I sent some messages to women on OkCupid

They are as follows:

Something’s been bothering me recently that you might be able to help me out with: so it’s true that we eat an alarming number of spiders in the course of our lives. It’s also true that daddy long legs(es?) are poisonous as all hell, but apparently they have gimpy mouths or something and can’t inject us with the poison. But wouldn’t we eat the occasional daddy long legs and die or get really fucked up? Maybe SIDS is actually just what happens when babies eat a daddy long legs in their sleep.

On that note, I’m going to tape my mouth shut and go to bed.


Your profile screams ‘workaholic,’ which is sexy (just kidding).


I was doing some shart-related research, and did you know it means “challenge” in Hindi? There are 3 Bollywood movies called Shart. My new life’s ambition is to procure all of them and host three viewing parties spaced two days apart that will forever be remembered as Shart Week.


Ok, let’s break this down. You’d eat human meat if it were prepared just the way you like. My problem with that question is, how the hell do I know how I like to eat human meat before I’ve ever tried it?

The question seems to assume that human meat fits more of a steak profile than, say, chicken, because with chicken you’d just say, “Umm, fucking cook it until it isn’t pink and the bacteria is dead, like every time.” So maybe it’s more like steak? Or should I apply some kind of possibly racist criteria where white people are white meat and black people are dark meat and proceed accordingly?

If you’re already eating human meat, would you also ask it to be the meat of someone brilliant and/or famous? Because what about the 0.00000001% chance that there’s actually something to that voodoo stuff about eating someone’s soul and gaining their powers? (It was a cool theory that Walter from Breaking Bad was a Soul Eater: some uncanny things about certain affectations he developed after someone died at his hands, is about the only way I can put that and stay safely in the no-spoiler zone.) And if you were thinking along those lines, should you maybe have it prepared more on the rare side than the well-done side? You’ve gotta figure you get more of the soul that way, right?

What cut of meat would you go for? The thigh/butt cheek/I-guess maybe-breast would be the best, right? Would you have an aversion to eating someone’s butt that somehow emerges despite the fact that you’re ostensibly okay with eating a person in the first place?

Maybe you chuck it all, embrace the depravity, and say, “take away all the good parts and make me a hot dog out of the rest.” Baller.



A few months ago I was at an interminable six-way stop light and realized I was behind a pickup truck whose back window (is there a word for that stupid vertical pickup truck back window? there probably is) was an elaborate graphic featuring the smiling visage of Bob Ross. I scrambled for my phone to take a picture that I’d cherish until the end of my days, but I couldn’t get my shit together in time. I’m still mad about that. More accurately, I am phthalo green with envy that I was too yellow ochre to capture his van dyke brown coiffure. (Those are three colors he would always mix on his little palette thing. I can’t apologize enough for subjecting you to that sentence.)



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