Best of Craigslist

Best of Craigslist http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/ Best postings from craigslist.org, selected by readers en-us Copyright 2009, craigslist.org webmaster@craigslist.org webmaster@craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/ Best of Craigslist Collection 2009-09-11T16:13:03-04:00 2 daily IN A WELL, NEED LADDER http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/1369705084.html I'm offering a reward for the first person who shows up with at least a 25 foot ladder to the well off of rt. 322 and Sugarsbridge Rd. My friends won't come because they think i'm joking. I'm definitely NOT... I have water but have not eaten in two days. Reward is negotiable depending on how quickly you get here. And FYI to the kid that threw rocks down the well at me yesterday evening, I'm going to find you and do terrible thing to you. <ul> <li> Location: phila burbs <li>it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests <li> Compensation: neg. depends on response time </ul> webmaster@craigslist.org 2009-09-11T16:13:03-04:00 Copyright 2009, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/1369705084.html IN A WELL, NEED LADDER text Observations on sex from a single woman - w4m http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/1363379397.html So, I'm a single, classy, well-educated, professional, in shape, cool woman... I'm dating and on the somewhat rare occasions when I meet somebody cool... someone I connect to and have chemistry with... I have sex. Here are some observations and tips for you guys from a somewhat sexually frustrated woman: 1) Condoms are a must... wear it and shut the fuck up about it. I haven't had sex without one in over 10 years and I deal with it, so can you. Your shit is just not great enough for me to even consider having that kind of trust with you, especially the first few times we hook up. I mean, seriously. Yes I know it feels better and it's hard (no pun intended) for you to cum when you're wearing one. That just means you're not working hard enough for the orgasm... you're lazy. Get in there and work it out, dammit. Others have been successful and so can you. Which leads me to #2... 2) You put a condom on and your shit just goes limp. You have a hot-ass girl wanting your dick inside her... you see her there laying in front of you, looking at you with "that look," and you can't get hard? Again, put some heart into it. You inevitably say, "I hate these things." I don't care. Stop thinking about the fucking condom and make it work. Seriously. 3) You're in the zone, working it out... good shit. But I say, "Hold on, can I get some KY real quick?" Stop getting pissed off and/or offended... You say, "How come you're not wet?" Um, I am, or I was, but after a good amount of time, rubber dries, which contributes to me drying out, and it fucking hurts. I WANT you to keep fucking me... I just want to get some fucking lube. I have your best interests at heart too, believe me. A little bit of lube never hurt anybody. 4) Sometimes I just want the dick... I don't want oral sex. It's not that you're bad or good at it, I'm just not in the mood... I just want your cock. Just an FYI. 5) It takes me a good amount of time to cum... it just does. Believe me... if I want you to stop, you'll know it. If I don't say anything or push you the fuck off me, just keep going. Pay attention to my facial expressions (open mouth, no sound coming out, but it looks like I'm screaming = good)... my feet (when my toes start to curl, keep doing whatever you're doing)... my hands and fingers and grip (if I'm kind of holding your hips at a certain angle... follow my lead). 6) Go ahead... grip me up a little (but, there is a fine line... don't cross it). Grab my hair... grab the back of my head... make me feel hot and wanted... it's fucking hot and I love it. Start gently and see what happens... 7) Reverse cowgirl just doesn't work for everybody. It's not my thing. 8) Tell me how good I feel... sigh... make a little noise. I don't need to hear you roaring like a T.Rex or anything, but don't be mute. It's unnerving. 9) Make me look at you... tell me to open my eyes. But don't stare like you're going to drill holes through my head. I sometimes get lost in my own little pleasure world and forget to look at you and watch what you're doing to me. Remind me. 10) Boobs can be sensitive at different times of the month... just know that and approach accordingly. I'll usually let you know ahead of time if I'm sore. Try to remember. 11) Don't forget about the neck and ears during sex. That's when I'm sometimes the most sensitive and it feels amazing having you that close. 12) Funny noises are going to happen... I might laugh out of minor embarassment and because it's just funny. It's okay, you can laugh too. I'm not laughing at you and I'm sorry if it feels that way. 13) Don't just jam anything into my ass all random-like. That should be self-evident, but apparently it's not. That's just not cool. 14) I don't get the finger-licking thing... especially when you just all up and stick your nasty fingers in my mouth. 15) Having sex when you're high is one of the best things ever. Just had to say that. 16) When you start to put your dick inside me for the first time, take that shit slow. Make me ache for it... put the head in slowly and leave it there for a second. Make me lift my hips up and beg for it. Know that at that point, you are in control and we like it. Or at least I do. I want you to understand how good it feels... relish the moment. 17) Tell me I'm beautiful and that you love my body at least once... This is especially effective when I'm in a weird position where my stomach looks fucking insane from my angle and who knows what it looks like to you. I work out. I'm pretty tight. I can kick some cardio ass. But damn, some positions just make me look crazy. 18) Nothing gets me hotter than getting a massage, lying on my stomach... and then having you lie down on top of me, putting your head into my neck and nuzzling my ear, gently but confidently wedging my legs apart with your knee and pressing your throbbing hard cock against my ass... I'm toast. 19) I think about sex just as much as you do, maybe more. I watch porn. I masturbate. I like to have sex... I'm careful and cautious and I have no problem asking you if you've ever been tested. If you say, "Yeah... a few years ago," I'm going to be disappointed. Don't be offended or pissy that I asked you that. I would expect you to ask me the same thing. If you don't ask me back, I think that's a little odd. On that note, if I ask you to check the condom once or twice during sex, just do it. I'm paranoid, but I'm also 31, never been pregnant, and never had an STD. So... 20) Don't leave a condom for me to find (or my cat... or my mom who volunteered to clean my house while waiting for me to come home from work one day). You're usually in charge of the disposal. Sigh... that felt good. <ul> <li> Location: Philly <li>it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests</ul> webmaster@craigslist.org 2009-09-07T23:22:02-04:00 Copyright 2009, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/1363379397.html Observations on sex from a single woman - w4m text A brief guide to all the races http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/1267058345.html People used to know about their neighbors, and far-off peoples that they came into contact with through trade or war, and didn't have to debate about it for hours, scream and yell, and scratch their heads generation after generation wondering what the other guy was up to. Obviously this knowledge has been lost in modern America, at least among the dullards posting on the CL about it all day and night. This corn-fed Swedish boy was raised on a freaking farm in the middle of nowhere, but has more common sense than most because he had some first generation immigrant parents born in slums and farms in Europe around 1900 who still knew what was up. So I'll enlighten you. I don't believe in Race, it's been scientifically discredited. No one reads the paper or pays attention in school anymore, and the word still means something to the masses. So here we go; - European Americans: came from dirt, treated like slaves by rich masters and royalty, killed red men and farmed the land because it was a better living than starving to death as a serf owned by some inbred fucktard Duke of Whatsit back in the old country. Finally got uppity enough to kill their masters and make a free society for themselves. The rest of the story you know; Irish and Italian and Pollack and regular old English and German, you know plenty about them and how they act. Protestant, Catholic, whatever the flavor, there's plenty written and filmed and televised about all of 'em. Hated by ALL the rest of the races. -African Americans: came from a tropical paradise or a jungle hellhole, depending on your point of view. Got kidnapped by greedy Arab, Spanish, and Jew slavers. Shipped to the New World, sold to greedy white English and Spanish assholes who wanted labor cheaper than the Irish and Scottish slaves that had gotten too uppity and were working their way towards a right to bear arms, vote, own land, etc. Got ridden hard for a while like ALL of our people's were for millennia, then got busted free by Northern bible thumpers and urbanites who were bigoted against southern white trash hillbillies. Got a few breaks along the way through their own efforts and the help of liberal Quakers, Jews, and lots of other well-meaning white folks. Got the hell out of the South if they could. Still have an institutional memory of being treated like shit, and through Johnson's 'great society' and their own internal fears and bigotries remain today largely screwed, mostly by each other. Feared by ALL the other races, loved by a few out of pity. -Jews: started their religion 3-4 thousand years ago being told by Moses that they were a Chosen Race, chosen by God to be the best and brightest, richest, most badass, etc. This religion was a natural reaction to getting ridden hard like slaves in Egypt. They got the hell out of Dodge, fucked shit up in Canaan for a while, then got busted up eventually by the Romans, their own internal hippie revolutionaries like Jesus, and shipped out again all over the middle east and europe as slaves and serfs. They kept their heads, though, and kept their money in the family, and honored all their whacky hocus pocus along with education and commerce. Good for them, if they hadn't looked out for themselves we wouldn't even know about 'em because they'd all be dead or bred out. They'll sell you down the river in a heartbeat still today, but they're rather honest about it, and their religion tells them to. Blacks and other fuckups could learn a lot from Jews. Hated by Blacks, mixed history with Whites. -Latina/No/Hispanic/Mexistizo/Aztlatan: Still haven't figured out what to call themselves. The ones who are pure blood whites from Spain, such as Argentinans, know it and despise the darker ones mixed up with the red man. Puerto Ricans get to look down on all the rest, too, because we own their island and they don't have to wetback it into