Personals Archive
Typing With an Elephant Arm
 Ladies, please, before you look away from my elephant arm in disgust and click to another personal ad featuring a photo of an equi-limbed hunk taken ten years ago, hear me out. It’s bad enough that my shirts are tailored to create a right sleeve capable of encasing an oil tanker; or that the only nose I can pick is Teddy Roosevelt’s on Mount Rushmore; or that when I go to swat a fly, the result is a twelve inch hole looking into the next apartment, the resident of which is an eighty-year-old lady who likes to parade around in the nude – yeah, it all sucks, but now I have to type this ad using what amounts to battering rams for fingers.
I would cite the tired cliché about how I am not an animal, I am a man, but, scientifically speaking, I am one-sixth beast and a far-from-unanimous eighty-three percent human male. So, ladies, what I am offering is my elephant arm as my most endearing quality. read more....
Typing With a Bird Claw
I am not one of those feminist ladies who will stab you in the groin for calling them a chick, though I will peck your eyes out if you confuse an open can of tuna fish for my vagina. The reason you can call me a chick is simple: I am part avian – that is, my left hand is a bird claw. Still I insist on typing this ad using both extremities, which means that the left side of my keyboard is a mess, looking more pockmarked than the face of Tommy Lee Jones after being jabbed a thousand times with a dart.
But, please, men, don’t hate me because I am capable, while making love, of scratching your back so deep that a skateboarder could use the gash as a half-pike; or because it is always a little creepy to reach across the table during a romantic dinner and hold a rubbery talon; or because I feel just as comfortable sitting in a chair as on the branch of a tree. read more....
 ...Yep, just another short guy who believes that the last 100,000 years of human evolution and sexual selection favoring tall guys should be over-turned in his particular case; who either over-compensates, under-compensates, or doesn't compensate at all, when none of it matters since he has to still watch people buy into the belief that Shaquille O'Neal is smart and funny; who truly believes that a super model should overlook his shortcomings, though not to the point of gazing straight over his pea-sized head toward the alpha male standing next to his brand new Porsche; who refuses to take his own advice given to roly-poly women and accept a less attractive, more plausible girl, which explains why he has not been laid since the tenth grade when, at a keg party, Debby the town-pump mistook him for Mick Jagger; who, with age and countless hours slumped over his Game Boy, will only further shrink until the day comes when he can walk erect under a dining room table while hoping that no one pushes the dip tray on his head; who has to listen to a 5'1'' girl announce that she only dates men over six-feet-two. Read more
 Yep, just another fat chick who believes she can side-step, without crashing into the furniture, one hundred years of glossy magazines and Hollywood movies featuring visible hips that reflect ingrained male preference that can no sooner be eradicated from human DNA than the custom of guys having to act like they are listening to their wives if they are to ever again have sex; who must keep the safety to her Glock switched on whenever a girl -- blessed with the skinny gene that requires nothing more self-denying than consuming less than 2400 calories and two packs of cigarettes a day, and a fifty-foot walk from her Chevy Malibu to the entrance of her favorite saloon -- begins to preach to her about losing weight, much like a math genius telling a kid with Down’s Syndrome to JUST find the anti-derivative of a polynomial function that revolves around the y-axis; who use the euphemism BBW, or Bulging Blubbery Winnebago, in... Read more
High Powered Man Seeks Ornament
 I am a winner! Why am I a winner? Well, because I talk in a booming voice, especially on a cell phone during a hushed Brit Milah ceremony (a Jewish circumcision) – and if the little bastard comes away losing more than expected of his future manhood, then chalk up another victory for this eternal winner! I am a lawyer by trade and an entrepreneur by virtue of my white teeth that are polished on a regular basis at the high-end Dental Burnishing Emporium where the receptionists look better than Hugh Hefner’s entourage and the actual cap whitener is Denise Richards reprising her The World is Not Enough role as Dr. Christmas Jones wherein the viewer has to suspend more belief than a Roman Catholic in buying into the former sex toy on Wild Things playing a nuclear physicist. Read more
Send an eCard to a friend right now!
Salutations, gentlemen. To start, like most beautiful and successful women, I should have just cut and pasted my six-page resume onto this personal ad with the deluded belief that what men really want in a lover is someone who has two master degrees, eleven certifications ranging from Dendrite Proliferation to Chemical Accounting, and who works 70 hours a week in “financial services.” But then I would have left out other feats meant to impress a guy who just wants to get laid. Ergo, call this my secondary resume.
I never just go on vacation. Instead I make a point of undergoing strenuous activity in exotic locations so that I can afterward brag about them in conversation or in personal ads. For example, I do not merely bungee-jump on the shores of the local lake, but rather parachute out of a plane flown by a former Sandinista in far-off Patagonia... Read more
 Oh greetings, members of the fairer sex, whose feminine charms continue to elude my diaper-wearing grasp, however much my brain has the demented prowess of Hannibal Lecter, Albert Einstein and the creator of Family Guy. I recognize that a woman with an hour-glass figure is supposed to elicit carnal desire in a man, except that I am still a decade away from realizing a functional set of testicles – and may in fact never reach the age of masturbation in that my animator has given new meaning to the term arrested pre-pre-pre-pre-adolescence.
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Search For Singles Free with Match.com
Hi, fellows, boys, people with 2-D peckers, my name is Meg, though my horrible family refers to me as the Abortion That Couldn’t. My friends have never called me attractive, but luckily my three friends are themselves so hideous that I look almost Minnie Mouse-esque in comparison. To start, my creators (may they roast in hell, or Providence, Rhode Island, but I repeat myself) bequeathed to me only one curve, an unforgiving oval that begins at the tip of my head and draws a wide arc that does not stop until reaching my webbed feet.
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Reconnect with friends! 
Just Out of Rotation
My Friends Say I'm a Real...
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Freshly Old
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Sullenness is a big part of my life
Getting Old
I Aspire to be a Stalker
I am so Busy – Now Suck My Toes
Older
Pretentious Phony Seeks Gullible Woman
A Lady who is This and That
Older Yet
Tired of Bald Chicks
Wanted: A Man Who Shaves Just his Face
Oldest
My Enemies Told Me to Write this Ad
Looking For an Actual Partner in Crime
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