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Ethnicity

White

Height

6′ 0″ (1.83m).

Body Type

Thin

Diet

Vegetarian

Smokes

Constantly

Drinks

Drugs

Never

Religion

Other

Sign

Sagitarius

Education

Ph.D

Job

Education / Academia

Income

Not much

Offspring

—

Pets

—

Speaks

English (Fluently)

My self-summary

old boy, read a bit of the profile, then peruse the questions, then return to the profile, then offer a brief and trite response; i offer instructions not because i'm overbearing but because i want to inspire in you the best possible experience. it's not because i care so much as because i can't help but insist. invest the time in this effort: read, then write. old boy, do you remember what your aunt (the one with muscular dystrophy) told you about love? she said, gasping for the oxygen mask and grasping for the bedpan: "it's labor or it's lost." (shakespeare also made the same point in more turgid prose.) in healthier years, your aunt also told you that you were a dickless usebag. don't you think it's time to admit that she was probably right on both counts? your aunt didn't suffer from muscular dystrophy for nothing. if not for me, old boy, then read it and write it for your brain-dead, dis-figured, bi-racial, dis-morphic, bi-polar aunt. like your aunt before you, old boy, you will learn to enjoy a passing show that is long to the eye, thick to the touch, and cut to the taste. truth be told: your aunt didn't mind uncut, either, but that was before she was confined to the chair; afterward, she had limited dexterity with her oral cavity. it was sad for all of us, especially for ralph from the butcher shop. you don't remember this — or butcher ralph — because you were adopted. that is the big family secret. you were adopted. this is why your aunt called you a dickless usebag: dickless because your biological mother was unmarried, and usebag because that's what she used. but old boy, take heart. be a laborer. be a dickless usebag. be a nephew. be a courageous laborer. be a beautiful dickless usebag. be a gay nephew. what i am trying to say, old boy, is: be hairless and hung and quiet and tan! be you, old boy, be you. that's the best way to keep your late aunt in memory.

but, old boy, do you know what a memory is? do you? a memory is something that comes from the future. will you still have been able to remember its size, its length, its width, its face, its name? will you still have been able to remember its texture, its attitude, its force, its vulnerability? will you still have been able to taste it, hold it, protect it, and watch it? after all of that, will you still have been able to face it? will you still have been able to recognize its color, its talent, its shame, and its need? will you still have been able to feel its warmth and trust and pride? will you still have been able to forgive its magic and its deceit? will you still have been able to call it a fraud? will it still have been yours forever? there are no regrets when it is a memory, old boy. well there actually is one regret: hair lice. it is, like, really bad. on the other hand, i consider dandruff to be natural and possibly an evolutionary advantage. first of all, head & shoulders is for women. second, head & shoulders does not work. a friend at work told me that. anyway why not read him and write him and hope for the best? at worst you could be pen pals. at best you could start remembering. your aunt remembers even in her acute coma. again: the doctors cannot be sure but there are indications: movements in the mid extremities. actually, to be honest, your aunt is now completely — i mean: officially; i mean: irrevocably; i mean; catastrophically; i mean: polyphonically — fried. by which i mean: cremated. the service was nice. uncle dick was there with brittany. dick says he's in "mourning," but they're engaged again. this time with a pre-nup. apparently dick doesn't want the condo foreclosure to end up on his credit report. i know. and this is supposed to be dick's "second time around"? i know, it's like either you learn from life or you don't, right? i guess that's dick. i can't remember if you like dick? do you? he always asks about you. kind of in an aggressive way. anyway, you would have appreciated the flowers at the service, but we all thought it best that you finish the semester. no, we're not going to have the dean's list discussion now. this is a dating site, not instagram/reddit. but your aunt's ashes don't really matter because gay culture is basically about the torso and its accessories. party chatter party chatter: your aunt's physical status is essentially of death itself. also, in closing, i want you to know that the stuff about memory and time travel is a riff i stole from a talk of the town piece in the new yorker from december. i know, it's stupid metonymics, but i thought in this context it might impress 18-24. go figure.

please remember: what i write to you in this profile may be better — on first read — than what you write to me in your message — on first read. i'm ok with that. you be too, old boy.