the country, they have a free pass here as a birth right. ALL the rest of them are mestizos, they were invented the day that Columbus landed. Spain never managed to kill all the red men, because there were way too many of them and they were too busy raping them and making half-half babies. Mexicans celebrate Columbus day as Dio del Raza, Day of the Race. They're catholic, work like maniacs, don't cause too much trouble on the east coast, are trying to take over the west coast like an old-school invasion, and will someday learn English, or will out-breed whitey and we'll all have to learn Spanish. Like army ants, they work hard and never ever stop. They will inherit the earth. Hated by Blacks, each other, and tolerated more and more by Whites. -Asians, Yellow: got shipped in to build railroads and mine where there were no Blacks or Irish to do the job. Eventually brought their families and, like the Jews, kept a low profile, built great communities for themselves, keep the money in the family, and sent the kiddos to college. All the races could learn from these guys; sort of army-ant like the LatiNo, but with patience to sit just about any shitstorm out for a thousand years and then come out from under the rubble with their pockets full of gold. Hated by Blacks and fewer and fewer Whites who's granpappy done got his ass skewered back in Yang Moon and seen his buddy's head explode over Margret Cho. -Asians, Brown: Indians and Pakis and Sikhs, oh my! Billion year old histories with way too much caste system bullshit in their system. They treat service staff like servants because that's what they're used to, if they're rich. If they're poor, they act much like Yellow Asians, but are less pretty and more vulgar. Don't hide away in their own communities, assimilate pretty well. Hated by: each other, Whites, Blacks. -Arabs/Persians: behaved like princes, real royal pals, to Americans, until around the 60's when they got fed up with our support of Israel. Now they're scary, live by the sword, seduce Blacks into joining up, and require regular carpet bombing. That is, except for the other 98% of them who behave more like Brown Asians, which many of them actually are. Hated by: ALL Jews (they have to or mommy will spank them, it's in the Bible), Whites. -Recent European Immigrants: live and act like runway models, get laid all the time because of their sexy accents/exotic whatevers, then immediately assimilate or go back home in disgust at what we're up to in the US. Hated by: no one ever meets these people except other whites, who want to make a LOT of babies with them. -Recent African Immigrants: Behave like Brown Asians. Hard work, but bad odds. Hated by just about everyone, because they're Black, Immigrants, and native Blacks hate them the most because they're proving that people with JET BLACK skin can get ahead in this country through hard work and discipline. Throws the Native Blacks into a tizzy. They thrive in places like DC, make communities for themselves, and are going to assimilate and be middle class by noon tomorrow. I'll do a followup on Greenlanders, Micronesians, and Finns some other time. It's late. Now that the ENTIRE RACE PROBLEM is SOLVED, let's all just be cool and get along, alright? Special thanks to a Jersey Jew named Craig: <ul> <li> Location: Philadelphia <li>it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests</ul> webmaster@craigslist.org 2009-07-13T02:44:54-04:00 Copyright 2009, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/1267058345.html A brief guide to all the races text You stabbed me, took my gold, and I fell in love - m4w http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/1224627186.html Last night, I was strolling back towards town to sell all the junk I'd picked up for from leveling and I met you. I was the level 9 Magician, letting my guard down as I neared the safety of the town gates and guards. You were the level 43 assassin who killed me in one hit, inches from safety, then took my gold. You have long green hair and a dagger of ogre slaying (no offense taken). You took my gold, stayed with my body for a second, then blinked a few feet away and continued running. The moment was short, and was also probably just lag, but it was the most meaningful one I've had so far. Find me in game, I'll wait outside town. And don't worry, I don't need the gold back, just you. <ul> <li> Location: Forest of the Elders <li>it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests</ul> webmaster@craigslist.org 2009-06-16T14:49:49-04:00 Copyright 2009, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/1224627186.html You stabbed me, took my gold, and I fell in love - m4w text Why don't I ever have a Missed Connection? - w4m http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/1214649730.html Everywhere I go, I scan my surroundings and wonder if someone is secretly plotting a CL missed connection post for me. "We locked eyes briefly at the CVS as you were picking out those heavy flow tampons. You smiled at me so innocently. If this is you tell me what I was wearing" Nothing. I drive down the interstate and look in all the cars and then come home to check CL to see if anyone missed a connection with the "Sexy dark haired girl in the Honda going towards the Philly International Aiport on I95, you eyeballed me and picked your nose. I want to take you out." Still nothing. I get up every day, shower, get dressed and go out just so someone can miss a connection and look for me on CL. Don't approach me in public. I'm waiting for you here. <ul> <li> Location: CC Phila <li>it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests</ul> webmaster@craigslist.org 2009-06-10T11:36:08-04:00 Copyright 2009, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/1214649730.html Why don't I ever have a Missed Connection? - w4m text Willing to trade! Wife and In-Law http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/1107641656.html I see a lot of offers for trade so I want to give it a shot! I have a wife I will trade for a Harley Davidson! No SMALL bikes. I need something as big as my wife. She cooks and cleans, has a job! American born. I will equal the value of the bike if it is Heritage or Road King, even a Dresser by throwing in the Mom! I will be glad to deliver and pick up the bike. Or if you want you bring the bike and stay here! House and kids included if it is a real nice custome chromed out, and very low mileage. If you fill the tank and keep it running out front I will leave you the dog too. YOU can't beat this deal with a stick, unless you are "The Quiet Man". <ul> <li> Location: Philly <li>it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests</ul> webmaster@craigslist.org 2009-04-04T22:58:53-04:00 Copyright 2009, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/1107641656.html Willing to trade! Wife and In-Law text Mystery Item http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/977244376.html This was in our yard when we bought the house. We can't seem to figure out what it is. If you know what it is and want it and can come pick it up you can have it. <img src="977244376.1.jpg"> <img src="977244376.2.jpg"> <ul> <li> Location: Pocopson <li>it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests</ul> webmaster@craigslist.org 2009-01-02T10:21:38-05:00 Copyright 2009, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/977244376.html Mystery Item text Please buy this fixie wheelset. My battered heart implores you. http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/806301401.html Back in the halcyon days of our budding relationship, my now ex-boyfriend and I decided to start fixing up bikes. He was an old-school steel fan, so we started with his Schwinn Varsity---he converted it to a beautiful fixed-gear, and I contributed support, encouragement, and the impetus to apply that second coat of signpainter's one-shot. Thrilled with the result, we picked up more frames, parts, and wheels. And then tragedy struck. My asshole ex-boyfriend decided to end our relationship when he got a temporary gig in New York, citing (believe it or not) the fact that he just "loved me too much" to fearlessly invest time and energy into a long-distance relationship (even if just for three months). He took the half-stripped Varsity frameset we'd recently started (it was destined to be mine) and left me with a wheelset, some vague promises, and a broken heart. Those wheels, my friends, are now for sale. They've been languishing too long in the darkest recesses of my one-room efficiency and now it's time for me to get it into my head that my douchebag ex-boyfriend is never coming back and, more importantly, he is never going to finish building my Varsity fixed-gear conversion. So help me mend my broken heart. Buy my wheels so that someday, after a long, slow healing process, I can ride off into the sunset with a new boyfriend. On matching Bianchis. *** About the wheels: I know nothing about them except that they're straight, true, never ridden, moderately shiny, and come with a cog and lockring. They've also got tires (albeit rather cheap ones). And hey, they're only $50. <img src="806301401.jpg"> <ul> <li> Location: Center City <li>it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests</ul> webmaster@craigslist.org 2008-08-21T10:53:06-04:00 Copyright 2009, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/806301401.html Please buy this fixie wheelset. My battered heart implores you. text It's me! Every girl ever. http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/471580402.html Knock knock Oh hi, how's it going? It's me! Every girl ever. I'm really looking forward to this date. I'm not nearly as attractive as you remember me being because when we met the bar was dark and you were drunk. Come on in. Let's start off with the unavoidable tour of my incredibly typical post-college-girl apartment. You'll notice that I went ahead and purchased everything that Ikea and Pier 1 have ever produced. There's my decorative birdcage over there even though I don't have a bird, and there's my gay wicker basket with bamboo poles in it. I don't know what the hell that's thing's all about, but I bought it. Hey check it out, I have more candles in here than a Roman Catholic Church. Doesn't it smell like Hazelnut!? If I were to light all of my candles at once you could see my apartment from space! I fucking love candles! Come on into the living room. Oh, I see you met my cat there. That's "Freddy Paws Jr." Why don't you pet him and act like you like cats even though you hate cats? There you go. Oh, he took a little swing at your eye there huh? Yeah, he'll do that. Hey, let's check out the kitchen. Hey look at my refrigerator. There are pictures all over it! Look at all these pictures of me and my equally vacuous friends from college! We were so crazy! You can tell we're really good friends because our faces are all pressed up against each other like that. And check it out, we're holding up alcoholic beverages to the camera in every single picture. That's to prove that we were partying. College was so fun! But of course I don't talk to any of these girls anymore because now they're all bitches. Let's go back