Fuck Internet Dating

I’ve recently, embarrassingly, entered the world of internet dating. I’m thinking of it as a brief foray into the world of the desperate, old, ugly, strange or just plain forgotten. But perhaps that’s not the case? Apparently, much like same sex relationships, sending obscure introductory messages to every girl in a 5 mile radius of you, with the intention of sexing them, is no longer a social taboo. However you look at it (in the case of the Civil Partnerships, and the on-line female haranguing) it’s all a bit odd. When I’m in the smoking area at work, I don’t run around to every female there, whisper in her ear “Hi, I’m Karl, I really like the look of you. I’ve read your profile and I think we have some things in common, let go for a drink”, before sprinting over to the next female, without even waiting for a response. That’s just not cricket. As far as I can gather though, that IS internet dating.

The difficulty I’ve found is that I am not really comfortable taking the “scatter-gun” approach, which
most people on the sites seem to favour. A one line message, as described above, sent to anyone
who matches their “type” and plenty of others – it is effectively the (super un-) romantic version of
hedging your bets. It’s like flirting with several women in the same office, only less charming witty
lothario, more pervy stalker Fred West.

Firstly, you have to write a profile. Apparently it should include your interests, hobbies, passions,
and a few facts about you. I’m not sure that prospective future divorcee’s want to know about my
hobbies. I thought about being completely honest. “Hi, my name is Karl/Mr Lean. I am a borderline
Schizophrenic, borderline drug addict, who enjoys masturbating, minimal drum and bass, and
peddling hate, on my under subscribed, over hyped blog. I also enjoy cussing Tonbridge, making
jokes about paedophilia, and exposing myself in public places. Nothing makes me happier than
making other people feel bad with witty insults and put downs. Basically I am a massive prick.” Then
I remembered I want to have sex, as opposed to get arrested, so I hastily reconsidered. I thought
about it toning it down a bit, but I realised, paedophilia aside, those attributes are what makes Karl
Poulton, Mr Lean. The fact that I consider Karl Poulton and Mr Lean equal parts of my personality
quantifies the earlier schizo thing, I suppose.

So I am left with a choice. Lie, and make out I am caring and sensitive, and feel things deeply, or
create a profile that errs on the side of caution. A profile that contains enough information for any
potential sexee’s to take an interest, without actually telling them anything about me. I might post
up what I went for later on, but to be honest admitting I am indulging in internet dating is filling
my cheeks with the red stuff enough, without actually completing my indignation and showing the
handful of people who read my blog what a twat I am.

So once you have created a profile, which is witty, amusing, charming, cheeky, and interesting, without revealing too much, or too little, and picked 3 photo’s where I don’t look like someone has spiked my drink with a potent mix of ketamine, MDMA and heroin, which is more laborious than you might think, seeing as I am blessed with the same level of facial beauty as John Merrick, crossed with Rocky (the kid out of the 1980’s Cher film Mask) and then crossed again with Stuart Pearce, it is time to find yourself some “pussay”.

Excellent, I thought… This should be easy. Quick search for women of a similar age, variables set
to “my type” and we are good to go. I was instantly pleased to note that there were approximately
100 women in a 20 mile radius who fitted the bill. I almost rubbed my loins, in preparatory glee.

My main problem in my romantic life is that I have mainly been out with girls who write like spastics.
I very recently decided that the problems in my relationships started from the fact that the women
I was involved with, don’t care enough about how they are perceived, particularly in the way they
write. The issue wasn’t that they were abusive/evil/drug addicts/horribly depressed/plainly mental
(not all the same girl, but you get the idea), the issue’s either was, or started with the fact that
they were mainly purveyors of text speak, and awful spelling, and we should also consider the fact
that for the most they possessed lexicon of a small child as well. Consider the writing, a literate-
manifestation of their problems. If they cared about their writing, they might care about their drug
abuse. If they wanted to learn to spell properly, perhaps, they might have wanted to deal with their
anger issues, as so on, and so on.