to whom it may concern: i'm prone to take space in a self-summary for seemingly quirky but ultimately empty references to such mundanities as scrambled eggs and nosebleeds. i'll try to avoid that in this update to my profile. but i can't promise to successfully write against the grain of my voice.

i am "straight-acting" (mostly) which essentially means that i'm a complete douchebag. in my fantasy i am an endearingly witty and pleasantly insightful chap chock full of charming confidence and endless amusements. closer to reality: i'm a desperately kind and modestly troubled soul who pathologically dwells on the past. i am convinced that michael phelps date raped me a long time ago, possibly in pittsburgh? it was ok, but not the way i wanted it to go down. in all fairness: i'm a humanities professor at a college in boston and i become downright irresistible over time. i'm not love at first sight; rather, i'm more available to you as: the tea is steeping, hottt. i'm like the ed sullivan the beatles episode.

truth be told, most people don't like me at first. i make a very confusing and dispiriting first impression. if we're going to make a go of it, you sort of have to commit to a second date upfront. think of it as a "to be continued" episode of highway to heaven. it should be admitted: i'm incorrigibly hilarious and consistently moody. i may turn on you. but what’s important is: i’d catch a grenade for ya. remember when every word was funny? that’s the point of broccoli.

but i'm in it for the long haul, i promise. i could endlessly be there, i could. that said, i'm attracted to guys who are bleach blond, slack jawed, and profoundly dumb: “lost.” yes, i realize that this is just ungodly wrong. i am working on it. but anyway if you don't match this picture i'm sure i will still find you handsome and torrid. although it does help to have spent some quality time with the chest press. note to self!

i'm tried, true, and occasionally blue. i'm like a natural disaster but somehow "man made.” it ends with heroes and federal intervention. surprisingly very few people die. mostly the elderly. basically i'm equal parts elitist dickbag / populist blowhard. this thing really picks up at intermission, i promise. yes, we can start over.

What I’m doing with my life

i write, teach, and read — in approximately that order. i deploy these escapades in my valiant battle for a world of justice (but without any overt moralism) against the overlords of insatiable evil. i'm generally exasperatedly bemused, and i enjoy it with a dry non-calorie beverage and a drier non-sarcastic wit. but justice will arrive. and so will you eventually. also: i work out at the bsc in allston but also have a personal trainer in jp. please don’t tell anybody.

i'm only consumed by the college classroom for 12 hours by the week — so i'm game for all kinds of daily adventures with others of the homosexual inclination. what would i really like to do with my life? cheat on my boyfriend — let's call him, "justice" — with you — let's call you, "loyalty." you can tell me your real name when we meet.

I work on my book, sporadically: “pervert-schizoid-woman.”

waitiing — cut the last visa card — waiting

but the crucial question awaits:

will the wisest hacker in the world be working for justice or the CIA? when is your day, bank of amercia? and when will you make your move, lady?

I’m really good at

this.

text: i excel at the arts of irrelevance, such as interpretation, criticism, analysis, exegesis, and synthesis. i'm actually dreadfully inept at subtext. i can't veil/reveal anything. but i can outright lie about it. i suppose i can distract, too. i'm also really good at judging people by their teeth.

coping with fame. chaperoning hate crimes. having sex dreams about brett somers. meaningful self-on-self sex. pretend.

i'm really good at looking sexy in the fall and dressing for it. i'm really good at looking sexy in the face and narrating it. brooding.

The first things people usually notice about me

overheard, variously: "why is he talking so quickly?" "for who he is, he should be dressed better." "he sort of looks like gary busey. do you see it?" "10 minutes in, not impressed." "his vibe is a hyper self-aware jason mraz. but more political." "there are still people like him left?" "he seems angry for some reason." "why is he so nervous?" "he's so smart maybe!" "he's funny in a way that is totally inaccessible. it would work better if he had a cute face." "he never laughs." "he could do drag, but he probably thinks he's too good for that kind of thing." [not true. about the "too good for" part. would consider if opportunity. issue: worried won't have set of common references with the other queens.] "why doesn't he ever talk to the guys?" "he is dreamy" (woman). "i'd do him. but with the lights out" (woman). "he looks like he'd probably give good head" (lesbian). “i’d fuck him if it were a weeknight” (F2M?).