into the hallway! Hey, before we leave I'm going to go in the bathroom for ten minutes for some mysterious reason. Why don't you sit awkwardly in my big, stupid, round papizan chair over there while you wait for me. It's like you're sitting in a hug! Be right back... Sorry that took a half an hour, I don't know what the hell I was doing in there. Let's go! Wow! Thanks for opening my car door for me! I'm totally going to blow that meaningless gesture out of proportion and delude myself into thinking that you're a really good guy because that's what I want to believe. Well, here we are at the restaurant. No thanks waiter, I don't need to see a menu, just bring me some expensive things. Hey I know, while we wait, I'll tell you all about my unspeakably boring job. I hate my boss. He's a jerk! I might get another job. Maybe something in pharmaceutical sales. Now let's talk about my family. I love my family. I want you to love my family. I want my family to love you. I want you to make love to my family! I want you to go golfing with my semi-retarded brother Travis. That would be so God damned cute! Wow! I can't believe I ordered all this food! I have no intention of eating any of it. No thanks waiter, we don't need a box. Just throw it out. Hey, I've got an idea, let's go to a bar and have an after dinner drink! It'll be great, it will be just like how we're drinking here, only it will be louder and we'll have to stand up. Come on! See, isn't this better? Oh hey, what a coincidence. Look over there! It's a group of my friends that I knew was going to be here. Let's go over there so that they can judge you! Hey, I have to go to the bathroom for a half an hour again for some reason. You can stay here and talk to my unbelievably hideous friend Christine! Christine's so ugly she scares kids! Talk to her! She has a job and a family that she wants to talk to you about too. Be right back. I'm back! Sorry I was gone for three hours, there was a line. I want to go home now. Well here we are at my door again. This was really fun for me and not you. You should pretend like we're going to do it again sometime! Maybe I'll see you at Target a few months from now and we can avoid eye contact because you never called me. Here, have this awkward goodnight kiss that's as empty as my soul. Good night!  <ul class="blurbs"> <li> it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests</ul>  webmaster@craigslist.org 2007-11-07T10:38:05-05:00 Copyright 2009, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/471580402.html It's me! Every girl ever. text Dear SEPTA Train Passengers http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/416363656.html Dear SEPTA Train Passengers, Hi there. You may have seen me: I'm the chick with the sketchbook that sometimes sits next to you, or near you, on the train to and from work every day. You may notice me wrestling my sketchbook out of my backpack, earnestly trying to get some work done on the bumpy ride into or out of the city. You may have even politely craned your neck to see what it was I was drawing. How you doin'. Because we live in a polite society populated by less than polite people, I'm going to share a few things with you, of which you may not already be aware. These items may or may not apply to other artists, under other circumstances, so I can't say for sure. You may find these insights helpful. Feel free to take notes, or print them out, but whatever course of action you decide to take, please do try to follow them from this point forward. 1. It's OK to talk to me. I'm a nice person, but I'm also pretty quiet. You're more than welcome to say hello to me, ask me if I'm a professional artist or art student (I'm not, but thank you for thinking I might be!) or comment on my work. I can even take criticism, as long as you're not being a jerk. If I don't continue the conversation, it's probably because I'm really shy, or because I'm trying to draw. 2. It's not OK to talk to me TOO MUCH. I have a 30 minute commute each way. In that we've already covered the "I'm not a professional artist or art student" portion of this post, you can assume that I do not spend the entirety of my day drawing. In fact, those precious 60 minutes of commute time are the only time that I have to actually get in some drawing, and improve my skills. I am usually happy to answer your polite questions, and even joke with you in a friendly manner, but it becomes very frustrating to me when your "talking" time infringes upon my sketching time. 3. Don't be offended if I don't make eye contact See #2. Sometimes, no matter how often I say, "I really only have enough time to draw on the train", people just can't take the hint, and launch into lengthy, detailed, often horrifyingly revealing conversations with me. As yet, I have not been able to find a polite way to excuse myself from these conversations, except to resume my drawing, and hope that they will not want to converse too much with the top of someone's head. 4. Do not ask too many questions about what I'm drawing. This often becomes embarrassing for both of us, and tiring for me. You don't know how many times I've heard, "Is that a guy? Are you drawing a guy? Is that someone you know? Is that your boyfriend? What is he holding? Is that a golf club? Is he a golfer? Are you drawing Tiger Woods? This one time, my Dad met Tiger Woods..." Please stop. If you want to know what I'm drawing, you can ask me once, and end it. If you want to know what I'm GOING to draw, just shut up and let me fucking finish it, or I will beat you with my sketchbook. I am a decent artist, so if you try to guess TWICE what I'm drawing, and get it wrong both times, you're either being an asshole, trying to embarrass me, or are a complete fucking moron, and I'm really regretting having chosen the seat next to you. 5. I am not holding a turd The lumpy gray thing that I have in one hand is called a Kneaded Eraser. When you buy it, it starts out like a 2" x 1" gray square, and you have to work it and knead it with your hands. It's much more gentle on paper than a hard rubber eraser, and when it gets dirty you just knead it until you get to a clean part. It is not a piece of turd. When I take it out, you don't have to gasp in horror and inch away from me like I'm going to rub gray feces all over you. 6. Do not take my polite replies to your questions as an invitation to convert me to any given religion. It's alarming how many conversations go like this: "You're a very good artist." "Thank you very much." "It's really a talent." "Thank you." "It's really a blessing to have that kind of talent." "Um. Yes." "Have you welcomed Jesus Christ into your heart for blessing you with such talent?" You know what religion I am? I'm the religion that doesn't discuss God with freaky people on the train who can't identify what conversations are inappropriate for complete strangers. I regularly attend the church of Please Leave Me The Fuck Alone Already, Lady. 7. I am not a babysitter I don't always draw from "real life", sometimes I draw illustrations and cartoons. Just because you see a cute, fuzzy animal emerging from my pad, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE do not use it as a way to distract your child from climbing all over you, the seats, and other passengers, like a shrieking primate. "Look Billy! Look what she's doing! Billy, get off that man's lap and come here -- see what she's doing? Isn't that pretty, Billy? Why don't you ask her what she's drawing? Maybe if you ask nicely she'll draw something for you. Just sit still and watch her for awhile so Mommy can sob quietly into her hands." As uncomfortable as it is for me to have to talk to people while I'm drawing, it's DOUBLY SO to have to do it while your little hellion is bouncing up and down on the seat next to me or -- worse yet -- sticking his face three inches away from the paper while I'm drawing. I am not a babysitter. I don't even like children. Seriously -- go Google the world "Childfree", and I promise that you'll never want your child anywhere near me, ever again. If you insist on using me as a ready-made distraction so you can get two minutes of not wanting to shoot yourself in the uterus, I'm going to turn the page and immediately start drawing the nastiest, most explicitly pornographic picture I can think of, all for your little snotmonkey's entertainment. 8. No, I'm not drawing Simba / Lady / Tramp / Nemo OR ANY OTHER CHARACTER. I know who you are. You're the guy who takes his kids to the zoo, points at the lion, and goes, "Look, honey, it's SIMBA AND NALA." This is going to come as a shock to you, but Disney is not the end-all be-all of all entertainment. Just because I'm drawing a lion does not mean that I'm drawing "The Lion King." Just because I'm drawing a dog does not mean it's "Lady and the Tramp." I am by no means a great artist, but I am GOOD, and certainly good enough to draw easily recognizable animals and figures (my biggest problem is anatomical perspective, not drawing things that are easily identifiable. I got that down quite awhile ago.) If I'm drawing a collie, or a poodle, or a whippet, it looks like a collie, a poodle or a whippet, it does not look like a cocker spaniel. Just because I'm drawing ANY BREED OF DOG does not mean I must be drawing "Lady." And if I tell you no, it's not "Lady", it's just a dog, it's not OK to pause for five seconds, and then ask, "...Is it Tramp?" It is also not OK to wait an additional five seconds and ask, "Can you draw me a picture of Lady and the Tramp?" I swear I will stab you in the face with my pencil. 9. I am neither a priest nor a psychiatrist. If you start talking to me, and insist on dragging it out into an entire, excrutiating conversation, please try to keep it topical. Please do not start telling me about your last ObGyn appointment, body hair problems that you have, or the condition of your last bowel movement. Seriously. I'm talking to you because I'm really trying to be nice, not because the grotesque details of your life actually fascinate me. I think that about covers it! I don't know if any of this will actually help any other artists out there, but it's certainly gone a long way towards help me not want to kill people anymore. Thank you, Philadelphia!  <ul class="blurbs"> <li> Location: SEPTA <li> it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests</ul>  webmaster@craigslist.org 2007-09-07T13:07:59-04:00 Copyright 2009, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/416363656.html Dear SEPTA Train Passengers text Bare balls http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/414112031.html Until a couple years ago, I didn’t pay much attention to grooming in the southern regions. Fastidiously clean, yes; tidy, not so much. Then one day, on a whim, I decided that things looked somewhat unkempt, and decided to clear some brush. Now, being of pale northern stock, I’m not a very hairy guy; the hair I do have tends to be light and fine. In a pinch, I can skip a day of shaving and still be more or less respectable at work. But I suddenly didn’t like the look, and decided shaving was the answer to this pelvic unsightliness. It was harder than it looked. The male regional geography is quite varied, and caused some awkward angles just to see what was going on, much less safely run a very sharp piece of steel over some of my most sensitive and treasured bits. I did this in the shower, and between the shaving cream and the water, things quickly got slick, what with having to pull things this way and that to get underneath something or just to have a taut area to work on. The result, while a vast improvement in looks (and feel), was unsatisfactory, still a little overall stubble, missed spots no matter how diligent, and increasingly impossible to operate the further underneath and around back I got. Also, it grew back rather quickly. I needed assistance. So, a couple months ago I started thinking waxing. Now, obviously there are issues here, the primary one being pain. After all, there are the constant popular horror stories as to how much it hurts. But more significantly, this seems to be the province of women, and probably gay guys. Am I becoming the dreaded metrosexual of the rapidly fading media fad? Clearly not, but still, this operation, if it were to be put into motion, must remain a closely held secret. But where to turn? I had seen a couple recurrent postings on CL under the Therapeutic Services section while perusing for a massage therapist. One in particular had a website that noted that they did Brazilian jobs, and that they catered to men as well. Finally, at the beginning of the week, I made The Call. I explained to the woman that I was a novice, and proceeded to ask a series of basic and stupid questions. She was patient, and gave me an appointment for Wednesday evening. I arrived at the building, and didn’t see any signs. I went up the stairs to the second floor, and emerged in the waiting area of a beauty salon, with four bored, over-coiffed foreign stylists staring at me like a piece of meat. Clearly I was in the wrong place, but perhaps they had heard of the place I was looking for? No, but the one in charge, a woman of a certain age, took me in charge and led me through the entire salon, gathering attention from all the women present, both employees and clients. Out the back door, there was an Asian nail salon that did waxing, as well as a laser hair removal place. I assured her it was neither, but she took me back through the salon, introducing me to the manager in the process, and called the laser woman. After telling her there was a client here, she put me on the phone to establish what I already knew, that it was a false lead. I finally extracted myself from the clutches of the salon ladies and went back to my car, where I called the number that I had. It turned out that the place was in a closet with an unmarked door at the top of the stairs between the nail salon and the laser place. The technician opened the door, and I would have placed her as perhaps Persian, but her name suggested Hispanic. She was young and attractive, reviving yet another of my fears, one that has occupies me in regards to nudist camps and massages: that there would be a socially inappropriate reaction at a critical juncture. After filling out the requisite paperwork, she left me to undress from the waist down, and lie down with a small washcloth over the strategic areas. I wasn’t sure of the purpose, but as a novice, figured I would wait and see. I really couldn’t understand how she was going to work on areas without being able to see them, but figured maybe there was a intricate, painstaking, and completely ineffectual dance of the draping for form’s sake similar to that in some massage therapy sessions. Sure enough, as soon as she came in, she flipped it up so that it was only covering the tip, and the started to point, discuss, and move things around. She would have me get a good grip and really stretch things out, but would have to show me how firmly and in what direction first. All this groping and flaunting, with a bright light and her face inches away, normally would have given rise to big problems, but I needn’t have worried in this case. Between the surrealism and the pain, there was never even a remote danger of any of my parts getting happy. The actual waxing, for the most part, wasn’t that bad, considering that someone was smearing hot wax on my sensitive bits and ripping it off along with all the hairs. The actual heat of the wax was more painful in most cases than the subsequent pull a minute later, though there were some moments with a greater concentration of hair that had me gritting my teeth. Periodically, she’d have me sit up and she’d ask, “What about here?” All in all, it was a bit odd to be sitting there in only a shirt calmly discussing the appearance of my genitals with a woman I’d never met. I’ve never even done that with a doctor. When we both agreed that the front was done, she had me flip over onto my knees and elbows, with my face in the table, and she proceeded to do here thing on the back forty. As I was aimed at the door of this tiny room, I kept wondering if someone would burst in looking for the storage closet and get an unforgettable memory. Throughout the procedure, she kept up a polite conversation about where I was from, my family, our cats, etc. The whole thing took just under an hour, and she charged me $150. She gave me some of the coconut oiled that she had rubbed into me, and told me that it should last from four to six weeks. Things this morning are still slightly tender in a couple places, which I suspect was more from the heat than the defoliation. But the look is fantastic. And even though I still get a jolt of surprise every time I run my hand there, it feels great as well. I’d call myself a satisfied customer. Though I’ll have to see whether I do it again. But still, I hadn’t really imagined even days earlier that I’d be spending my afternoon balanced on a rickety table face down, ass up while I paid a stranger to slather my crack with wax. On the other hand, I discovered an interesting Armenian bakery downstairs.  <ul class="blurbs"> <li> Location: Somewhere else <li> it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests</ul>  webmaster@craigslist.org 2007-09-04T21:58:31-04:00 Copyright 2009, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/414112031.html Bare balls text We met over a steaming pile of turds. . . http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/383398809.html Me- I was picking up my dog's shit, following the law, minding my own business. You- old woman who looked like a broomstick with a bad weave- who said to me mid-scoop "you shouldn't let your dog do that (poop), he should do it over there (points to middle of street)" I just wanted to say I should've gotten your phone number, but I was just too angry to ask. You see, I felt a real connection between us. The audacity of an old bag to yell at my (4 pound puppy nonetheless) dog for shitting, having the shit picked up and then properly thrown away, overwhelmed me with rage. And I like to surround myself with petty, trite people that fill me with rage. My shrink says it's 'constructive.' So how about this, give me your number and the next time my dog needs to take a shit I'll drop you a line, come over, and let him shit in your wrinkled crusty mouth. then coffee?   <ul class="blurbs"> <li> Location: 17th St. <li> it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests</ul>  webmaster@craigslist.org 2007-07-27T15:26:31-04:00 Copyright 2009, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/383398809.html We met over a steaming pile of turds. . . text I stole your crutches. http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/347216705.html dear sir or madam: at approximately 00:30 on thursday morning, i was with a friend walking back from a night of drunken revelry when i spotted a pair of crutches leaning against the fence by the tennis courts. you are evidently very tall, as i had to adjust these crutches before i could mockingly, drunkenly use them. i apologize for any inconvenience i caused you and would be more than happy to return your cripple sticks. please respond at your earliest convenience. tell me what your crutches look like so i don't give them to a cripple-poser.  <ul class="blurbs"> <li> Location: 10/Lombard <li> it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests</ul>  webmaster@craigslist.org 2007-06-07T18:50:37-04:00 Copyright 2009, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/347216705.html I stole your crutches. text Dear, guy masturbating in the bathroom stall at my work... http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/290529230.html Ok, I get it. You had to rub one out. I know the feeling. Maybe it was thinking about that totally hot little minx in purchasing that got you going. Or you got some steamy email from your wife. Whatever it was, you just needed a little release. We've all been there my friend. But if I may be so bold as to offer a few tips? 1. Location Location Location - Maybe it was the bathroom closest to your desk. Maybe it has bigger stalls for more elbow room. But whatever the reason, the bathroom just off the factory floor is not your best choice. It is huge for a reason. There are about 80-90 workers on that factory floor at all times, plus about 30-40 office workers, and there's almost always at least one person who needs to take a squirt. 2. Silence is Golden - While we all might empathize with your situation, NO ONE WANTS YOU HEAR YOU SLAP YOUR SALAMI!! And we certainly don't want to hear the gentle grunts you were letting out. It was like being forced to listen to the audio of a bad gay porn soundtrack, minus the cheesy Casio keyboard jazz/funk fusion music. Keep it down, will ya? 3. Ms Manners says... - Ok, so you had a poor choice in bathrooms and you are just naturally loud. Even elemental problems such as these can be overcome by following rule #3. When someone comes into the bathroom....STOP!!! Seriously, I'd think that would be the easiest rule to follow. Did you not hear me open the door? Did you not hear me pull the ass gasket from the holder, tear off those 3 annoying pieces that hold the center in place, and sit down? Good god man, another man is taking a shit not 8 feet away from you. Shouldn't that take the bloom off the rose, so to speak? 4. Good fences make good neighbors - This is the most important rule of all. If you have been caught rubbing one out in the men's room, do not, under any circumstances, come out of your stall until all affected parties have left the bathroom. I'm never going to be able to get the picture out of my head of you going over to the sink right next to the one I was at, and looking at me in your mirror with a big contented smile while you're washing your hands. They don't make a body soap strong enough for the ick I felt after that. No amount of showering tonight will do it I'm afraid.  <ul class="blurbs"> <li> Location: Chester County <li> it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests</ul>  webmaster@craigslist.org 2007-03-08T12:20:47-05:00 Copyright 2009, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/290529230.html Dear, guy masturbating in the bathroom stall at my work... text free: the worst cat http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/280312344.html Do you like a challenge? Then take our cat. Please. I first heard about our cat about 6 months ago, when I had not yet moved to Philadelphia post-graduation as per my long-standing plans with my best friend from high school. My first impression of the cat was my best friend calling me on my cell phone and asking me how you could tell if a kitten was rabid. My friend had been walking through Clark Park late at night with a friend of hers when a thugged-out man who they took to be a mugger emerged from the bushes. He walked toward them, thrust out his hand and just as they were starting to freak out said with a kind of embarrassed air, "Can you do something with this? I found it sitting in the street and I didn't want to see it get run over but I can't take it with me." The guy had a tiny little two-week-old kitten in one hand, and my housemate took it home and fed it with a bottle and all that good samaritan stuff. She called me up a week later asking if I thought it was rabid because, in her words, "It chews on my fingers and falls over sometimes." I told her that in my experience that's how kittens basically spend most of their waking hours and thought she was overreacting. Well, the kitten wasn't rabid, but neither is he normal. Because he was separated from his mother so early, he's emotionally stunted and doesn't like getting petted and will tolerate it for a bit but then start biting and scratching. The only times I ever hear him purr are when he pretend-nurses on something soft; there's a scarf of mine he particularly enjoys making out with. Because my housemate didn't knock him around like a mother cat would have when she was nursing him in August he never really learned how to play nice, so when I got there in September, he was this tiny little bouncing ball of teeth and claws and aggression who would only react to attempted discipline with the cat equivalent of "Oh yeah? Oh YEAH?? FUCK YOUUUUUUUU!!" He is just not cowable, as ridiculously outsized as he was and still is. Now he is larger (about 8 pounds, I'd say) and less aggressively hyper but still kind of destructive when he gets bored. The cat also had a really horrible case of fleas for a while, which took us hundreds of dollars and a lot of sleepless, stare-at-the-ceiling-while-intermittently-slapping-your-arm-in-a-panic nights. He no longer has the fleas, through great effort on our part. I was not present the first time we took the cat to the vet, but my housemate warned him about the cat's temperament. The vet laughed it off, said he'd seen everything. When we picked the cat up, the same vet brought out the cat all sedated in his kitty carrier, and he looked pretty harried. "Well," he said, "He's certainly RAMBUNCTIOUS." Another story: when my friends first came over to meet the kitten, they were so amazed at how "rambunctious" he was that they suggested that he had to be the the result of some sort of bizarre and possibly depraved feral street cat/ocelot sex. So here's the deal: My best friend, the one who originally got the cat in the park, just moved out a couple of weeks ago, leaving the cat with my two housemates, who hate the cat with a passion, and me. She can't take him with her where she is now, so we're essentially stuck with this cat. However... We can't live with this cat anymore. My housemates hate him and always have, and are in fact in favor of just dropping him off at a farm somewhere and letting him live off the land. I have scratches all up and down my forearms all the time from his "playing" and people look at me funny. He appears to give off an extremely potent dander which particularly seems to affect men. I just went to the doctor and she says that I do not in fact have a persistent cold, and that I, along with every man my housemates and I have brought to the house in the past six months, am allergic to the cat. I have never been allergic to a cat in my life, which makes this particularly weird. So if you like a challenge, or healing troubled cat psyches, then take my cat. In the spirit of full disclosure: Things which may be off-putting about the cat: <ul> <li>He plays rough to the point that my hands and forearms are constantly covered with scratches <li>He doesn't really appreciate being petted other than occasionally being scratched under the chin when he's sleepy <li>He never really learned how to do the mutton-leg form of licking his own butt/genitalia (one leg straight up in the air), and so devised his own method, which is: sit back on his ass like a fat man, spread his legs and wash his junk directly AT you <li>When he wants attention or is bored, he will stare deliberately at you while knocking over things like glasses of water and ashtrays <li>If you have small pets suchas rodetns or fish, he will probably find a way to kill them. <li>He will stare at you intently while you're making out with someone on the couch <li>Gives off enough dander to kill a man (and occasionally a woman) </ul> Things in the cat's favor: <ul> <li>He is fixed, fully vaccinated and healthy <li>He never pees or poops outside his box <li>If you have any sort of pests, he will ruthlessly kill them <li>He seems to get on well with the female cat that lives upstairs when they occasionally meet in the foyer <li>He is absolutely fearless, which I find endearing (you can vacuum him and he just sits there and looks at you quizzically) <li>He is really, really cute - to demonstrate this, I have attached three pictures in decreasing order of age-of-cat and <a href="http://youtube.com/results?search_query=mekon+kitten&search=Search ">these two videos</a>. </ul> I realize that this description of the cat might not be the best way to get someone to adopt him. But I just wanted to have a policy of complete and total transparency about this cat, because... I genuinely think that he could learn how to be a good cat in a house where he's not left alone quite as much as he is in an apartment with two college students who are only home two or three days a week and one 23-year-old with two jobs that keep me out of the house most of the time and exhausted the rest of the time. I won't take him to a shelter, because he wouldn't ever be adopted with his behavior problems and I know they'd probably just end up putting him down. So take our cat... please. He comes with litterbox, litter, food bowls, food, a kitty carrier and our eternal gratitude. <img src=280312344.1.jpg> <img src=280312344.2.jpg> <img src=280312344.3.jpg> <img src=280312344.4.jpg>   <ul class="blurbs"> <li> Location: fairmount <li> it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests</ul>  webmaster@craigslist.org 2007-02-17T16:12:04-05:00 Copyright 2009, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/280312344.html free: the worst cat text 6 years ago tomorrow.... http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/259843945.html I had a malignant tumor removed at the ripe old age of 16. In 1 month, I will have been cancer free for 3 years(I had it twice)--I'm still here, I'm still going to bug you, I'm still going strong and I'm not going anywhere! If you're going through the same thing, know this, there is life after cancer, there is hope to reach the other side, your hair does come back (mine came back black over red but what the hell, who wants to be a ginger anyway?), your life does go on and I'm living proof. A few tips if you're suffering through chemo.... 1. peppermints are great, they soothe your stomach and get rid of that gross taste, use them 2. Lukewarm mashed potatoes are easy to eat when you're having trouble, try a very little bit of garvy and small cut up chicken if you feel up to it 3. Suck on lemons to get rid of that awful taste in your mouth, they won't taste nearly as sour as they normally do 4. When you're feeling well, you'll have cravings like a mad pregnant woman, indulge them 5. Shave your head before your hair falls out, it hurts when it falls out and its a terrible knock to your ego 6. You're going to vomit, a lot, get used to it, once you do, it's not so bad 7. Your tastes change, beef will taste like rotten ass, avoid it 8. Fresh fruit can do wonders to make you feel better, especially fresh squeezed OJ with a bit of lemon juice 9. Keep busy, don't make the cancer your life, do as much as you can 10. Cannot stress this enough, go to penn, Go To Penn, GO TO PENN! Good luck to those who are suffering and congrats to my fellow survivors!   <ul style="margin-left:0px; padding-left:3px; list-style:none; font-size: smaller"> <li> It's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests </ul>  webmaster@craigslist.org 2007-01-09T05:36:42-05:00 Copyright 2009, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/259843945.html 6 years ago tomorrow.... text To the black sheep, the outcasts, the lonely... http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/244840090.html I was looking out of my window today, watching the trees and the grass sway in the wind, and it hit me: it has been a little over a decade since I tried to kill myself. Even after I tried to kill myself, for several years after that I was still miserable and depressed and thought about ending it all, all the time. But something strange happened, something I didn't think would happen. Time went on, and all of a sudden, I was happy. Not just happy as a momentary feeling, nothing the result of instant gradification. I'm talking about happiness as a state of mind. I wake up most days, and I'm honestly thrilled to be alive. I look in the mirror and I can tell myself that everything is OK. Before when I did told myself that, deep down inside I knew it was a lie, and that perhaps nothing could be further from the truth. Nothing was alright. And as I sit here and type this, and I get all choked up and tears creep into my eyes, I know deep down inside that everything is alright. I am no longer lying to myself, it really happened. I never thought I could live this life. The happy, simple life. And I just wish I could go out into the world and find all the people like me. The black sheep, the outcasts, the lonely. I wish I could hug each and every one of them, hold them in my arms, tell them that everything is going to be alright. Tell them that all you have to do is survive, just keep going, no matter how much it hurts. One day it will stop hurting. You just have to hold on. But I can't. This is the best I can do. I know that horrible, black, endless abyss inside. I've been there, I've been so lost there. I used to live there. I remember looking around in the darkness and asking, praying, begging for things to change. It seemed like time would stand still and the pain would last forever. That I would never get out. But time goes on and will keep going on. And one day things will change, and one day you'll be looking out of a window, amazed at how fast time really does go by. And you will be happy. Please, don't do it. Please, just hold on. Hold on.   <ul style="margin-left:0px; padding-left:3px; list-style:none; font-size: smaller"> <li> It's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests </ul>  webmaster@craigslist.org 2006-12-06T04:05:25-05:00 Copyright 2009, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/244840090.html To the black sheep, the outcasts, the lonely... text RANT - 7-11 vs. Wawa http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/236161781.html 7-11 is trash. I know that isn't a groundbreaking statement, but for the sake of argument, I felt it was necessary to state that before we continue. That convenience store has given me nothing but trouble, and yet I return. It's like an ex who drove you insane but still calls occasionally, offering...uh, slurpees. 7-11 could never begin to compare with Wawa because Wawa is just too wholesome, even the ghet-to Wawas I inhabit. Wawa makes the hoagies, bakes the doughnuts, milks the cows, and has fantastic lemonade tea. I'm getting off the point. Let me repeat: 7-11 is trash. It's trash, but I still go. It's the home of many a bizarro energy drink. Truck-stop snacks line the aisles, offering a smorgasbord of midwest-style hick feed. Hostess cakes aplenty, their wax paper and flour waft is almost enough to send me screaming. Day-old hot dogs grill menacingly, biding their time until sweet escape is theirs. The free chilli and cheese nod to each other, knowing the truth about getting what you pay for. The front milk is laughed at by the rear milk, because their time on this planet is finite. Soon, they will be taken away and fed to an infant, baked into something, or poured down the throat of a sweaty construction worker. Chalk it up to the callousness of youth. Rear milk doesn't realize their time is coming. They assume they will expire before they are purchased, dying of old age being preferable to being slowly consumed over a period of days... It's a phenomenon that doesn't seem to phase the fountain drink/slurpee section, where a 24 hour rave is commencing. Available in many different sizes, colors, and flavors, they actually want to be consumed. Their sugar and caffeine content to be absorbed by late night clubgoers, the sodas do not want to be held back. They want to go to the party. The ringmaster is a lean, wrinkled gentleman who speaks a brand of english I have yet to understand. He distributes lottery tickets and other fool's gold. He stands next to a sign that reads, "UNDER 40 MUST SHOW I.D.". It makes me wonder, how do they know how old you are if they haven't seen your I.D. yet? That is one crazy psychic nicotine pusher. After retrieving my bounty, a hint of sadness always remains with me. I am satisfied, yet repulsed, because I know someday I will return. There is a Wawa down the street, but Wawa is like a spouse. Warm, loving, it's reliable, and comfortable. It will be there through the ups and downs. But 7-11 is like the transvestite hooker that does "that thing" you like. Not that I would know, it just feels like it.  <ul style="margin-left:0px; padding-left:3px; list-style:none; font-size: smaller"> <li> Location: all philadelphia <li> It's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests </ul>  webmaster@craigslist.org 2006-11-17T11:10:36-05:00 Copyright 2009, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/236161781.html RANT - 7-11 vs. Wawa text To the women who work in my office... I hate you http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/233015033.html Girl with the bright blonde weave who works in reception- I don’t know how you got your job, you are so uneducated it makes me sick. Did you graduate grammar school? I think I would respect you more if the answer to that is no. I want to throw a rock at your face every time I walk by when you are answering the phone and you say something like “who you callin’ for?” or “he in a meetin’ right now” or my personal favorite, “who this is?” I bet the people on the other end of the phone want to throw a rock at your face too. I also can’t stand when I get message notes from you that are written like so: Mr. Smith called hes wanting to kno wen he shuld ecspect the letter of aprovle. ARE YOU KIDDING ME? It amazes me that the only two things in your job description are answering phones and taking phone messages and you can’t do either of those things! Tall girl in design with the short brown hair- You have horrendous body odor! I’m not talking a little stench here and there I am talking everyday when you walk into the building people drop dead. I don’t know how you don’t notice it. I’m going to buy you deodorant for Christmas. Fat woman who works in suite 19- I don’t know exactly what you do for this company, but I know far too much about your personal life. When you talk to your boyfriend on company time, please refrain from telling him it felt so good when he slipped his hard dick into your fat ass! Yea I heard that, and so does everyone else that walks by your suite when you are on the phone. It’s disgusting, and we don’t want to hear about it, so keep your voice down. Blonde woman who works for accounting- I know that you are 30, not 25 and I also know that at the Christmas party last year you had sex with the bosses son in the broom closet and that he got you pregnant. Please don’t insult me in front of our coworkers again or I will tell everyone. Hot girl that works in sales- When you wear that brown skirt with the white flower on the bottom and you sit down, we can all see that you don’t wear panties. Boss’ old receptionist- My name is not, John, Jason, Jack, Jim or Jared… it’s Evan. Middle age woman who works in reception- Your job is not that hard. You answer phones, put people on hold, and take messages. I don’t care that you were up late cleaning the house or that you sat up all night waiting for you delinquent son to get home, that does not give you a reason to get rude with a customer or walk around bitching about how your job is so stressful. Half of us come in still drunk from the night before, but we never yell at clients, bitch about our family members or say our jobs are soooo hard. Pregnant bitch- There is only one of you, so no need for further description but let it be known that you are not the first person to ever get knocked up! You are not the first person to get heart burn, you are not the first person to get morning sickness. You are not the first person to pee their pants because the baby put too much pressure on your bladder and you certainly are not the first person who has had strange cravings for cheese and anchovies. Stop complaining about it! Little intern girl- You are so cute with your stringy brown hair, acne and braces but your coffee skills are lacking. All I ever want is a large black coffee but you seem to thing that I would rather a low-fat latte, or a caramel machiato, or even a Chai Tea. Nope I don't want those, I just want a damn black coffee! Also, you obviously don't know your alphabet because my filing cabinet is a mess. F does not come after R, sweetie. Do you want to flunk the class you are doing this internship for? No? You better shape your ass up and get me the right coffee then! Pretty girl who is head of the writing department- You are the only girl who works in this office that I can stand. You greet me every morning with a bright smile and a cheery hello. And you are so damn smart. No wonder you are 22 and head of the department that could pretty much make or break our company. One time I asked you the Circumference of the earth and you kew it! Usually I would think that is weird and dork but from you, I find it really hot. I also like that you are the only girl in the company that hasn't slept with someone that works with us. But for the record, if you slept with me, I wouldn't respect you any less. Hispanic girl who works in design- You wear way too much makeup, I hate that you draw your eyebrows on, and I'm pretty sure you have an adams apple and are a man. 35 year old secretary- You have a 20 year old son, and a 15 year old son... yet you dress like you are 16. I would be embarrassed to be your children. Oh and you look really stupid when you wear that plaid school-girl skirt with the white tights and hooker boots. This is an office... not a brothel.   <ul style="margin-left:0px; padding-left:3px; list-style:none; font-size: smaller"> <li> no -- it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests </ul>  webmaster@craigslist.org 2006-11-10T16:56:08-05:00 Copyright 2009, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/233015033.html To the women who work in my office... I hate you text MC with the person who stole my ipod and birth control. . . http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/217082626.html I think we should get married. Or at least date seriously, I mean, you already know so much about me, and the fact that you took such personal things means we have a lot in common. Take the ipod, for instance. You too, are probably a misplaced Red Sox fan, since you took it, cover and all. You searched through a lot more enticing things to get to it, so I know that you really love them as much as I do! That mere fact alone gives us a common ground upon which to build our relationship. Additionally, being that it was full of country music (embarrassing, I know, but I'm from a small New England town, but you already knew that) I'm sure that we could have tons of fun singing along to Tim McGraw and watching the Sox play. You love that dirty water too, don't you? I love the fact that you took my birth control pills. It's so responsible of you. I bet you don't want kids right now either, and are just working to ensure our future together. It can't be that you're an idiot and thought they were actual prescription drugs. I have so much more faith in a country music loving Sox fan! So, dearest theif of random things out of my purse: please contact me, no judgements. And enjoy the music. We should really hook up sometime if my birth control hasn't made you gain twenty pounds or have mood swings (I do have some standards for the men in my life). Go Sox!  <ul style="margin-left:0px; padding-left:3px; list-style:none; font-size: smaller"> <li> no -- it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests </ul>  webmaster@craigslist.org 2006-10-06T19:58:22-04:00 Copyright 2009, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/217082626.html MC with the person who stole my ipod and birth control. . . text to the perv from nj in a bmw http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/213134450.html you: jerking off your limp dick in your car next to me me: ready with my camera phone on my bike go back to jersey  <img src=213134450.jpg>  <ul style="margin-left:0px; padding-left:3px; list-style:none; font-size: smaller"> <li> this is in or around delaware ave and dock st <li> no -- it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests </ul>  webmaster@craigslist.org 2006-09-27T18:53:08-04:00 Copyright 2009, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/213134450.html to the perv from nj in a bmw text Have A Happy Period http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/208351190.html Ok so Always, the brand that makes pads, is on this whole "have a happy period" kick. Now they put it on their pads, ya know on the little piece of paper that covers the adhesive side, yup in some nice little feminine script it says "have a Happy Period." I see that shit and I'm like what the hell...it's bad enough that they actually say that crap in commercials like i'm really gonna stop and think and be like...wait...I never thought of that...all this time i've just decided to be bitchy, and bloated, and broken out, and crampy and in tears during my period, when all along i could've been having happy periods. On the beach in a bikini (maybe an itsy bitsy teenie weenie yellow polka dot one), or in a coffee shop with my girlfriends who also have their period, but you wouldn't know it cuz we're all just so fucking happy about it. Forget the fact that I'm bleeding like a slaughtered pig, forget the fact that I now have to walk around wearing a fucking diaper hoping I don't bleed on everything, forget the fact that now I'm horny as fuck but can't get any and guys must know when a girl has her period and find us extra attractive cuz they always wanna try to touch your ass on those 5 fucking days a month that you've gotta wear this mini diaper and period panties, and when u ask them not to touch your ass they always gotta fucking ask why, CUZ I'M ON MY FUCKING PERIOD YOU MORON, forget the fact that I'm already bloated but craving french fries, potato chips, chocolate, cake...chocolate cake. Forget all that shit and have happy period. HOW THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO HAVE A HAPPY PERIOD!!?? You can fucking suggest the shit, why don't you give some pointers. Maybe it involves a whole lot of valium, And you know normally I would think that some dimwitted dick came up with that slogan, but no I'm sure it was some high powered business woman in her navy blue skirt suit and stilletto pumps trying to show that she can make it in a mans world...I bet she doesn't have happy periods, i bet she takes fucking birth control year round so that she has no periods, so that instead of spending a week with premenstrual syndrome, a week on her period, another week with post menstrual syndrom and then another week dreding that in a week she's gonna be PMSing again she can have the time to come up with nifty slogans as if telling me to have a happy period is gonna make me buy your product more, like theres something extra special about your pad. Guess what bitch, you've got a product that people are gonna buy whether u advertise for it or not... it's like gasoline, or toothpaste, or condoms we're gonna buy it no matter what, we have to, we need it to survive . so FUCK YOU and fuck your happy period. and for the record, I am NOT having a happy period.   <ul style="margin-left:0px; padding-left:3px; list-style:none; font-size: smaller"> <li> no -- it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests </ul>  webmaster@craigslist.org 2006-09-16T23:34:14-04:00 Copyright 2009, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/208351190.html Have A Happy Period text I dropped my phone in the toilet. - w4m http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/199792278.html So we knew each other from before. And I came to see you, as promised. I was waiting for you to ask for my number; it seemed almost certain that you would. Then my friend came back and told me you had asked her for my number, but she didn't have her phone... this was an unorthodox method on your part, but okay, that's enough for me. So I got up to go to the bathroom, knowing that I would go past you on the way back. My friends wanted to leave, so I figured I'd just give my number to you and we'd catch up later. As I approached the women's room, I heard two voices emanating from within the room meant for one person. Man, cocaine gets on my effin nerves. Too impatient to wait for the inhabitants of said women's room to exit, I opt to just use the men's room. It is also a one-person bathroom, so I don't mind. I'm just going to pee in it; its not like its that important. Meh. So I go in and take care of business, being a tad more mindful of touching things than normal. Not wanting to place my cute little hand-woven clutch bag on the nasty toilet tank, I tuck it under my arm while I wash my hands. The hand washing is quickly followed by a need for paper towels, which this men's room ... quite miraculously... actually has? Yay!! I lean forward gleefully to take some, and hear an ominous *plunk*. Oh NO. But it has happened. My entire cute little hand-woven clutch bag has fallen out of the crook of my arm and into this filthy men's room toilet. I give a little resigned sigh... grimly accepting that there's only one thing to do... pull it out. Its a long, rectangular handbag, and only half of it is wet. I open up my poor, sodden bag and remove my quite recently purchased Razr phone. The screen is black. Hoping for the best, I put it in my back pocket. Now for the bag... Its half soaked, and of a light color. I realize that it would not take a mastermind to deduce what I had done. So I opt to turn on the faucet and soak the whole bag, figuring that it will at least appear somewhat normal at a glance. After doing this, I decide that I will of course pretend that this hasn't happened, give you my number as previously planned, and make a speedy exit before I am caught in this situation. Somehow, I don't think that "Girl Who Dropped Her Purse in the Toilet" is what I wish to be known as. Not exactly "alluring". My purse literally dripping wet, I leave the bathroom, saying a prayer of thanks to Bob and Barbara's for poor lighting. I walk up, and say quite frankly that I want to give you my number. You mention about calling me to meet up later in the week, I say that would be great, yeah, okay, bye. I get a plastic bag from the bartender, and leave with my friends in tow. So my phone is ruined. I use my friend's phone to leave a message stating that my phone is "broken" and please leave your number, you know the drill. But after I go to work the next morning, lo and behold... Resurrection!!! My Razr is back from the dead!!! Oh, little phone, I would kiss you if I didn't know the filthy places you've been! I gloriously re-record my message, leaving my normal greeting. I skip off to a concert that night, several hours later, and whip out my zombie phone to call my friend... aw CRAP!!! It's dead again. Dammit. Oh well. I eventually find my friend, and use her phone to check my messages. {insert creepy robot lady voice here} "You have... *two*... unheard messages. *First* unheard message..." Its my friend that I'm already hanging out with, wondering where I am. No need to listen to you, first unheard message. I decide to press the 7 key twice to delete the message while it's still playing and move on to the next, my impatience of course slightly increased because I'm eager to see if you've called. Girls can't help this. 7-7... "Delet-Deleted. First saved message." I pull the phone away and stare at it, wide eyed. You son of a bitch. Oh, you dirty, rotten, bastard of a jerk-ass phone... YOU GOTTA BE FUCKING KIDDING ME!?!?!? So I think I dealt with my other adversities pretty well. You can't get through life without a couple of phones in the toilet. But it more than sucks that I have no way to know whether you called the very next day and left a message I will never hear, or whether you never called at all, quite possibly because you may have noticed my mysteriously dripping handbag. Such is life.  <ul style="margin-left:0px; padding-left:3px; list-style:none; font-size: smaller"> <li> this is in or around the story of my life <li> no -- it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests </ul>  webmaster@craigslist.org 2006-08-28T02:09:12-04:00 Copyright 2009, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/199792278.html I dropped my phone in the toilet. - w4m text Married means MARRIED you moron http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/187640237.html It's getting to the point where I can't even read those stupid personal ads anymore, not even for fun. They're loaded with married people, bitching about their spouses, and looking for something "better". I've got a few things to tell you: 1. "She" is not the reason your marriage sucks. YOU are. If you spent half as much time paying attention to her as you do trolling CL for sluts, your marriage would be a whole hell of a lot better. 2. Yeah, yeah, we've all heard it a thousand times. You're in a sexless marriage. First of all, that's probably a lie, because most cheaters are liars too. I'm gonna let you in on a little secret, pal- if your wife isn't interested in sex, it's because you're not offering sex that's interesting. Married guys get awfully boring after a while. They do the same boring thing the same boring way every fucking time and they expect you to scream like a porn star. Seriously, you come home from work, totally ignore her while she chases the kids around for 4 hours, makes dinner, does the laundry, blah blah blah, and then you expect her to roll over with her legs open for another session of same-old same-old? When are you idiots going to learn that the best foreplay in the world for a woman is watching you take care of the kids, vacuum the floor, pick up the dog poo in the backyard. Or how about just listening when she talks? You know, it's not that fucking hard to stop thinking about yourself for five minutes and hear what she has to say. Think about it- way back when, when you were getting your brains fucked out on a regular basis- what were YOU doing differently than you're doing now? Planning dates, telling her she looked nice, acting like you're happy to be with her? A thousand dollars says if you do that stuff again you'll get the same result. 3. Your kids are NOT the reason you're staying married. If you were THAT miserable, you'd leave whether you had kids or not. If you're not getting a divorce it's because YOU DON'T WANT TO. For whatever reason. At least be honest and don't try to feed people that tired bullshit line about staying married for the kids. Contrary to what you think, it doesn't make you look like a poor suffering but honorable victim. You obviously don't care enough about your kids to treat their mother with enough respect not to cheat on her, and you don't care about them enough to spend time with THEM instead of some cheap whore, so cut it out with that crap. There is absolutely nothing honorable about putting your dick ahead of your kids. If you really really cared about them, you would put ALL your time and effort and money into saving the one thing that means most to them in the whole world- your marriage and their family. Otherwise you're full of shit. 4. We all know how bored you are. Poor you, someone should really come along to entertain you. What are you, fucking 12 years old? If you're bored with your marriage, it's because YOU'RE BORING, and have you ever stopped to think that if you're bored, she probably is too. But instead of throwing a temper tantrum like a 2 year old, she's at home cleaning out the lint trap on the dryer and washing kool-aid off the kitchen floor. Yeah, she's having a fucking riot washing your underwear and cleaning up cat puke. Marriage is hard work. Hell, life is hard work. Grow the fuck up and take some responsibility for yourself. You have a brain, USE it. Put some thought into your marriage and some effort into your life and stop blaming her and being a baby because life isn't fun. 5. You're looking for someone "younger". Sure you are. Dickhead. You think you look the same as you did when you got married? I'd bet not. Even if you do, you haven't spent the last 10 years having babies (the ones YOU wanted) and sacrificing your body for them. The next time you have to have someone stitch your asshole together because your just pushed a watermelon out of your butt, then you can sqwauk. If you ever spend 9 months with your belly stretched to obscene proportions, and manage to look exactly the same as you used to 6 weeks later, then you can bitch about how she's not attractive anymore. Until then, shut the fuck up. You have no concept of what she has sacrificed to give you the children you claim to love. You really think she wants varicose veins and stretch marks and saggy boobs? Get real. What she wants is a man who understands and values WHY she has varicose veins and stretch marks and saggy boobs. She wants a man who loves her because she was willing to make those sacrifices with her own body because she loves HIM. Instead, you criticize and go running off with the first perky 25 year old who gives you the time of day. Asshole. 