“Actual” Personal Ads
* Bitter, unsuccessful middle aged loser wallowing in an unending sea of inert, drooping loneliness looking for 24 year old needy leech-like hanger-on to abuse with dull stories, tired sex and Herb Alpert albums. Baby, you are my Tijuana Taxi.
* Me — trying to sleep on the bus station bench, pleading with you to give me a cigarette; you — choking on my odor, tripping over your purse tryingto get away; at the last moment, our eyes meeting. Yours were blue. Can I have a dollar?
* Imp and angel. Disembodied head in jar, 24, seeks pixie goddess to fiddle with while Rome burns. You bring marshmallows. No. I make joke. You like laugh? I like comebacks and confessions. Send photo of someone else.
* Three toed mango peeler searching for wicked lesbian infielder. Like screaming and marking territory with urine? Let’s make banana enchiladas together in my bathtub. You bring the salsa.
* I like eating mayonnaise and peanut butter sandwiches in the rain, watching Barney Miller reruns, peeing on birds in the park and licking strangers on the subway; you eat beets raw, have climbed Kilimanjaro, and sweat freely and often. Must wear size five shoes.
* There is a little place in the jumbled sock drawer of my heart where you match up all the pairs, throw out the ones with holes in them, and buy me some of those neat dressy ones with the weird black and red geometrical designs on them.
* Mmmm Pez! Rabid Wonder Woman fan looking for someone in satin tights, fighting for our rights and the old red, white ‘n blue. You look like Linda Carter? Big plus. Know all words to theme song? Marry me.
* Remember that summer you spent with your parents in Hawaii and how mad you were that they made you go? And how you were hopelessly bored until you saw the most gorgeous man you’d ever encountered strolling down the beach looking at you, skillfully removing your skimpy bikini with his piercing eyes? And how you spent the last month imagining him taking you in every possible way, masturbating feverishly day and night, wishing he would reappear, but he never did because you were 15 and he would have gone to jail? That was me, and you just turned 18.
* Angry, simple-minded, balding, partially blind ex-circus flipper boy with a passion for covering lovers in sour cream and gravy seeks exotic, heavily tattooed piercing fanatic, preferably hairy and stinky, either sex, for whippings, bizarre sex and fashion consulting. No freaks.
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