Favorite books, movies, shows, music, and food

books: i don't like books. to be perfectly honest, i really liked "vanity fair." but i mostly read theory, philosophy, and other quaint vehicles for the signifier. i actually don't read as much as i probably should anymore, not sure why. need new lens prescription? i also like henry james novels. and anything such and such has ever written. i can't seem to get into "the color purple." yes, i know it's a queer classic. i'm trying!

movies: i don't like movies. back to the future (part one), all about eve, magnolia, 9 to 5, you can count on me, rushmore, gilda, my cousin vinny, boyz in the hood, rear window, waiting for guffman, double indemnity, little miss sunshine, charlie and the chocolate factory (gene wilder edition), vertigo, october, real men. i will also watch anything with damon dogg in it. hey dude, do you want to go to a movie sometime and make out in the back row? (i generally like to offer the proposition within a "general interests" context.) yeah kendall works. but coolidge might be more fun (also closer to me). i also liked “vanya on 42nd street.” i generally like alfred hitchcock, too, but it's pretty clear to me that the guy was a total asshole. and i think almodovar is overrated. sorry gay people! and, by the way, same goes for sedaris in literature. sorry gay people! is that all you people read?

shows: i don't like shows. i'm a whore to old reruns: the golden girls, family ties, roseanne, the cosby show — and even more elderly: laverne and shirley, three's company, taxi, maude, the jeffersons, all in the family, good times, 227. i'd spend quality time with punky brewster if i could find her on the tube. i do have a recurring fantasy about being an orphan. but it does not involve tie-dye. or extremely large breasts. i also liked "summer heights high" with chris lilley, too. will always fondly remember "strangers with candy." i own the dvd box set of “match game.” possibly the kind of item better owned in betamax format. also: "that girl" and "$25,000 pyramid." to be honest: i wish they hadn't upgraded to “$100,000," seems gratuitous. am i right that bob costas is essentially a jr version of dick clark? also "rhoda" holds up surprisingly well.

music: i don't like music. i will not date you if you are an indie rocker. unless you're the dude kind of indie rocker. and you have slack jaw. and bangs. and some kind of necklace and bracelet pair (preferably rope/ocean). but you also wear glasses. and you're "bi" or something. and you never talk. if you've got all that going, then we should never stop sucking. strangely i like the beach boys; they feel simultaneously both upbeat and depressed, comforting. i also enjoyed the solo career of garry shandling. mgmt's "electric feel"? chucklehead? wrong demographic? i like leonard cohen for the spirit and i like edgar allan poe for the sex and i like ke$ha (sp?) for the mind. and i always cry when i hear tmbg's "put your hand inside the puppet head." esp. when it's played as elevator music.

food: i don't like food. how is this category relevant? but in my fantasy life I like things like ring-hos and ring-dings and ring-rings and ding-hos and ho-ho's and ho-rings and ding-dings, etc. basically i like anything ho or ring. i also like garlic and tomatoes. i will not cook for you. but i will watch you as you wash the dishes.

