A simple request for Craig (Mr. List)
I don’t get out much, so I miss out on all the adventures that other craigslist users encounter. I do not take the subway to work, so I cannot rant about stepping in a steaming pile of human shit that lay at the bottom of the subway entrance just a few feet away from the passed out homeless person that laid that golden egg. I do not roam the city at night soliciting prostitutes, so I cannot complain about the 7-foot tranny that tricked me into gay sex, only to then rave about gay sex. I do not hate my boss, therefore I am at a loss for ranting about megalomaniac control freaks running the office, that make the lactic gas in my shoulders expand causing unending daily stress and migraine headaches.
I do not get to fuck fat chicks, so I cannot describe my sexual activities with that of giving a beached whale the old male harpoon. I wasn’t even blessed with a small penis, as to discover that craigslist is about the only place in the world where many men will openly talk about how much they hate their small penis, and inquire again and again whether or not the size is important. For that matter, I do not have a big penis; as to rave about what a humongous member I have just to rub in the fact that the guy with the small penis should be ashamed of said putridness. Nope, again, I’m just “Mr. Average”.
I did not get cut off on the way to work by some Jersey fuck that can’t drive. I don’t even live near Jersey! How can I partake in Jersey road rage, if I am not exposed to New Jerseyians? I can’t even complain about my car breaking down! It’s a Honda; it doesn’t break down! I’m at a loss.
I’m not witty or creative either. I don’t come up with ideas like taking a picture of the jelly jar filled with worms that I found in my cupboard, and attempt to give it away by posting it in the free section of craigslist. I found a quart of sour milk in the fridge this morning, but that just doesn’t make for good “best of” material. Nor does the funk at the bottom of my toilet that won’t come clean and has been there since I moved into the place. No one cares about my life. Uggghhh, I envelope an insipid existence.
Mr. List, I ask that you willingly comply with my request for a “best of” spot. You see, I have cancer. Okay, I don’t have cancer, but I do have genital warts. Alright, I do not have a good reason why I should make the “best of” list, and no, I don’t have genital warts either. I lied and I apologize. Benjamin Franklin, an old Philadelphian I might add, said, and I’m paraphrasing here, that if you do not want to be forgotten after you’re dead and rotten, or something, that you should write something worth reading, or do something worthy writing, or something. I got nothing, and I want to be remembered even if it’s only for a short time. What’s that Mr. List? Okay, no I’m not going to die anytime soon, that’s not the point. Oh hell, put me in the damned “best of” or I’ll rant for once! Thanks Craig.
this is in or around Philadelphia