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| Where do I find a woman that will take charge of my life, feminize me, and eventually make me her toy? I want a relationship that will lead to me being feminized, dressed, and surgically altered to be a woman's **** toy. Large breasts, plump lips on an ultra-feminine face, witha body to match. My life is hers to command...Where is she? |
| Prison. |
| This one made me chuckle a little ♥? A man was walking along the street when he saw a ladder going into the clouds. As any of us would do, he climbed the ladder. He reached a cloud, upon which sat a rather plump and very ugly woman. "Make love to me or climb the ladder to success," she said. No contest, thought the man, so he climbed the ladder to the next cloud. On this cloud was a slightly thinner woman, who was slightly easier on the eye. "Make love to me or climb the ladder to success," she said. "Well," thought the man, "might as well carry on." On the next cloud was an even more attractive lady who, this time, was quite attractive. "Make love to me now or climb the ladder to success," she uttered. As he turned her down and went on up the ladder, the man thought to himself that this was getting better the further he went. On the next cloud was an absolute beauty. Slim, attractive, the lot. "**** me here and now or climb the ladder to success," she flirted. Unable to imagine what could be waiting, and being a gambling man, he decided to climb again. When he reached the next cloud, there was a 400 pound ugly man, arm pit hair showing, flies buzzing around his head. "Who are you?" the man asked. "Hello" said the ugly fat man, "I'm Cess!" |
| OH! lol... |
| What do you think of this story? Yes i know its long but please? Its g\for a christmas present to my parents. (: Well my family (: The story of the preppy queen -- thats me, and how i fell in love with my prince--- my emo guy.. I am Kayla Reese and I fell in love with a Emo Kid. **************************************… Kayla's Prov. My alarm rang so loud i woke up looked at it and threw it across the room which rarely ever happened." Come on sis your friends are here to pick you up already." I groaned as i heard his voice. "I wish summer wasn't over yet!" I got up pushed him out the door and shut it and locked it. The car horn honked. I went to the window opened it. "Shut the **** up *****! I'm getting dressed!" I went to my closet and picked out my abrecombie tank with skinny black jeans and my furry boots. I went to my dresser full with makeup. I apllied eye liner and a small background of white eye shawdow and some gloss to make it work. I grabbed my Hollister tote bag and opened my door. I just did a small plump with my hands to my hair and walked out the door. "Hey bitches!" I jumped in the front seat of the car. "Hey KayBear ready to go back to the gay school?" Keily asked me as she pulled out of the street. "Whatdo you think i am a slut?" Keily laughed. "Wow some one woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Huh Kayla?" I looked at Melissa with a sad face and fake cried into the seat shoulder. "Yes! My parents were talking all night. My brother was having sex with his girlfriend and i couldn't sleep." Melissa hugged me helping me threw my pain and sufferage. " Its okay KayBear we will have fun today to meet some cute guys, make dates and your birthday is coming up in like 6 days we need to use our daddys credit cards. Come on cheer up hun." Keily pulled in our personal parking area and our own little person played some preppy entrance music. First Keily walked out all Happy and Sexy, Then Alyson all flirty, Then Melissa all sexy looking and happy, Then Me. When i walked out everyone just seemed to stop breathing. No one recognized me from the outfit. I jogged to her. "Mell? Watch out." He brother racing his friend ran right into Melissa and me. She got up. "Marcus Lucas Alexander Martin!" He got up and laughed with his friend. "You and your emo little friend ..." He waited for the rest. I payed closer to the word. Emo.. He is emo? How can he be emo?!?! Marcus said something before she finished. "Emo's rock?" he and his friend laugh. "Well yea Marcus... Go **** yourself! Come on Kayla!" She stormed off with out me. "Marcus be gentle to her or ill kick your *** next time i go to your house okay?" He nodded then said. "You said that last time." I just groaned and walked off mad. "BUT YOUR STILL HOT EVEN WHEN YOUR MAD BUT YOUR EVEN HOTTER!" I yelled at his un-called for remark. **************************************… Every guy i walked by checked me out. But one guy i looked at particularly was Marcus's friend. I saw early with Marcus that day. He as talking to a .. a girl i recongnized her but not quite. Before i could walk up to them Keily and Melissa called me over. I kept looking back as i walked over to them. When i got over to them they pointed to the play musical list. "Your the main charcter! Juliet!! AHHHH!" They were talking about it while i was looking at the two peoplethen they both began to walk towards the list. They girl pushed her way threw and she pushed me to hard and i fell right on my butt. The guy looked to the side. He saw me. "Ever so