people: I don’t like people. bo duke (john schneider), mayor goldie wilson (i can't recall his middle name at the moment), david allan boucher (106.7), jane curtain (with john lithgow; were they ever together?), maggie smith (uk), hitler (germany), lenin (soviet satellite), stalin (cf. lenin), mussolini (italy), pol-pot (not sure; cambodia?), hegel (philosopher of the dialectic and other stuff that can get you laid once but not twice), marx (the original lenin [cf. stalin]), dr. spock (the baby book offers fair — if now inaccurate, by today's modern standards — advice; i am not a trek fan and they are different people), plutocrats nation-wide, the new york philharmonic first-chair bassoonist, the guy with the blond hair and the glasses who takes the red line from davis to harvard 7:30ish to 9:00 on weekdays (school?), claude van damme (just because of the illness and the fallout), the people of the people's republic of china, the guy who did that funny thing on youtube, my neighbor, eleanor rigby (and/or roosevelt: both lesbians), my neighbor's neighbor, george washington (because he invented gay americans), my neighbor's neighbor's neighbor, jonathan demme (because he has the right look that is strangely not the look i'm looking for), all neighbors, wolf blitzer (because he’s getting old), mister roger's neighbor, diane rehm (i find her voice soothing; it's sort of a common paradox among jerkoffs), jim neighbors, ("nabors"; worth googling), paula poundstone (the original so-called “nigerian kyle mignogue" as far as we're concerned; not worth googling), the entire cast of episode #831 of "the dating game" (back in two-and-two, chuck), joan of arc, joan of arcadia, joan of down the road (technically another neighbor), joan of the "buns of steel" video ('89), joan jett (who is joan jett?), joan rivers, joan baez, jo-ann fabrics, joe torre, joe kennedy, joe montana, joe namath, joe jackson, joe jonas, joe cocker, joe buttafuoco, joe the volcano, joe (your) momma, joe piscopo, joe dimaggio, joe michaels (the marlboro man; died of AIDS in ‘87), michael jackson (a pop star best known for the album "thriller"; was murdered in the mid-70s), michael taussig (an anthropologist who would have studied the gloved one if there had been time and yin and yang), michael j. fox, j. walter thompson (advertising exec), tom jones, walter the walrus (?), michael jordan, michael steele, michael kors, michael williams, michael jordan (rip), michael c hall, michael rode the boat ashore, hallelujah, jeff buckley, michael gross, that's gross, and, on the sunnier days, when i'm in a good mood, and i'm feeling liked, and i'm feeling lucky, i like people like patricks_future_boyfriend and — possibly — i might like you.

it's exhausting, isn't it?

it has (un)fortunately happened that i've had my life structured around the film "back to the future" — so, if we hit it off, seriously, don't feel compromised or manipulated if I force you into an "enchantment under the sea" wedding theme.

The six things I could never do without

this is such an incredibly stupid question. i have never read a profile that has filled this section out in a witty or impressive — or even convincing — way. this question is a trap. if you can direct me to a profile (possibly including your own) that is anyway decent, i will (consider) buying that person a fountain drink, size small. if the "six things" makes me laugh out loud, person gets slurpee, size any. if after reading the "six things" i decide to steal person's material and use it in my own profile, person can suck on my dick for 90 seconds. but i am working on my own answer to this question. it hasn't come together yet. it involves vintage j.crew catalogs. i'll keep you posted.

I spend a lot of time thinking about

you. i spend a lot of time thinking about science. general catastrophes. what kind of sex might be available in the afterlife. will i still have to pay? resistance levels. what's the tip on $22.69? “urban outfitters.” will they properly classify it as a genocide when everybody finally realizes what's actually happening? my former days as a boi. my future days as a boy. how the hipster stole the tote bag. calves. pecs. triceps. forearms. alternative endings for "schindler's list." also, alternative openings for "saving private ryan." what is the relation between snoop dogg and snow leopard? (causal?) take-out or delivery? who's harry crumb? possible fixes for the green line. what's next? — edible seals or fake butter!? the gay jean. pink trapezoids. geocentrism v heliocentrism v phallocentrism. giovanni ribisi. also: has the apocalypse already happened and I missed it?

On a typical Friday night I am

pussy. pussy. pussy. pussy. pussy. pussy. pussy. pussy. pussy. pussy. pussy. pussy. pussy. pussy. pussy. pussy. pussy. pussy. pussy. pussy. pussy. pussy. pussy. pussy. pussy. pussy. pussy. pussy. pussy. pussy.

