Had one of those mornings recently. Not the sort where you’re sitting at your desk stroking your chin, only to catch a faint whiff of last evening’s cooter on your one hand, then coconut oil and asshole on the other. No, I’m talking something good.
After sharing some tinder profiles with friends, I’ve been told that I’ll plug anything on Obamacare. As a result, I’ve refocused my energies on the more attractive conquests. This means hunkering down, rolling up my sleeves, and really getting my hands (and hopefully fingers) dirty. I needed to expand my horizons and cast a wider net while also increasing my selectivity. So, I changed my profile settings to view more matches. Enter the 18-22 crowd. Then, fuck it, enter the 23-55+ crowd! As well, knowing when someone will put out before the first date (assuming there’s a connection and it gets to a first date) is huge (#MAGA). And also keeping a stopwatch with a 12 hour timer immediately upon running out of swipes. Not that it’s necessary: I’ve done the 12 hour purgatory wait so many times that, just like George Michael Bluth, some call me the human metronome. Anyway, I digress. I was in bed, left swiping 10 times for every 1 right swipe (although you likely don’t want to hear about any swiping if your date is Chris Brown), and I came across the following profile and SWIPED RIGHT WITH THE FORCE OF A THOUSAND THUMBS.
I’m still waiting for my dame in shining men’s clothing to accept my swipe. But as soon as she does… And as soon as I lift that pink curtain to revel in her pink curtains…
“Kinda hot in these rhinos…”
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