clumsy?" He asked in a laughy tone. "Actualy no your girl here pushed me." I began to get up. He grabbed my hand and pulled me gently up. "Aren't emo guys supposed to be like always depressed and so sad all the time?" I asked him curiously. " No.. People thinks thats our alter ego and take it so they belive it. All we do is hate our lives and cut ourselves. But we still stay happy." I Looked at his eyes. I was searching for the lying in him but he wasn't lying i went deeper into them. Then i noticed we were still holding hands. I pulled back. " Uhm. Im Kayla." He looked atme with the hand he grabbed his with holding my other arm. "I'm Aaron." Then some girl called his name. "Nice meeting you." and before he could say anything i walked off to Melissa andKeily. Then i over heard what the other girl was talking to him about. "You made Romeo Aaron." She jumped on him and kissed him. I felt sad. I dont know why either. I mean we just met, he is also emo gosh why would i go out with that freak?! **************************************… I walked to lunch since none of my friends had the same lunch as mei sat alone. I saw Aaron he looked at me. Then he began to walk towards me. My heart started to beat faster and faster then i saw him sit down. "Hey Kayla. Why so lonesome?" He really wanted to talk. I looked up face to face to him. We met eyes to eyes. I loooked into his deeply.. i wanted to see if he was himself? If he need someone?? If he cared about me |
| Yeahh, it's good... Tread carefully with the swearing though place in parts when you think it would be funny or interesting... Some of the places you put them were a bit awkward. Only a few spelling and grammar mistakes... Good luck with the story. |
| HOw does this sound so far? “There were a million chandeliers above and below me.” These were the last words that John Dinkman typed on his hazardously dusty typewriter just before scraping the butt of his cigarette out in the pulpit of the adjacent glass ashtray. Apparently he thought these were good words to end on. If I told you why he chose these last words out of all the others that sat so plump in his gargantuan dictionary, then I may ruin your expectations of Mr. John Dinkman, or maybe I don’t know myself. Perhaps it had something to do with the gleaming horizon that he woke to every morning as he rolled out of bed, peered out of his window, and watched the crystalline strands of orange light melt the cold harsh smoke that pumped out of the cities veins. Or maybe it had something to do with the neutrality of his current professional position at the Chicago tribune as staff journalist. It was 1:00 a.m. Around him sat seven glasses of water which had been each been sipped the same amount of times. John cascaded the wheels of his chair across the lumpy laminate wood as he sprawled his sore body back, staring at his typed words for a few moments thinking about the sporadic manner in which he typed them and what they meant at all. He gently pulled back the cardboard hinge on his pack of Marlboro 27’s, plucked a fresh cigarette out, and brought the Styrofoam stub to his lips. He allowed it to dangle there. John Dinka alternated glances between his blotted typewriter paper and his small rectangular alarm clock which rested on a low sitting chipped maple dresser. After a few minutes had gone by, he put the dangling cigarette back in the box (Tobacco side facing up for good luck.) He loosened the bright yellow tie that hung around his neck, and plopped his sore body down on the slightly damp bed leaving a parade of dust in the sky from impact. It was now 1:30 a.m in Chicago on a Wednesday. John Dinkman was in no rush to start his life, but had no objection in ending it. John was not suicidal of course. He just felt that if heaven was anything like what the preachers and old ladies at his church told him it was, then he wouldn’t mind dropping in for a visit. Every Sunday, him, his six combined brothers and sisters, and his parents would cram into a tiny coastal Rhode Island church to hear about sin, which was a topic John Dinkman had written the book on, earned a diploma, and went back for a masters degree. Growing up on the coast of Rhode Island taught him two things: Don’t pray standing up and what the preacher says goes. Of course, it is possible to pray standing up. It may even be more comfortable than kneeling. To examine this problem would mean having to reveal a seemingly miniscule and innocuous moment in John Dinka’s adolescence. I would have to back-peddle through countless erased moments and drunken stupors which have been banned and exiled from John Dinka’s present psyche. I would have to go back past Charloette Stone’s beach-house, past the silver dollar moon that shone down on the gently crashing waves, and alas, back to the last dance at John Dinka’s senior prom, and I simply will not trespass on that exiled box of memories. John lay on his damp bed, staring at the picture of his family sitting in front of a glowing lake, resting at the foothills of familiar mountains, which poked daggers into the warm cream-sickle sunset. It was the last time he was together with his entire family. Next to the picture, was a pint of the cheapest whiskey sold in Chicago. He laid on his side for a few moments dissecting the picture waiting for some sort of strong emotional image to come to his mind. It never came. He laid the picture down and soon after put the bottle on the floor. “**** you,” he said to the bottle and went to sleep. |