The most private thing I’m willing to admit

i met my first husband on a porno shoot. he was the grip and i was the star. (we divorced after the injury.)

the human is the only species that has to pay for food. (and we're at the top of the chain.)

punctuation is the most important part of a text — isn’t that pathetic?

i already have enough dopamine.

i throw like a boy. hey boo boo. my favorite soda is orangina. i'm general issue. i'm standard issue. i raise issue. i drop issue. back in the day i watched the tv show "everwood." funny = romantic. i still sleep in my clothes (38). i have ADD. it's not that i can't learn. it's that i just learn differently. it's not a major part of my life anymore. it's buried in grant's room. i never liked "30 rock." tina fey is overexposed. tracy morgan is overrated. the gay guy flails too much. the chick from ally mcbeal (ms. krakowski) is funny but it gets tiring. there are better actresses in the baldwin family. it's on too late. i don't get HBO/cinemax. call me maybe. i called you maybe, wtf? no, i mean call me maybe, like the song. oh! call me maybe. i telephoned you maybe. i faxed you maybe. i beeped you maybe. i summoned you maybe. i preferred the past tense maybe — unless the future anterior were available. in that case, i will have been fucking you maybe. we funny back and forth, man. the good guys lost. god doesn't expect much from us. we seem to be cool with that. i'm so fucking angry. i'm a lover not a writer. i prefer cats to tatts. i rhyme, i suck lime. like rick, suck dick. cruise malls, enjoy balls. balls. balls. knee falls, lick balls. balls. balls. balls [beat] balls. balls balls. ex-boyfriend calls, sucks balls. (he wants to talk about our shared property.) i want to take a ride on your disco stick. disco stick? i'll ride yours? i'm pretty sure you're a bottom and/or top. you only drive stick. well, whatever, we're sure to make it work. there's more to life than disco sticks. mass homelessness is a holocaust. we seem to be cool with that. i'm so fucking ashamed. i've had two miscarriages. 1. continental 2. philosophy. this text is totally overdetermined. i supported the vietnam war. i'm the kind of guy who believes in living life to the fullest. i am achingly jacked. i once met crispin glover and there was no so-said "connection.” things should be better than they are. i usually watch jay leno. often dave. occasionally arsenio. once a week i watch thicke. on passover i watch kimmel. if arsenio is a repeat i watch sajak split-screen with conan. if i have insomnia i watch fallon on hulu and/or netflix and/or roku and/or nintendo 64. i dvr cavett if i have time. i catch tom snyder on the crt in the basement. i don't have a facebook account. i'm on linkedin but their server is currently down. i do most of my networking on friendster. i'm out to all but family. this world is profoundly dysfunctional. and proud of it. i can be mean. i have a major crush on austan goolsbee –- face and voice and name and vibe but not policy. there is no way that anyone on here will get that reference. go ahead, google. but i'll still know that you are a fucking unfair fucking liar you fucking asshole! fact: everyone deserves everything. i'm not entirely sure that nixon was guilty. i'm keeping an open mind. the divinity is that none of us know why we really like each other. i flunked out of the SAT. even with princeton review. and a private tutor. and with a free prep course offered to white kids at my school. but i aced the ACT. gay marriage is crazy stupid. i co-ghostwrote the lyric, "daddy works a long day" = everything = in = the = world = is = equal = because = everything = in = the = world = is = unequal =

i still travel by horse and buggy. i still eat at howard johnson's. i still shop at the outlets. i still hold the door. i still sleep on the top bunk. i still count the change. i still feel bad about what happened last night. i just don't think i could take that kind of a rejection. i still quote from films rarely. i still accept tokens. i still keep you in stock. i still got it coming. i still heart swarthmore. i still love you, babe. i still want you back, innocence. i still miss you, integrity. i still need you, erection. i still lie to you, conscience. i still hurt from you, that huge boner from december/january. i still think we're worth it, love. i still owe you a back massage, keanu. i still want to be with you forever, mind. i still wish we could extend this, orgasm. i still see you for you, michael. i still think that's mine, yours. i still talk, dirty. i still swallow, spit. i still believe in love at first sight on a spring break that was interrupted by a shark attack on the island. i still find it hard to talk about it.

what i am trying to represent is beyond language. penis.

