There will be global catastrophy, large-scale genocide. The apocalypse will be at hand. Blood will fall from the skies like the most violent of storms. Don't believe me?"
Me: he then rotates the box to reveal a smaller version of the red swtich. He flicks it. As he does this, you hear a loud crashing noise on the horizon, echoing off the cloudy atmosphere.
Me: The man then points his finger toward your living room television. The screen suddenly activates.
Me: The man begins rotating his outstretched hand and, as he does so, the channels on the TV begin to change themselves. Every station appears to be broadcasting the same thing: newswreel footage of a large city's unexplained mass combustion. You see the charred remains of entire familes huddled together in the rubble of their living rooms; a pregnant women with a burst abdomen, her blackened fetus sprawled out on the floor several feet from her, still connected by an umbilical chord; an entire freeway overpass collapsed, soot-covered corpses hanging from the windows of overturned cars.
Me: The slender man says, "this is just a taste of what could happen." Now, here's the proposition. I'll be as brief and to-the-point as possible. This doomsday that I could easily initiate with the flick of a switch, it could be all called off for a mere sacrifice." As you look inquisitively at him, he raises a finger and points toward your 2-year old child, playing with her dolls.
Me: So, what would you do? Would you do it, nicole? To save the world, would you kill your child?
No response.
Me: Hello?
Then, after a few more times trying, I'll get a "Is not currently signed on" message. This signifies to me that she's either, A, just decided to abruptly leave or, B, blocked me. Either way, I'm still left in solitude.
So, this almost exact conversation, which occurs all-too-often, always leaves me baffled. I find myself rhetorically asking: If you're going to go through the trouble of putting yourseld on a profile website, don't you think you should at least be prepared to converse with people and not be a fucking non-responsive, mono-syllabic, asshole? Fuckin' cunts!
Oh, and I lost my fucking watch. SHIT ON ME!
Me: Hi.
Her: whos this
Me: My name's adam. Who're you?
Her: You imd me
Me: Yes, but I think you technically still could answer my question, right?
Long Pause
Me: Alright then. Let me re-introduce myself. Again, I'm adam. who're you?
Long Pause. She'll answer after about a 3-5 minute delay
Her: im nicole
Me: Hi nicole. So what's goin' on?
Her: wear did you find me from?
Me: I'm thinkin' it was most likely one of the "profile websites"
Her: wthjc one?
Her witch
Me: Um, I'm not sure I remember. maybe it was makeoutclub
Her: lsp, mrh, ouc, lsac,moc?
Me: like I said, i think it was moc
Her: o
Me: Uh huh.
Her: cool
Me: yes, it sure is! I've a profile on suicidegirls. Take a gander if you'd like.
Excrutiatingly Long Pause.
Me: So, did you look?
Again, no response. During this period, she may or may not sign off. In that case, this will've been the end of the convo. If not, it usually proceeds as follows:
Her: sorry im talking to a lot of people at once
Me: Oh, well maybe I'll im you another time then
No response
Me: or maybe I'll just keep talking 'cause you've given me no reason not to
Me: so, here's a hypothetical scenario: you find yourself in your 40's. you now have a child. It's a girl. I'd say she's about 2 years old. So, she's just old enough to say a few words. One afternoon, as the sun's shining in through the blinds, you get a knock on your door.
Me: Your answer it and, standing there is a slender, monochromatically-adorned man. I'd say he's wearing a dark, navy-blue suit. He says, in a monotonous voice, "I have a proposition for you, ma'am."
Me: "See, although i may look insignificant, I actually have an important message to deliver to you." He pulls out, from a small pouch that was previously obscured, a metallic box. He continues, "At the flip of this red swtich, this world you so cherish will spontaneously erupt in nuclear warfare. There will be global catastrophy, large-scale genocide. The apocalypse will be at hand. Blood will fall from the skies like the most violent of storms. Don't believe me?"
Me: he then rotates the box to reveal a smaller version of the red swtich. He flicks it. As he does this, you hear a loud crashing noise on the horizon, echoing off the cloudy atmosphere.
Me: The man then points his finger toward your living room television. The screen suddenly activates.
Me: The man begins rotating his outstretched hand and, as he does so, the channels on the TV begin to change themselves. Every station appears to be broadcasting the same thing: newswreel footage of a large city's unexplained mass combustion. You see the charred remains of entire familes huddled together in the rubble of their living rooms; a pregnant women with a burst abdomen, her blackened fetus sprawled out on the floor several feet from her, still connected by an umbilical chord; an entire freeway overpass collapsed, soot-covered corpses hanging from the windows of overturned cars.
Me: The slender man says, "this is just a taste of what could happen." Now, here's the proposition. I'll be as brief and to-the-point as possible. This doomsday that I could easily initiate with the flick of a switch, it could be all called off for a mere sacrifice." As you look inquisitively at him, he raises a finger and points toward your 2-year old child, playing with her dolls.
Me: So, what would you do? Would you do it, nicole? To save the world, would you kill your child?
No response.
Me: Hello?
Then, after a few more times trying, I'll get a "Is not currently signed on" message. This signifies to me that she's either, A, just decided to abruptly leave or, B, blocked me. Either way, I'm still left in solitude.
So, this almost exact conversation, which occurs all-too-often, always leaves me baffled. I find myself rhetorically asking: If you're going to go through the trouble of putting yourseld on a profile website, don't you think you should at least be prepared to converse with people and not be a fucking non-responsive, mono-syllabic, asshole? Fuckin' cunts!
Oh, and I lost my fucking watch. SHIT ON ME!
VIEW 7 of 7 COMMENTS
not the obvious...
but you seem to have a pretty schooled head on your shoulders and yet you resort to online dating ! Excuse me for being the pariah of the 21st century....but come on