As long as I was nice enough to skim through the week's worth of MCs I've missed, it would've been nice to at least get a mention. Did I? Not a one. Oh well, maybe someone I know got one, and I can be the bearer of good tidings to a friend, right? No dice there either. What do I find? A bunch of arguments and a bunch of people complaining about their exes and some bad poetry and a handfull of crappy MCs for some crappy people I've never met. What a disappointment.
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What's the holdup here ladies? It's not like I've been sitting in my house for the last week. I've been dining out, going to bars, reading magazines on Pioneer Square, smiling at everyone I see in what I believe to be a non-creepy way. If I spent any more time hiking up and down Alberta I'd have "72" on my forehead. I am attempting to, as my Mom would say, "put myself out there." In other words, I feel that I'm holding up my end of the MC bargain.
So here's the deal, ladies: someone MC me by the end of the week, or I will exact my revenge by trying to flirt with you. You do not want that, because you will se me at my absolute worst. I know a lot of women claim to enjoy being hit on, but they're referring to men who are good at it. Do you want to be hit on by a blushing, stammering, monosyllabic, boob-staring neanderthal? Do you want to endure awkward silences of ten seconds or more while a (normally articulate) man tries, and fails, to think of something to say? Do you want to be forced into inventing an imaginary boyfriend because my nervousness is so palpable that it's making you physically uncomfortable? No you do not. You don't want that, I don't want that, no one wants that, so get with the program and post about me or face the consequences. You have (ominous music punctuated by thunderclap) one week.