This may sound terrible but there are times when I’m walking through the sordid city streets and I find myself jealous of the drunk and the junkie. 

There they are with their stash or their bottle and all is good in the world. When they run out, they know just what to do. 

What a life.
I have the same jealousy of fetishists. 

They know exactly what they want, exactly what will sate them. 

I am overwhelmed by the choices, the vast selection. I see women on the street and I can imagine myself, more or less, with all of them. 

And this stymies me, leaves me immobilized and wanting. Meanwhile, the guy who digs smoking chicks with tiny boobs knows just what his night will entail.
Being cool on Facebook is an art form that I’ve mastered through years of trial and error. Here’s what I’ve learned.

When it comes to being awesome on the web, it’s important to remember that less is more. Think of yourself as an Internet minimalist, if you will, and avoid making status updates like this one: “Had a beautiful day out with the BF! We ate Thai food, and went to SM to look for new curtains. Now it’s time to watch ‘How to Lose A Guy in 10 Days’ in bed! Snuggle.”

There are so many things that are uncool about this. First off: Go fuck yourself because I’m single and starving and Thai food sounds amazing right now. Secondly: You’re going to SM to pick out curtains and spending your night watching an almost-funny rom-com? We all do that. We all go to SM to pick up our face wash and deodorant and spend the occasional night in watching DVDs. 

I mean, cool people can’t be going to super cool parties and be hanging out with super cool people all the time. Sometimes they need to detox by having a night of eating pickles out of a jar and googling Justin Bieber. The difference between the cool and the uncool is that the cool person never talks about doing any of these mundane activities. It makes them sound just like everybody else and that’s their worst nightmare. They are not like you, okay? They are golden gods who crap Polaroids and sweat Marc Jacobs perfume.
If for some reason, you haven’t left your apartment in a few days or done anything noteworthy, you can write something like, “Having the worst anxiety. Taking a Valium, burning sage and listening to The Cocteau Twins. Never leaving my apartment.” This status works on so many levels of cool. Having anxiety, for example, is really cool. Being anxious and not knowing how to deal with things/life/boyfriends is in right now so it’s totally okay to write about drugs like Valium on the Internet. You can never write about cocaine or mushrooms or acid because that’s just too real, but discussing anti-anxiety meds and sleeping pills like Ambien is socially acceptable.

Listening to The Cocteau Twins will always be cool and saying that you’ll never leave your apartment is hyperbolic and therefore super funny. Everyone will know that you’re mostly kidding and that you’re just decompressing from your super cool fun stressful life.
Now lets talk about your actual Facebook profile. On your Interests section, don’t write things like, “Hiking. Tennis. Laughing Till It Hurts. Hanging with my girls and getting crazy!” Instead, type in lower case letters (it’s more whimsical) and say things like, “cashmere. sleepovers. goths.” That’s it. Only write three vague things that don’t actually reveal anything about your personality. It will leave people wanting more and thinking, “Who is this person who types in lowercase and likes cashmere, sleepovers and Goths?” A cool person, that’s who!

When it comes to the music section, keep it similarly short and sweet. You need to list two hip bands next to a mainstream one. Write something like, “the slits. tiger trap. katy perry.” because you know what’s cooler than a cool person liking cool bands? A cool person liking an uncool artist. It’s just so…unexpected.
Let’s talk about your photos. If you really want to be dedicated, you’ll only make your profile pictures visible. In this technological age, you can’t trust that your best friend Chloe isn’t going to tag a photo of you drunk and eating a hotdog. (Remember that Chloe secretly hates you and wants to see you fail.)

But I understand that most cool kids are too narcissistic for that and they need their friends to see any and all photos of them dancing in that downtown club doing meth off of John Lloyd Cruz’s penis. (Just kidding on that last part. The Internet doesn’t know you do meth.)

Just be very particular about which photos stay tagged. Don’t exceed over 500 because it makes you look like a desperate socialite. De-tag photos taken with a cheap digital camera. Allow only Polaroids, Lomography, and photos taken with a Yashica T4.

