Another Disastrous Dating Profile

Editor-in-Waiting Simon Augustine has graciously agreed to share the following fascinating item with The Letters.  This is his honest-to-goodness vintage-style dating profile, most of which was actually used to try to fuck REAL WOMEN.  This stuff was really up on the internet, on authentic dating sites.  You’re not going to believe this shit.  He’s lucky he didn’t get arrested.  Actually, he tells us that his own personal saga of internet dating brought him some wonderful, fulfilling relationships, but also introduced him to women he was afraid might be waiting for him on the stairs to his apartment with a gun when he got home, who forced him to meditate for 45 minutes in a Buddhist temple before inexplicably turning all cold-fish, whom he suspected may have undergone a complete psychological depersonalization in between the time of first e-mail contact and actual meeting, who in fits of loneliness threatened to come over at 1a.m. in the morn bringing in drunken tow boobs and neurosis, and who made him endure horrible avant-shit performances at beer soaked poetry nights.  Supposedly, this profile has reached, due to Simon’s literarius elephantaisis, a count of about 10,000 words, so we must present it in installments.  With trepidation and sympathy, here it is: (Editor’s commentary in brackets.) 

Headline: I am la poeta pastorale, aspetta! bella, and I make-a the English.

My Self-Summary:

[Here Simon attempts to start off relatively conventionally with some faux-charming autobiographic cutesy stuff that makes you want to take a crap.]

I have been known to sway hypnotically to Air Supply songs; dance like James Brown; streak in wintertime; talk with great concentration to children about topics that interest them; make presents for friends and write poems for women; take road trips to unknown places and befriend drunken hillbillies – trips which later become the stuff of local legend; stay at ashrams; go on 500 mile peace walks in the honor of civilians killed in war; co-host Dr. Obssesso and His Wacky Medicine Show; invent theologies; attract more trick-or-treaters then any one else on the block; give tear-inducing toasts; leap about in a near frenzy in my bedroom to "Won’t Get Fooled Again" until the neighbors complained; and laugh often. From My Facebook Profile: Idealist, Romantic, Child of the 70s, Observer of Spiritual Flourishes and Whimsical Principles. I like Poetry and Fiction, Zen Buddhism, Horror Films, Fly-fishing, Religious Philosophy.

[This is where it starts to get weird, and as they say, it don't let up a bit.  Significance in terms of abnormal psychology and literary travesty begins in earnest here for even the most casual reader.]

I’m a very sensuous person, and very free and open with my sexuality. Other people usually don’t appreciate it when I am open with my sexuality, but I don’t let that get in my way. I let everything hang out and down. I am a free spirit, and if anyone gets in my path while I am being free and wistful, I will take them down. Also, it is important to remember: I am not sensual. I am sensuous. Things are sensual. People are sensuous.

I have no criminal record.

[More than anything, Simon hated when people would put phrases not in quotes, but in asterix, like *this,* as in: *please* do not write me if you are not taller than 5'8,'' and I am *serious.*  So, he would try to use this technique as frequently as possible, to inflict it back upon its original perpetrators.]

If you are not a free spirit *please* do not write me. I like women who treat romance like an art form, not like *color-forms.* If you are not sure whether you are a free spirit, send me an e-mail and I can probably tell you based on it whether you are a free spirit or not. In the meantime take this quick test:

1. Someone at your favorite bar is being a real downer, and sending out bad vibes. They are like really getting in your scene, and making fast with the negative talk. Do you:

a. Reach over and punch them in the face like Squibby or whatever that girl’s name is on that Jersey show.

b. Try to pull a Gandhi and understand where they are comin’ from, and diffuse the situation, which may be elevated because of the presence of alcohol and/or assholism.

c. Take your clothes off immediately and trace rainbows in the wind.

The answer is c.

2. A mistra-know-it-all is infringing on your civil rights at a job interview, or at least you suspect he may be. Do you:

a. Reach over and punch him in the face.

b. Pull out your copy of Soul On Ice or Steal This Book! and try to relate to The Man.

c. Take off your clothes immediately and trace rainbows in the wind.

The answer is c.

If you found the above humorous, consider this: it is an ancient Hindu saying that "as much as a man can make you laugh, he can make you *orgasm* that number sevenfold." So, to get to brass tacks: get to know me and you could be quivering with shivers of white hot pleasure, the kind where the whole world disappears into a void for about 5 seconds (or sex-conds) and you know not who you are or why you exist and you don’t care and the abyss takes you and you gladly let it – and all this can occur within the next week or so for your convience (or cun…ah forget it.). I may be able to book you this Thursday if you’re in luck. A scientific report "came" out recently that purports to aver that the G-Spot does not exist. This is bunk. In fact, I know where at least 3 G-Spots are on every woman. I have spent a lot of time reading Our Bodies, Ourselves and that Nancy Friday book in which real women talk about their dreams and fantasies of being covered in maple syrup and licked like Aunt Jemima is in town.

[At this point, Simon attempts to use the stream of consciousness technique, which worked for Faulkner and sometimes for psychics of the 1930s during seances or automatic writing, but is notoriously unwieldy and ineffective in dating profiles.]

