Nice Guy Seeking Reckless, Possibly Doomed Relationship!
Tom Oatmeal is back, this time looking for love. AF
Hi there! How are you? I’m good! I certainly can’t complain about the nice weather here. Do you like my “letter from camp” style opening? You don’t!? Well gee whiz, I don’t know what to tell you! I’m new to communicating!
Anyways, I’m a charming young man looking for a nice girl to start a reckless and potentially doomed relationship with. I’ve included a timeline of how I’d like this thing to go. Check it out and if you’re still interested, shoot me an email and we’ll get started on this horrific disaster.
First: We meet someplace for coffee. We’ll start discussing our likes and dislikes careful not to admit to anything of either category that isn’t a relatively universal belief. For instance, I might say that I dislike something most people disapprove of such as “murder” even though I hold a stronger sense of hatred for the way the quaker oatmeal man seems to always be smirking at me. Perhaps even stronger is my hatred for my inability to bear his condescending gaze; so much so that I’ve been unable to set foot in the breakfast food aisle of the grocery store since about 1986. You will ask if I like outdoorsy things like hiking and I will lie and say that I do even though the closest thing I’ve ever done to hiking is when I ate a bunch of LSD and then buried myself in dense foliage in order to “sort things out.”
Second: Luckily we will find each other physically attractive enough to exchange numbers. From there you will have to go to work and I will say that I’m off to do something noble like donate blood. This will impress you I hope. Of course, the truth is that by “blood” I mean “sperm” and by “donating it” I mean “giving it to them even though they didn’t request it” and by “them” I mean “the cashiers at Long John Silvers.”
Third: We’ll go on a few more dates. You will meet my friends and I will meet your friends. One of your friends will say that I look familiar. I will insist that she is mistaken even though I know for a fact that we met a few months ago when I nearly knocked her over in a chase resulting from my stealing a haircut from Great Clips.
Fourth: We will begin having sex on a regular basis. It will be stiff and unremarkable due in large to the fact that I orgasm in the same amount of time it takes to fold a piece of paper in half. I will grow too comfortable too fast and try to incorporate some type of strange foreplay into our sex life. When you call me out on this, I will lie and say that I was just kidding. “It was only a joke! I wasn’t REALLY going to suggest that we have sex in front of all these senior citizens I’ve lined up inside our apartment,” I’ll say. On their way out, you will hear one of the senior citizens ask if they still get paid even though it didn’t exactly work out. I will deny that this happened when you ask me about it later on.
Fifth: Our comfort level has grown to the point where we each possess a key to one another’s apartment. You will come home early one day and be shocked to find me masturbating to what appears to be a rerun of “The Golden Girls.” I will sheepishly apologize and tell you that I had been masturbating to the program before “The Golden Girls” and by the time this new show started, I was already in the zone. Later, you will look at the TV Guide and realize that the program that airs before “The Golden Girls” is “Unsolved Mysteries.”
Sixth: You will eventually grow tired of how emotionally distant I am and frustrated by how I haven’t really proved any of the nice things I said about myself during our first meeting to be true. You will begin to attack me with petty insults ranging from my taste in literature (none) to how disgusting my pillows are. “They look like you let a homeless man urinate on them!” You’ll say. I will accuse you of being unfair when in fact I’ll be silently wondering how in the hell you knew that I let a homeless man urinate on our pillows since that happened when you were in Florida visiting your grandparents.
Seventh: We’ll finally break up by way of a loud shouting match that will eventually end in a scenario where I am standing inside of my locked apartment staring down at you through the window. Clad only in a bathrobe and sipping coffee, I’ll watch with a strange sense of calm as you destroy my already battered Ford Escort with a 7-iron.
If this sounds like the kind of thing you’re interested in, please shoot me an email! Just let me know what time I should pick you up. Also, I’m renting this crappy Ford Escort while my Mercedes is getting some work done so don’t be alarmed.
Thanks!
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‘NICE’ guys rock my world. But this gal you mention here is probably disturbed.
Every woman’s dream.
Dude, your fucked up….
Hilarious! I hope you receive many potential doomseekers. Sounds like a good time! I’d sign up, only I’m already married and making my own horrific memories. Just remember, when you finally break up: it’s not you, it’s her.
romance is dead.
This post is a true gem. It cracked me up.
The first paragraph in particular is a masterpiece. I can’t stand the condescending gaze of the quaker oatmeal man either
[...] Nice guy seeks reckless possibly doomed relationship….. [...]
Why sugar coat the inevitable? At least you’re honest!
That’s an appealing quality in a man…