I’m looking for

Gay Guys
Ages 25-35
Near me
Who are single
For new friends, long-term dating, short-term dating

You should message me if

you want to practice. you are the exact same person as me. you don't mind jersey sheets. you would buy the bridge i have to sell you. you sport one of those empowered, intentional, military gay gaits. (i believe in you, too, hon!) you want to ask me to join your post-punk rock band (keys). you are irredeemably budget. you are mature enough to know that ayn rand is a bitch. you are out of my league and I am out of your league. you like street food. you tolerate street culture. you're limited edition. you want to play in my "tree-house." it's pretty big. you're interested in process. you're the display copy. you think revolution sounds right, but you have other commitments at the moment. (however, you will consider withdrawing from said commitments if it's the safe kind of flash mob.) you like to top in 69 but you have bad knees right now. so you will bottom. you got the injury playing soccer. you played in high school but not in college. you're trying to get back into it. sweeper. you can dig a first date at the golden corral. you remember who shot j.r. you're heavy handed. you're straight but not narrow. you're now open. you come in a specially marked package.

while reading this profile you possibly had to google "vanity fair," "henry james," "damon dogg," "rhoda," "future anterior," or "jay leno." and you did it. if you had to google "garry shandling" or "brett somers" that's a red flag but not a deal-breaker, depending on your age. if you had to google "gary busey" — and you're cute — we can set up some tutorial sessions. wear something open-toed (e.g. flip-flops). if you had to google "crispin glover" you might want to try match.com for people more in your range. if you had to google "jason mraz" you might want to check out plentyoffish.com. (if you had to google "plentyoffish.com" — and you're hot — please do message me with the subject line: "real.") if you had to google "ed sullivan" it's probably not going to work out for you. if you had to google "google" i'm curious about the type of device you are using. if you had to google this reference to "soren kierkegaard" you should have majored in continental philosophy as an undergrad. if you are currently undecided in college that is totally cool, man. and it'd be nice to hear from you. exception to the kierkegaard rule: you play for the brazilian volleyball team. in that event, i do not care about your reading of kierkegaard (unless it dramatically deviates from my own). if you had to google "SAT" or "ACT" that may be a danger sign, except of course if you are a non-native speaker (who is foreign born). if you are an illegal immigrant you should know that my position on the issue is evolving. in either case — legal or alien — please submit TOEFL. if you had to google "TOEFL" — and are native — send a text message to my secretary.

if you're an asshole, don't bother. we've already dated. twice. and it's like you suddenly don't even remember me! well i remember me! i'm michael, i am patricks_future_boyfriend! and i remember you, too, asshole! and i have the tattoo to prove it. just so you know: windex does not work and can actually be an irritant to sensitive skin. but i'm going to get my calves done before i deal with the dolphin. which will be first. i mean, compared to the dolphin "paul 4ever" is basically ambiguous and noncommittal. what were we thinking?! what was the existential relationship actually supposed to be between a rainbow dolphin and infinity? you were so quirky back then. there was so much trust. anyway i think the "paul 4ever" part can wait. it's on the small of my back, remember? i rarely see it anymore. plus i've got other problems. like my weight. i actually can't fit into _anything_ from club monaco anymore. remember when i bought you that gift card? i wonder who the manager is these days. it's probably high turnover. retail looks really stressful when they show it on tv. [silence.] anyway, when i think about it, "paul 4ever" could refer to my father. whose real name was john, remember? do you remember? do you? do you actually fucking remember anything about my personal history at all? or is this your fucking "bulimia" again? god! i hate assholes and permanent markings on the body! god. anyway. sorry. [pause.] in the end, i suppose, no hard feelings, right? we had a couple of good runs. we'll always have binghamton, new york. and the waffle you made me. i hope things with jennifer and the kids are good. jared and i are back in couple's therapy. i really think cognitive behavioral therapy might be useless for men. jared insists it's not working for me, but we've only been together for 2 1/2 weeks so there's some stuff he doesn't know about me yet. does jennifer still have cervical cancer? maya's dyslexia is probably just a phase. my yoga instructor says most things are a phase. but i do have the number for a good language specialist if you're interested. i'll text you when i get back to the states. and congratulations on the new tablecloth. [beat.] i miss you, paul. but i think we made the right decision 14 years ago. we come from different places. and from different spiritualities. and from different sexualities. and you eat with a fork. [sigh.] but don't be a stranger. and don't forget to take your lunesta tonight. and i have some of your mail.