| extremely verbose, contrived, and overly concerned with minutiae. Your sentence construction slows down the story's pace to a snail's crawl. It seems like you are more interested in stuffing as many words as possible into each sentence rather than telling the story. |
| Is this a good start to my story? “There were a million chandeliers above and below me.” These were the last words that John Dinkman typed on his hazardously dusty typewriter just before scraping the butt of his cigarette out in the pulpit of the adjacent glass ashtray. Apparently he thought these were good words to end on. If I told you why he chose these last words out of all the others that sat so plump in his gargantuan dictionary, then I may ruin your expectations of Mr. John Dinkman, or maybe I don’t know myself. Perhaps it had something to do with the gleaming horizon that he woke to every morning as he rolled out of bed, peered out of his window, and watched the crystalline strands of orange light melt the cold harsh smoke that pumped out of the cities veins. Or maybe it had something to do with the neutrality of his current professional position at the Chicago tribune as staff journalist. It was 1:00 a.m. Around him sat seven glasses of water which had been each been sipped the same amount of times. John cascaded the wheels of his chair across the lumpy laminate wood as he sprawled his sore body back, staring at his typed words for a few moments thinking about the sporadic manner in which he typed them and what they meant at all. He gently pulled back the cardboard hinge on his pack of Marlboro 27’s, plucked a fresh cigarette out, and brought the Styrofoam stub to his lips. He allowed it to dangle there. John Dinka alternated glances between his blotted typewriter paper and his small rectangular alarm clock which rested on a low sitting chipped maple dresser. After a few minutes had gone by, he put the dangling cigarette back in the box (Tobacco side facing up for good luck.) He loosened the bright yellow tie that hung around his neck, and plopped his sore body down on the slightly damp bed leaving a parade of dust in the sky from impact. It was now 1:30 a.m in Chicago on a Wednesday. John Dinkman was in no rush to start his life, but had no objection in ending it. John was not suicidal of course. He just felt that if heaven was anything like what the preachers and old ladies at his church told him it was, then he wouldn’t mind dropping in for a visit. Every Sunday, him, his six combined brothers and sisters, and his parents would cram into a tiny coastal Rhode Island church to hear about sin, which was a topic John Dinkman had written the book on, earned a diploma, and went back for a masters degree. Growing up on the coast of Rhode Island taught him two things: Don’t pray standing up and what the preacher says goes. Of course, it is possible to pray standing up. It may even be more comfortable than kneeling. To examine this problem would mean having to reveal a seemingly miniscule and innocuous moment in John Dinka’s adolescence. I would have to back-peddle through countless erased moments and drunken stupors which have been banned and exiled from John Dinka’s present psyche. I would have to go back past Charloette Stone’s beach-house, past the silver dollar moon that shone down on the gently crashing waves, and alas, back to the last dance at John Dinka’s senior prom, and I simply will not trespass on that exiled box of memories. John lay on his damp bed, staring at the picture of his family sitting in front of a glowing lake, resting at the foothills of familiar mountains, which poked daggers into the warm cream-sickle sunset. It was the last time he was together with his entire family. Next to the picture, was a pint of the cheapest whiskey sold in Chicago. He lied on his side for a few moments dissecting the picture waiting for some sort of strong emotional image to come to his mind. It never came. He laid the picture down and soon after put the bottle on the floor. “**** you,” he said to the bottle and went to sleep. |
| Ease up on the adjectives. Almost every noun you wrote had a descriptor - not necessary and too many adjectives is like too much icing on a cake - it smothers the thing. He lied on his side? Nope. He lay on his side. Or he laid on his side. But he didn't lie about his side. |