I love: sunsets, sunrises, midday, long walks on the beach, short walks on long piers,

Long John Silver’s (seafood restaurant), Long Duk Dong (exchange student from Sixteen Candles), Long Dong Silver (70s pornstar with about 17 inches), pina coladas, virgin pina coladas, virgins, colonnades, a clean colon, the semi-colon, the movie Semi-Tough with Burt Reynolds, Brut arm deodorent, Dio (70s heavy metal rocker, leader of Rainbow), bear rugs, the scent of musk, thick mustaches, old-tymey mustaches, guys bare-knuckle fighting with old tymey mustaches, mustache rides (even though I’m not sure what they are exactly), blood type O, The Story of O, Shel Silverstein’s The Big O meets the Isoceles Triangle, the Bermuda Triangle, Bermuda shorts, Bermuda, Len Berman, Lenny Dykstra (before he went insane), good wine, massage oils that smell like musk, knuckle massages (made that up just now on-the-spot), and long-distance telegrams that bring GOOD news. My favorite photographer is Diane Arbus. One of my favorite stand-up comedians is Freddie Prinze. I really love the show Kung Fu with David Carradine. I like stories by Yukio Mishima. All of those people committed suicide in notable, interesting, and innovative ways. I want to read David Foster Wallace. I have never seen a movie with Wallace Beery. I like Wallace and Gromitt.

I hate: people who talk about the Red Sox, people who talk too much about sports, men who make women pretend they care about sports, Jennifer Aniston movies, Sandra Bullock movies, Kate Hudson movies, any movie in which cutesy white people extoll bourgeois values, Freddie Prinze Jr., men who create "cologne tunnels" that you have to walk through, diamond rings, anything that costs a lot and has no utilitarian value, medieval fairs (never been but don’t think I would like it), haunted houses that are not very scary, haunted hay rides that are not very spooky, haunted houses that try to scare you into being Christian, bars without live bands and no sawdust on the floor.

I love Muhammed Ali. Not crazy about the guy who betrayed Malcolm X.

The last site I was on asked this question for my profile: "How did your last date end up?" And I answered "her remains are in my freezer." Women didn’t seem to take to that real well, and they were afraid to meet me. So much for honesty!

I’m looking to put all of my untapped naughty energy into a healthy and imaginative sex life. With more than one person in the room.

My band, The Michigan Dynamite Groove Machine, just released its first album on Squirrel Nut records. I’m really excited. How to describe it? it’s kind of like messianic lush pop if Tom Waits sang it through a voice bender. The first single, "My Corona," an ode to mediocre but passable Mexican beer, comes out in January, and the whole album, SexyTime Explosion In My Jean Shorts, will be on iTunes the first of February. Its a concept song-cycle inspired by that hilarious character Borat, who hates Jews, and who people keep telling me is not a real person.

[That last section was made up.]

I probably have forgotten more about romance than you’ll ever know. But maybe not.

I don’t like when all the townspeople gather around my house with torches and bang on my door and demand for me to come out.

I like to watch Bigfoot movies a lot. Bigfoot is a humanoid-type creature thought to be about 8 feet tall, with a shoe size of 36. That is like three Michael Jordon foots. Bigfoot is thought to be what is sometimes referred to as "the missing link," that is, a homo sapiens who is about twenty thousand years behind you and me in the evolutionary scale. He is kind of a bear/man like creature. Sometimes known as "Sasquatch" (among native Americans), or Yeti, in the hinterlands of the Himalyas in coutnries like Nepal and Tujan, or, alternatively, The Wood Man (not to be confused with the filmmaker Woody Allen), or the Green Man, also the Lone Man of the Woods, and sometimes The Abominable Snowman in his tundra habitat – although these days The Abonimable Snowman is not really politically correct because "Abominable" has negative and stereotypical connotations.

In addition to being a crypto-zoologist in my spare time, which means I track and research unusual animals that science has not fully documented, I am a certified Bigfoot hunter. To become certified you have to learn CPR, tread water for 15 minutes without stopping or drowning, hold your breath for a minute, be able to build fires and make fishhooks out of yarn and twigs, and other survivalist techniques. (I also used to be a crypto-Fascist, but I’m not into that anymore.) I take my Bigfoot activities very seriously, and so if you doubt things like Bigfoot or make fun of people who are interested in Bigfoot, please don’t write me because I might become angry. I have been a Bigfootie since 1997. We had a convention in Austin last year. If you are the skeptical type, and just roll your eyes at stuff like The Bermuda Triangle, or UFOs, or Nessy, or portals to another dimension, or Chariots of the Gods, or the fact that Jimmy Hoffa is buried at homeplate of the old Yankee Stadium, then we are probably not good for each other, because at the very least you may lack imagination and a child-like sense of wonder, and people without a child-like sense of wonder make me want to puke and throw garbage cans into the street.

To Be Continued, mon ami….

Posted by The Unfettered Editorial Staff on 6:12 pm Filed under All The Latest, Broken News, The Freaky Files. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0. You can leave a response or trackback to this entry