you can name that tune in two notes. but you don't because you want to let the other guy win. it's not that you're throwing the game. it's more like you're not flaunting your knowledge. or you're not basking in the glow of your knowledge. or you don't recognize yourself as having any knowledge. it's like you're somehow above the question of knowledge itself. above, but without an implied hierarchy. you look forward to the consolation prize but you'll probably give that away too. it's not that you don't believe in private property per se. it's not that you don't believe in love qua love. it's just that you like to give. not "give back," not reciprocity, but freedom. that's what freedom really is. you now see the ends of your journey. it's just a game show. you pause and wonder whether it's a mark goodson television production. you consider checking google but your right hand is preoccupied at the moment. you wager yes. you are right that "price" is a goodson show. you fondly remember rod roddy. you have faith that his flashy threads are enjoyed by the other revelers in heaven. you consider making a "come on up" joke. you worry that those who have suffered loss will find this offensive. you return to the now. you wonder how quickly it will take drew carey to gain the weight back. you laugh at the thought of a "carey's beauties" segment. you recognize that you have completely lost your target audience. you relinquish all knowledge. you return to pure affect. that is how you win the proverbial showcase showdown. possibly both showcases. you vow to not overbid. but you also promise to forgive yourself if you do. you remember that you have already won a prize — an item-up-for-bid — in order to make it to the showcase. you won $1,000 at the wheel. you hope for the car/trip but you will be happy with the living room set. will your opponent bid or pass? only the big guy upstairs knows that for sure. but in horror you recall that all of your good fortune is due to your $1 bid earlier on contestant's row. the guilt is agony. you tell yourself it was a one-time thing. but you can't stop thinking about it. you ask god: if it's so wrong, why is my body able to perform such an act? and why did it feel so good? lord, why did you make me like this? it is not a choice! you ask the lord: “is making a $1 bid some kind of sickness?” god informs you that the american psychiatric association depathologized it in 1973 and, anyway, it is good strategy given the parameters of the game. and yet even today cultural prejudices are such as they are. enough. you acknowledge that you may always have a lot to say about "price" and religion. but you also realize that emo is the best way to win the game of plinko. it's called life. there is no suggested retail price. you wonder how you can do your part at home. with some encouragement, you resolve to help control the pet population. you willingly have your pet spayed or neutered. goodbye everybody.

you think that mental illness is a personal failing rather than a chemical imbalance. you own a ham radio. *** you give dollars to homeless people. *** you recognize that this genre is not "sarcasm." you can find charm and romance at a motel 6. you don't buy organic. you do buy organic. you can dig a double message. you still believe that insurance redlining is the single most important issue for american jews in the 1984 presidential election. and you guess that mondale/ferraro has it locked up. 49 states to go. no, it's college-educated white women who will be the single issue voters in the dem primaries in 1988. you want to feel close again. you can be found in your grocer's freezer. you're reading this profile using the iphone okcupid app. on verizon. but your ipad is at&t. boston coverage is so fucked up! but you're thinking of ditching out on the iphone for metro pcs anyway. and maybe give ipad mini to niece? your sister -- your niece's biological mother -- is a lot older than you, which explains your early unclehood. and skateboard. you are mad good on your board. you'd possibly like to do some ollies in my driveway sometime. you have a couple of friends. i can offer you guys a glass of lemonade and a place to take a nap. or i can show you my video equipment. you haven't seen "pan's labyrinth," but you're convinced that it's stupid. you've never been to san francisco. you suddenly feel that i am no longer funny. you want to fuck the swag out of me but are afraid the condom will break again. you agree to use a new condom. on second thought you propose using a dental dam. both of us have ours on our person. whew! but then you decide that you like my idea of the rhythm method instead. it worked pretty well with my last gf. but you're worried that you don't have rhythm. i remind you that you are blatino. like the daughter i had with my last gf. you laugh the criticism off. we besties again. you think i'm back. maybe. you prefer rick dees to ryan seacrest. breast. DD. dunkin donuts. you've recently discovered nirvana. you saved the clock tower. you have a pretty bad case of herpes. you realize that 25% of u.s. adults have herpes simplex virus 1 or 2 (ask.com, http://www.askjeeves.com). i myself do not have herpes. but i am willing to consider dating someone who does. you agree that we can use saran wrap as effective protection. you agree that it bunches up but you sense that it is the best method currently available. you agree that western medicine is strangely "primitive." you think i'm back, but with a different tone. or is it pitch?