| Which man is right for me? (In a love triangle)? Life is getting weird here. There is this guy, my ex, who after leaving him has realized my worth and now is frantically trying everything under the sun to get me back. He is serious for me. I have been through a lot with him and because of him. The last few days of our relationship had been really terrible. I would call him and he wouldn’t have time with me and we would end up fighting up with each other. So much discontentment and really bad bad fights. Everytime he has been there been in my life, my life seems engulfed in despair. But he has loved me no matter what. But he also has a very bad reputation in college as the despo ready to **** any girl. He has been telling everyone this. But I always thought that he was just misunderstood. He says I am the only girl he has loved. Too many buts and bads… I did not feel happy at all with him at the end though. Anyways, now there is this new guy in my life, I am really really really looking forward to be in a relationship with. I like him. Not the looks, I don’t find him that good to confess. But he seems to be a very cute person. But then he becomes mean and rude sometimes and his jokes become intolerable. He hasn’t dated any girl since the past 1.5 yrs. That’s why may be he doesn’t know how to behave with girls. Nice guy but. I think he really respects me. And he behaves in a very caring way. I don’t know if he would have done that with any other girl. I guess he likes me. But he doesn’t like a lot of things that make up my identity, who I am, what I am… like the fact that I am plump, the way I refer him and so many other things. It hurts there. I am trying to adapt myself to it. But most of all, although I am a little bored when I am with him, but still, I feel great, I feel happy. But it doesn’t seem like he would any day be interested in a serious relationship. We are complete opposites. He is the rough and tough, unemotional types. Tell me who is right for me. |
| This is the hardest Q ive ever answered but id simplify it... It's your Now-loving ex who was mean, the real Q with this one is why was he mean? but if he accepted you for who you are yeah..for him. OR A mean guy that you now love. If he makes fun of you for how you look or act then don't pick him Personally if it were me id say screw them both and get a real guy that cares for you and will NOT be mean to you. |
| Help, i am writing a book about a rock star called The Rose, and i need a title for it...Please help me!this? this is the first chapter Chapter One Runaway... December 1969 “Rose?” he said, “C'mon,” he knocked for the tenth time. She took a swig of Whiskey and popped a pill. The rock 'n' roll music made her eardrums shiver with every strum of the bass and every thump of the drum. She stared out at the blanket of white that had fallen over Christi Court, Tennessee overnight. She wanted to die. She tightened her grip around the bottle and stuffed the tablets into her pocket. She shoved the French doors open and staggered out onto the balcony and looked out at the river. She swung her legs over the rails and sat down. This was where she always came to relax, unwind and get high. She could hear Cal screaming her name now and pounding vigorously on the door. She took one last look at the world she'd come to know and, without a moment's hesitation, she jumped........... “Rose,” a voice came through the darkness, “Rose, c'mon, please, wake up...” She forced her eyes open and was stunned by the intensity of the florescent lights of the hospital room. “W-where am I?” she asked, “What's going on?” “Why'd you do it, Rose?” “Do what?” her voice came in a feeble whisper, “why am I here?” “You jumped off the roof.” She didn't respond, she didn't know what to say, she was so high she could've killed someone and she wouldn't know it. She looked down at the cast on her foot and the gauze wrapped hand by her side. She stared at Cal now, his face lined with worry. She sighed and leaned back deciding it was better to keep her mouth shut. She looked up at the stark white ceiling and breathed in the sterile air and she knew that she would run tonight. She leaned back and stared into the white oblivion of light. Soon, Cal had fallen asleep in the corner. “Sir,” said a tall, plump nurse, “I'm afraid its time for you to leave.” At the mention of the words Rose closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep. Cal got to his feet and moved to the bed. He bent and brushed a kiss against Rose's cheek. She watched him leave through squinted eyes. Then she sat up. The nurse headed Rose two capsules, one white and one red and told her to swallow. She shoved them into her mouth and pressed them to her cheek. She swallowed a glob of water and leaned back staring out at the lights across the river. Dublyn. She stayed still for a few hours, her eyes closed. When she was sure the nurses had finished their rounds she slipped out of bed and grabbed the overnight bag Cal had left. She pulled on a sweater and for the first time she put her foot down. “****!” she screeched queasily as pain ran through her. Slowly, she opened the door and poked her head out. The hallway was empty. She staggered out and toward the fire entrance. She pushed the door open and fire alarm blared. She staggered out into the cold, dark, desolate street, the cast dragging behind. She stopped in the shade of a willow tree and, closing her eyes, she smashed the plaster to bits. It took her a few seconds to get used to the sore leg but she was moving again now, faster than before. She hopped down the road and into the woods, the backpack thrown over her shoulder. First she heard the dogs, then the voices, and then she heard the land rovers not far behind. She threw the bag into