Imagine my dismay, upon opening the profile at the top of my list of potential suitors, who was
apparently one of “my matches” (more so than the others according to the flashing banner
stating “your match”, which I thought was a little strange in what is actually supposed to be a list
of “my matches”…but anyway) upon opening the profile I was slightly confused. The list of questions
at the top, with the obligatory one word answers was fine. A dental assistant, local, no children,
drinks and smokes socially (although no mention of whether she’d enjoy my new favourite tipple,
Special Brew and K Cider snakebite), drives, and is of a very similar age. The pictures were fine,
she looked like a nice enough lady type, no pictures of her receiving a massive facial bukkake from
Tonbridge Angels football team, nor was a she a whale; pretty face, nice smile, nice body. “This
internet dating lark could be OK” I dared to think. How wrong I was about to be proven: The actual
profile spiel was just an awful jumble letters, “smileys”, and inappropriate capitalisations. At first
I wondered if it was written in another language, there were lots of capital letters were there
shouldn’t have been any, which instantly made me think of the German β but there was no Ich, or
Arbeit, or any of the other 5 German words I might recognise. Upon further inspection, the woman
in question was writing in English, just very very badly. So I had a choice: cheesy introductory
message to the half decent, half interesting (although clearly thick as shit) “match”, followed by
feigning faux-interest, or forget this woman, and check out a few more profiles. Next.

I am starting to think, (and this has been confirmed by anther internet dater, who shall remain
nameless unless I feel particularly mischievous later on in this post) that it may be the site I was
perusing. Apparently other sites actually have clever people joined up, but people who can write,
spell and punctuate, are in a massive minority here.

Basically I decided I was going to go for a subtle approach. I’m not really comfortable sending 1000
messages to a load of women who can’t write, hoping that I will receive a message back. In all
probability I would receive a message along the lines of “Alryt Sxc xxx”. I really have had enough of
women that speak like that, and I am really concerned I might actually have replied: “I can see from
your initial contact that you are a thick, depressed, drug addict, self harming, under educated bint.
Whilst I would smash one out over your ample breasts I am actually looking for a female with a brain
AND a vagina, and for that reason, you can fuck off”, but that wouldn’t be fair on the poor amoeba’s,
so I’ve avoided that situation completely.

Eventually I found a total of 5 women within 50 miles of me, who shared an interest in music, who
were of a similar age, and who didn’t look like burns victims, and most importantly, could write to a
more advanced standard than a Tonbridge junior school student. I sent them each a short message,
detailing the fact I had looked at their profile, that they didn’t look too horrific, and perhaps they
would like to converse with me. I thought I could now relax and wait for swathes of vagina. I
wondered if I might need to fortify my windows and doors, should a zombiesque hoard of horny
clever woman decide to visit me all at once, but in the end I sat down with a congratulatory, almost
smug, spliff and a glass of wine and decided I would wait for the messages to fly back in. I didn’t
receive a message for the first night, which I thought was relatively normal, but after the second
night, I was bit concerned. All of my self picked matches, as opposed to the ones provided for me by
the website had, according to their respective profiles been online. That’s OK I thought, they might
be too busy literally frothing at the vagina to reply. Give them another few days.

Alas, here we are. Day 5. No reply. No hoards of naked women smashing my windows and clawing
at my penis. Not even a message back. I had imagined, and read on several forums, and heard via
word of mouth that this particular website was excellent for meeting, and lets not beat around
the bush, shagging women. I had even prepared a little joke for the lucky participants: Should
one of the “matches” ask me to “Come over for a D.V.D?” I was fully prepared and ready to
answer: “Sweet, I’ve always been partial to handing out Deep Vaginal Drillings”. Alas, no terrible
joke, no interest, and moreover the feeling I might be alone forever is infiltrating my soul, more and
more every day.

And so I am left with the choice. Follow the other men on the site, and change my profile photo to a
ridiculous T-shirtless pose, or better still a picture of my boxer shorts barely holding back my blood
filled member, and email every single girl on the site, or I could do exactly the opposite of what
champion boxers do. Retire, before I’ve even won.

I am not going to get my cock out for the women of plentyoffish.com, and I am not about to
message every single girl in Kent in the hope of a fondle in the disabled toilets of McDonalds. I am in
fact going to delete my account, and revert to type, masturbating, writing stupid shit for this blog,
and hoping I find a women who is stupid enough to fall for my limited charms, whilst retaining
enough brain power to string together a coherent sentence.

Good luck internet daters, I think you are going to need it.