Let these photos project a sense of superiority and effortlessness and always keep the following pictures tagged: You on yachts, eating McDonald’s on a sidewalk outside of a club, hanging out with your fabulous best friend who equals you in coolness (in reality, she might be a sociopath nightmare but you guys look great together in photos), the occasional “I’m real and have a family” photo of you and your niece, holding a champagne bottle, talking on your iPhone 5S in a cab, hiking in Tagaytay in a crop-top to show that you’re healthy and exercise and don’t do too many drugs. Last but not least: any and all photos of you looking expensive.
So that’s it. You’re cool on Facebook now. Have fun but also be careful. One photo of you holding a nondescript red cup of booze with the friends from your “old life” and you’re back to writing about eating Thai food with your boyfriend.
I have been out on dates and they have come from the Internet. I’ve been out with doctors and nurses, students and teachers, athletes and academics. I’ve been out with local women, foreign women, short women, tall women, women who I’m not even sure were women at all. I have met long-term girlfriends on the Internet, and people who became friends I’ll keep for years. I’ve also met women who, if I saw them on the street, I would sprint—not run, mind you, but sprint—in the opposite direction. Why am I telling you this? So that you might learn from my experience.

I have gone on terrible Internet dates so you don’t have to. Take these stories, learn from them, and pass them on. The stigma from computer dating is gone now; nearly everyone has tried it. Perhaps you yourself are considering it right now. First, read these. You’re welcome.


I think we can all agree that sex can be, at times, an emotional experience. Especially when you’re doing it with someone as gifted in the ways of intimacy as myself. But to start crying within the first 30 seconds of intercourse is, let’s say, a little off-putting. But hey, things happen, we’re complicated beings. 

So Sex Crier and I have a little conversation. Apparently this is a thing that happens often to her, and the best approach is to just keep on going. While she cries. For a reason she will not discuss. I don’t know if you’ve ever tried to have relations while being soaked in a shower of your partner’s tears, but it’s a bit of a mood killer. And it doesn’t help when she starts yelling at you for seeming distracted. Because how could you possibly not stay in the moment when a weeping lady is insisting you have sex with her? This relationship did not last terribly long.


You never know what will attract you to a person, and in this case, it was her job. I saw a sweet looking girl online who taught deaf children for a living, and I was immediately taken. What an interesting and difficult career choice—I had to get to know her. So I asked her out, and practiced concealing my sarcasm and general lack of goodwill. Here’s how it went…

Me: So how did you get into teaching deaf children?

Deaf Teacher: Oh, I didn’t want to really, but it costs less to get a degree in teaching the deaf than it does to teach normal kids, so I figured, “why not”?

Me (mulling that one over): …Oh? Are there government grants or something?

Deaf Teacher: Yeah, and now I know why. It sucks teaching deaf kids. They can’t hear at all, and it gets really frustrating. Sometimes I just kinda give up.

Me: That seems…you give up?

Deaf Teacher: Well, yelling doesn’t work because they’re deaf, you know? They don’t really prepare you for that in the classes.

Me (looking around to see if anyone else is getting this): Yeah, no that must be-

Deaf Teacher: I just do it so I can have money for CF.

Me: CF?

Deaf Teacher: Casino Filipino. I kinda have a thing for blackjack. I go down every Friday and play through the weekend. When I save up enough I’m gonna quit teaching and become a professional blackjack player. Gambling is so much more fun than working with deaf kids. And you’re allowed to drink.

Me: I fold.


Not much to say on this one. I went out with a girl who had a mustache. Went about as well as you’d expect.


I heard this one from a date, and it’s so good I had to pass it along. A girl has dinner with a guy, and all is going well. He wants to tell her a clever story, so he leans in for effect and moves the dinner candle to the side. Unfortunately though, he pushes the flame a bit too close, and before she knows it, the girl’s hair has caught on fire. 

It really goes up apparently, and she doesn’t now what to do. Her date, being the gentleman he was, takes the matter in hand and…starts laughing. He loves it so much that instead of helping her he takes out his cellphone and snaps a picture! AMAZING. Finally, the poor girl’s waiter runs over and pats down her hair with a towel. I say again, AMAZING. 

No matter what happens, I will always be a better date than the guy who lit a girl’s hair on fire.


As I said earlier, not all that comes from Internet dating is a disaster. I have met good people and had plenty of grand experiences. One in fact led to a very respectable little three-month relationship, which unfortunately ended without explanation. One of those “we have to break up, I don’t really know why, but I’m just not feeling it anymore.” 

I was downtrodden, but such is life. Then, months later, I saw the roommate of this girl out at a bar. After a bit of chitchat, I asked how the ex was doing. The answer that I will never forget was “oh, I don’t know. She kinda went nutty. After she stopped dating you, she moved in with a guy who lived in a shack.” He was a “survivalist,” whatever that is, and chose to live without electricity or running water to make a point about society. And she lived with him. FANTASTIC. You know you’ve won a breakup when you hear the sentence “after she stopped dating you, she moved in with a guy who lived in a shack.”