the hallow tree trunk and dove behind the snow drift. She covered her body with ice and lay there, quiet. The dogs stopped for a second and she wallowed in the snow. “****,” said a gruff voice, “she probably jumped into the river,” “Just like the last one,” Then, they were gone...... Rose got to her feet and began walking, she walked for almost for miles and saw nothing but snow and tree...until there in front of her the river. A gaping ripple between this small town and the big city. She knew what she had to do and she was ready. She dove into the freezing water and held the bag above her head. She swam for what seemed like hours. At one point her arms refused to move...frozen at her sides. C'mon Rose, you can do this, she told herself. She reached land at last and she threw herself down onto the cold dirt. She dug in the barely damp bag and found the blanket she managed to slip on the boots Cal had been so kind as to pack and slipped her freezing feet into them. She wrapped the blanket around her body and collapsed into a deep sleep.... * * * “Is she dead?” came the voice, it was a high voice, like that of a young girl. Rose forced her eyes open and saw three young guyren standing over her. She jumped to her feet and stared at them. She was sweating bullets despite the insufferable cold. ****, she'd gone too long without her pills, what the hell day was it? She stared out at the river. It was completely frozen now; that could only mean one thing: the temperature had dropped. The guys stood there staring at her. “You okay, lady?” asked one of the boys. “Get the **** away from me you little monkey.” Rose grabbed her bag, draped it over he sweater, smoothed her hospital |
| It's really good! It kept me reading until the end and I wanted to read on. Going by what you wrote it seems to be that Rose is a suicidal drug addict and she's depressed? Hmm.... Maybe if you told us a little more about what happened then it would be easier. How about... The Rose? Rockstar? Rockstar Rose? I don't know... I think you should add a little more detail about the story line. Hope I could help =) Good luck. |
| Is this a good beginning of a story? Is it too juvenile? Not funny? Not well writeen? help: Adrienne Earr beheld her image in the wooden full-length mirror nailed to her peeling closet door. Her hair was shockingly carnation pink and her six eyes the color of dying pine trees whipping in a vicious thunderstorm. Her gaunt indigo body slumped in protest. Matching antennae sprung from her square head. Large pine cone feet completed her transformation from irritating human to otherworldly freak. “Hail Mary! I'm the Human Centipede!” cried Adrienne, smashing the mirror with her bulging hand. Her fist bled crimson, to her outrage. Adrienne threw her emaciated arms to the low ceiling. “What the hell! I'm an alien, but I'm not even invincible? What kind of **** deal is this? ****, that hurt!” Francie the hairless West Highland White Terrier (who was now more of a pinkish color) toddled into Adrienne's mint green bedroom. Countless wrinkled Jonas Brothers posters in alarming colors concealed the walls, and the green and brown bedspread had fallen to the splintering wooden floor. Just as Francie was about to plop her plump scabbed behind down on it, Adrienne screamed and yanked the blanket away. “No!” she commanded. However, she sounded like Morgan Freeman and not herself. Adrienne's eyes widened with terror. “Francie!” Adrienne screeched in her own voice. “Why did I sound like Morgan Freeman?” But Francie's trail of dead skin indicated that Adrienne had scared the pup away. |
| WAY WAY WAY too much description! A little is good, but not when every other word is a colour or other adjective. If you are 12 or under, this is ok. If not, it needs a lot of work. |
| SERIOUS QUESTION! PLEASE ANSWER? Um, my dad's quite the failure alright. Yesterday, I found out the truth about him through my mom. Last month, my dad was talking to me about making right decisions and seeing where wrong decisions get you. So he ended up telling me that when he was younger, he sold drugs and started at the age of 14, that's my age. He sold crack, cocaine, but he didn't take any, he just sold it, neither did my mom, she said she'd never ever risk her life over something as stupid as drugs. Well, Yesterday, I asked my mom why my dad left us when I was younger, and I told her that I wanted the truth. I told her that I knew he sold drugs and she said that's what she's been trying to avoid telling me. She told me that my father was the biggest drug dealer in columbia. He'd come to her house with tens of thousands of dollars every week. He'd walk around with as much as $5,000 in his pocket...and when his mom (now my grandmother) checked his pants, she'd steal the money. She told me, people were after him and he always used to carry a gun. There were often days my dad was short from death..dunno what she meant by that. He was very rich back then, but he gambled all his money away so... One day, the police caught onto him and his best friend whom he'd been selling with. He snitched on his best friend so he wouldn't get in trouble, therefore, his buddy went to jail. She said that my dad