i'm not sure what i'm looking for on here.

you tolerate homosexuality. but you don't actually like it. u: 18-21, cut, 8+, ddf, discreet, hwp, generou$, parTy, SERIOUS ONLY! you're off-kilter, helter-skelter, and damaged. you have forgotten the verb in the question to this section. hint: "message." you're up for going down. and you're down for going down. because you know that up = down as per earlier discussion of equal sign. you could explain the parodic elements of existence to me in plain, simple english language. you tan. you dig "talkin bout a revolution," but you're worried that said revolution is not in fact practical. out of loyalty you favor traditional political parties. but you're open to thinking otherwise about blue and red at some point in our future together. you match the wallpaper. you dip a skinny. you drive a mini. you're a laura linney. your name is sally and you sell seashells by the seashore. you have dotted the i's but have refused to cross the t's. you've lost me. you've lost. you've. you.

but, hey asshole, don't ever forget. you come from dirt. you always been dirt. you always going to be dirt. nobody puts dirty in a corner, just fyi. lol. lmfao. swag. hehe. he. ho. hoe. challah. haha. ha. a. b. c. d. e. f. g. h. i. j. k. l. m. n. o. p. q. r. s. t. u. v. w. x. y. z. 0. 9. 8. 7. 6. 5. 4. 3. 2. 1. or you're just a cute guy who thinks i'm smart and funny. or you'd rather just be friends. or you're ahead of the learning curve. or you're beyond the pale. or you're at the top of your game. or you're at the bottom of the barrel. or you're queen for a day. or your days and nights are spent with molly dodd. or you'll put out. or you'll pull out. or you'll put up. or you'll shut up. or you'll wait up. or you won't give up. or you'll take stock. or you'll take heat. or you'll take hostages. or you'll take my call. or you'll take a left turn at the second light. or you'll take it to the limit for a time beyond this time. or you played piano. or you played me. or you played the numbers. or you played doctor. or you played sam spade in "the maltese falcon." or you've found your voice. or you've lost your godmother. or you've saved your receipt. or you've misplaced your passport. or you've found your mind. or you've abandoned your umbrella. or you have two alternative forms of id. or you're too old to get carded anymore. or you're too young to drink. or your age is chimerical. or you didn't get the joke. or you didn't like the joke. or you didn't hear the joke. or you didn't respond to the joke. or you didn't think it was a joke. you're right. or you're single. or you're double. or you're single-spaced. or you're double-wide. or you're like a bastard on the churning sea. or your porn name is your real name. or you have the fucking guts. or you're really scared but you know what to do.

or you'd like to walk around the cleveland circle reservoir ("chestnut hill reservation") together (a tuesday or thursday morning).

or you'd be into eating breakfast together at the ihop on soldier's field road in brighton (a wednesday or friday morning and, if the senior discount is an option for you, early, preferably before 9:00AM).

or you'd dig a peace-time cup of coffee (tea, if necessary) at any t-accessible cafe (preferably not a chain; but also preferably not a trend) (a tuesday or thursday mid-afternoon, but not too late for caffeine, i hit/bite the pillow by 10:00PM weekdays).

or you'd like to check out the usual ica crap and wander abouts the waterfront (a 70s-ish sunny tuesday - friday, late afternoon).

or you'd be up for a calm, quiet, cheap ride on the swan boats at the public gardens (currently unavailable).

or you'd dig a picnic at the arnold arboretum that involves pb&j, green grapes, pepperidge farm cookies, and various diet sodas and bbq chickens (a chilly fall weekend, bring best sweater, preferably open-toed).

or you'd be down for a full-throttle game of one-on-one kickball at any local park with a diamond (a spring/summer 2015 debut).

you've got an idea of your own that you think is pretty good and that you'd like to try out in practice (a time that is convenient for you).

BAREBACK!!!!!!