And the sad thing is, I’m only scratching the surface here. I have reams and reams of these stories; believe me. But maybe that’s not sad. The crazy, the unpredictable, the highly flammable—they’re all part of the Internet dating experience. You take the good with the bad, and if the last was lousy, then maybe the next will be outstanding. Hey, I know I’m no prize. I mean, I have a blog for God sakes. I’m sure I’ve provided a funny story or two for the women I’ve dated. Here’s hoping they don’t have a blog too.
Last night I finally watched “The Human Centipede: First Sequence” on my iPad. The movie is about a wealthy German psycho-surgeon and his desire to stitch three human beings together, to create a human centipede. 

When the German psycho-surgeon is asked if he has a wife, he responds slowly, painfully, automatically, clearly: “No. I…don’t…like…human…beings.” Which sums him (and the movie) up pretty well, as does this photo of our post-Nazi psycho anti-hero running around his backyard with his human centipede…
In any case, what movie critic Roger Ebert said about the film begins to explain why I like it so much. He wrote:  “I am required to award stars to the movies I review. This time, I refuse to do it. The star rating system is unsuited to this film. Is the movie good? Is it bad? Does it matter? It is what it is and occupies a world where the stars don’t shine.”  

I like that.  

I like that which can’t be understood, which can’t be gauged by our typical ways of gauging and that is certainly my first reaction to “The Human Centipede.” When it began, I was thinking, “uh, this is a David Lynch film?” Five minutes later, I was thinking, “eh, this is a porno flick?” Eight minutes later, I was thinking, “ah, is this just your typical horror movie?” For the rest of the movie I was just thinking, “WHAT THE FUCK?”

So I praise it, and I think it is important—for the same reason many a people think Skrillex, “Breaking Bad,” and Sasha Grey are so amazing. It just feels refreshingly different from what has come before it, albeit the last horror film I saw was “Paranormal Activity: The Marked Ones,” which is pretty much my point precisely.
UFC girls Brittany Palmer and Arianny Celeste, who thanks to the UFC are pretty famous, at least for dudes with faux mohawks and cheesy as fuck T-shirts, who like to wrestle their friends as a pastime, at least when they aren’t watching other dudes wrestle…making these girls the chicks thrown into a gangbang to make it not as gay as it clearly is, because gay is the last thing dudes into dudes rolling around all pressed up against each other want to think about…because it would make the hard-on they have too confusing for them.

That said, Brittany Palmer and Arianny Celeste are bodypainted, something that would be hot if they didn’t have implants that act as an internal, built-in bra…nipple covers and more importantly, a thong. Meaning, body painting is a scam, these whores are still clothed…if there’s no labia, it don’t matter.
Katy Perry did GQ and despite being old and tired, she still has some tits…and in this world, proven by Katy Perry, the beacon of bad face and big tits…tits are all that matters…because why else would her shitty music pollute my fucking brain every fucking day I leave my fucking house? Music partially responsible for me being a creepy reclusive weirdo who can’t adapt to a society that celebrates this kind of smut.

But I will say, this is one of her better shoots.
I don’t really give a fuck about Cate Blanchett or award shows. Well, it turns out that award shows are pretty perverted, with jerking off trophies and shit, thanks to Cate Blanchett.
Rihanna can’t just sit still and enjoy her time off. She’s like one of her songs, just constantly pounding in my fucking face everywhere I go…and I’m not complaining because she’s a slut about it…not that posing in a bikini or topless is really slutty, but when you don’t really need to be doing it because you make a billion dollars a year, it’s gratuitous and you just like doing it…which I guess to me is the definition of slut…you know, giving it out for free…but I’m not a hater, I love sluts. They make life more interesting…you know, if everyone was just a hooker…and if more hookers would start working for free once they made it…the world would be a better place…it’s some philanthropy shit.
You don’t need to be a billionaire to get a hot naked chick sucking your cock, you just have to be me, because I just need to go to Thailand, where 20 US dollars gets me 3 naked girls climbing up me like I was a jungle gym, and by “3 naked girls,” I mean “16-year-old trannies.”
Have you ever asked a girl for tit pics, then have her to turn around and say no, even though you want to see her tits…but you aren’t willing to invest the energy to try and romance her and trick her into sending her tit pics…only to have her send you pics of her pussy instead…which is what you wanted but way more than you asked for…but can’t help but wonder what the fuck is wrong with her tits…while staring at her pussy?