bought the word "snitch" over to Columbia. She said he ended up moving to Florida for his own good so he wouldn't go to jail or even get killed for snitching, and I was like, so that's why he left, and she said yeah. When his buddy got out of jail, he's forgiven my father for snitching on him and my dad moved back, so that's when I was about 9..that's the first time I ever saw my dad! That Christmas, I remember it like it was yesterday..best Christmas ever! From there on, he was in my life. Him and my mom got along just fine, but it took some time for me to get comfortable with him, because even though he was my dad, I didn't know him like that, and I still don't. Even though he says I can talk to him about anything, I really can't because...I'm just not at that stage yet..sounds weird doesn't it. He has to be the biggest failure I know now. He dropped out of high school to obtain his GED and he's 37 just now going to college. My dad had a girlfriend whom my older half brother was born by. She's the one who introduced him to the life of drugs. He wasn't there for his other son either and my brothers mother used to say ****** up stuff to him about our dad. My bro used to make good grades, he was a good guy...A's and B's all the way up till high school. He kept getting expelled and sent to alternative schools, he never made it to college, he dropped out. I think what happened was that he started hanging out with bad guys, doing bad things like drugs, and women. I love my brother, but I don't like him at all...He's ****** up. I wish he would get a life. He's disrespectful to grown ups..when I say disrespectful, he beats up his mother, and he beats on his dad, he cusses out the rest of us...and what not. He's a homeless **** now, living on the streets, he got kicked out of everybody else's house because he was disrespectful and was slack. My dad's pretty much the only one who keeps letting him crawl back. He comes and goes as he pleases. For instance, when I spend the night at my dad's house, he comes and goes, like he'll leave out and come back in, all you hear is the door opening and closing...and sometimes he'll be gone until 3 or 4 am smelling like weed...doesn't even take a shower, just plumps himself on the couch and goes to sleep. He got this girl pregnant and she just had the bastard 2 weeks ago. How the **** is he supposed to pay for diapers and he doesn't even have a job. I'm telling you, she's going to end up putting him on guy support and he's going to end up in jail because he can't afford it...that's not even half of his life's story. But anyways. My dad lived with his mom for a long time, he moved out because of conflict and lies that my brother caused between them...he met this girl and I know he's using her for her money...she must love him a lot because she pays everything. Everything is in her name. Isn't it supposed to be the other way around? Isn't the man supposed to take care of the woman..to me, that's just plain old pitiful. My dad, all he does is go to work and play online poker, nothing else My dad doesn't do anything for me. He used to pay my mom $200 a month and now he doesn't pay her anything for me..I keep telling her to put him on guy support but she won't do it, what is she..afraid? As everybody who's went to school knows, we need supplies! My mom asked him to go half on school supplies, this *** hole cusses my mom out...WTF? I couldn't believe what I'd heard. My mom doesn't talk to him anymore now. He doesn't call me to talk or anything, like...on the weekend, instead of him calling |
| sound like your dad messed up his life up for 37 yrs IF you know what i mean. and your dad seem like a damn jerk IF u know what i mean |
| Is it just me or is online dating bullshit lol? It seems to me that the majority of people looking to date online are men and they are just prey for scammers and other bored dudes on the internet to take them on a ride just for kicks. lol I think the women on these sites who are real arent even serious about dating any dudes off of the internet. It is just a self esteem builder for them and they want to see who would want them. but have no intentions of getting with anyone. I know this is true cause I have female friends who admit that they just like the attention but would never want to meet a guy off of the internet. I think that it is just a easy way out for guys to cut out all the hard work of dating. Its a easy way to avoid rejection or awkwardness. you cut out all the getting to know the person by putting the info on a profile and I think women are not gonna let you get away with that type of **** that easy. lmao! nowdays especially with the recession woman are not letting guys cut corners anymore. If you want to be respected like a man you better have the balls to approach a woman in public and be willing to deal with the outcome like a man. lol thats it plain and simple. anything that comes easy isnt worth having in the long run. so **** internet dating. Im gonna get out there and get my balls handed to me in ziploc bag until I find a real girl. and not bob the plumper aka prettygril223 online. lol peace tell me what you think |
| Common innate wisdom. Online Dating = Silly. |