6. And finally, if you're cheating on your wife, there's something wrong with YOU. If you're not happy with your marriage, exactly how do you think fucking some slut is going to fix that? Exactly how is that going to make anyone happy? Have you ever actually heard of adultery working out really well for everyone involved? Are you actually stupid enough to think that you're going to be the exception to that rule? If so, you are delusional and you need professional help. Affairs are disasters- not some of the time, not most of the time, ALL OF THE TIME. You guilt will drive you crazy. Someone WILL find out. You will NOT be able to keep up the lies and the deception. And it will all lead up to a disaster of epic proportions, which leads me to Lucky #7. 7. Here's what you can expect in the wake of your little fuck-fest: Divorce- this is where you lose everything- your wife, your house, half your income and possessions, possibly your job if you're stupid enough to be fucking around with a co-worker, your kids- EVERYTHING. You will LOSE IT ALL. Exposure- this is where everyone finds out what a scumbag you are. And they WILL find out. Your boss, your co-workers, your friends, your family, HER family, your neighbors, the parents of your kids' friends, everyone at your church. They WILL find out. Why? Because your now ex-wife will tell them. She will probably tell everyone she knows, and everyone you know, and she will feel good doing it. Consider yourself lucky if she doesn't rent a billboard. Otherwise, all bets are off. Be prepared. Your Kids- this is where you totally lose the respect of your kids, and you deserve to lose it. They will realize in pretty short order that you didn't care enough about them to keep your fucking pants on. They will see their mother cry and they will hate you for it. They will end up shuttling back and forth between their home and your apartment, and they will hate you for it. Every time they have to tell someone that their parents are divorced, they will hate you for it. And God forbid you decide to "introduce" them to your shiny new soulmate/fuckbuddy, they will REALLY hate you for that. If your kids are really young, you have a little time before all this shit hits the fan, but be warned, it's coming. They will forever see you as the moron who broke up their family. They will know that you can't be trusted, that you are weak and immoral and selfish. And they'll figure it out all by themselves, even if you never talk to them about it. Because your kids are smarter than you are at this point. So, go ahead and whine your pathetic bullshit about how you're a victim and your wife is a horrible shrew. Do your best to convince yourself that you didn't have any choice and your wife "drove you to it." Start with the rationalizations and justifications now, you're going to need a lot of them. Remember that the best defense is a good offense and start a mental list of all the ways your wife is deficient. Make sure to re-write the history of your marriage so that you can say that you were miserable from the first day. Be sure to tell your wife that you love her, you're just not "in love" with her anymore. Deal with your guilt by lashing out at everyone around you. Above all, take no responsibility for any problems YOU may have that caused you to be such a spineless bastard in the first place. Congratulations, you've just joined the Adulterers Club. See you in hell.   <ul style="margin-left:0px; padding-left:3px; list-style:none; font-size: smaller"> <li> this is in or around past the honeymoon <li> no -- it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests </ul>  webmaster@craigslist.org 2006-07-29T04:17:29-04:00 Copyright 2009, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/187640237.html Married means MARRIED you moron text FART MAN SEEKS FART WOMAN - m4w http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/168139387.html Hi, I'm a 28 year old single black male and graduate student living in Philadelphia. I'm 6,0, nice body, chocolate brown in complexion, dark fade with a light goatie and deep voice. I speak French and English. I'm a farter. I would like to correspond with a sexy, single Caucasian woman between 23 and 37 years old with a big butt who farts a lot-farts more than the average person, farts long, loud and smelly. I want a woman who just can't stop farting and who considers herself a farter in every sense of the word, so we can get our groove on together. Please keep in mind that the farting part is absolutely the most essential quality I'm looking for in a mate. If you don't fit this description, please do not email me. I also want a mate who's into scat.  <ul style="margin-left:0px; padding-left:3px; list-style:none; font-size: smaller"> <li> this is in or around Philadelphia <li> no -- it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests </ul>  webmaster@craigslist.org 2006-06-05T10:32:46-04:00 Copyright 2009, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/168139387.html FART MAN SEEKS FART WOMAN - m4w text Philly through the eyes of Craigs List Haiku http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/149124888.html My Craigs List Haiku Killing time in the office Friday afternoon Schuylkill Expressway Better than Talladega This city kicks ass Inspiring rants and raves from racist slimeballs Philly characters My couch is broken But you can still pick it up List it on free stuff Strictly platonic new in town, looking for friends Good luck in Philly Strictly platonic Married guy looking to "chat" You are really sad Didn't get your name -- You were hot on the R3. He is a stalker. Philly, listen up. When you want cash, that's selling. Please don't post "barter" That crook on skilled trade, Delaware tax evasion. Just stop posting, dude. Fucktards and assbots? And poor spelling and grammar. Show your ignorance 4:20 alert Smokers and tokers abound. Can't see through THAT code. Diamonds in the rough Lots of junk and trash, but wait! Pool table! Free stuff. Best of Craigs List rules. LA, San Fran, Chicago -- smart and clever. TLC houses Lots of potential profits! Really just a shell. Barbies, baseball cards, firewood, china, and clothes. For sale today. Unemployed women satisfy sex needs of men in exchange for cash Eagles, Flyers, Phils Plenty of good seats still left. Quest for a title. Junk. Friends. Tools. Cars. Sex. 4:20. Houses. Toys. Jobs. Craigs List in Philly. Cross Section of Life. Beautiful and disgusting. Gotta love Philly! Manayunk, Main Line. South and West Philly, Northeast. We're all just the same.  <ul style="margin-left:0px; padding-left:3px; list-style:none; font-size: -1"> <li> this is in or around 5-7-5-ville <li> no -- it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests </ul>  webmaster@craigslist.org 2006-04-07T14:42:45-04:00 Copyright 2009, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/149124888.html Philly through the eyes of Craigs List Haiku text TAKE MY SON TO HIS PROM http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/147264786.html I won't go into the whole story, but my son got dumped by the girl he was going to take to his prom. The prom is in a few weeks and I want him to have a date. So here is the deal. Go with my son as his date. No expectations on his or my part other than going to the prom with him. He is tall, fairly good looking, but somewhat unexperienced with girls. He is not a geek as he played on 2 varsity high school sport teams for the past 3 years. What's in it for you. $500 cash for your time and I will pick up the cost of your dress, hair styling, etc. up to another $300. You will be picked up in a limo. Requirements are that you are cute and could pass for 17-19. Thanks.  <ul style="margin-left:0px; padding-left:3px; list-style:none; font-size: -1"> <li> this is in or around Bucks County <li> no -- it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests <li> Compensation: $500 plus (see ad) </ul>  webmaster@craigslist.org 2006-04-01T13:35:14-05:00 Copyright 2009, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/147264786.html TAKE MY SON TO HIS PROM text Re: Why The Hell Is The Dog Getting Laid More Than Me? - w4m – 35 http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/122608407.html Simply put it’s because animals don’t complicate sex with feelings. Animals don’t “go out for a drink or dinner or whatever”. Animals don’t have a “litany of reasons why they have not gotten out in a very long time”. Animals don’t say things like “Please be under 40, single, good looking, professional or at least well read, D/D free, and available Saturday night.” And animals don’t say “YOU HAVE TO SEND ME A PIC!” When an animal is hungry they eat. They don’t care much what they eat. Some dogs will eat themselves sick and will eat poisonous things too. When an animal is thirsty they drink. Again, not too much thought goes into satisfying this need. When an animal is in heat they mate. No talking, no dinner and a movie, no nice car, no nice shoes. They give off a pheromone scent and howl to let others know they’re ready. If you’re truly a good-looking woman, who’s busty, professional, with a big butt, and up for almost anything then the fault is yours alone. I’d do you, and most of my friends would do you too. But being a girl is so very hard. You want to get laid, but you complicate things with history and emotion. If you make him shower and make him wear a condom you have eliminated 95% of the threat to yourself. If you carry a gun or a serrated knife then you’ve cut the remaining threat 5% down to 2%. So there you are, 98% sure he’s safe enough to screw. And statistically speaking, most guys are clean and most guys are safe. Just like most guys’ just want to screw. We like women who like us. If you give it to us we’ll gratefully take it. So what’s stopping you? You’re a girl. You have to talk to him. Have to. Genetic compulsion. If you don’t talk to him then you’d be a guy. Guys don’t talk to the hamburger they eat. If you’re horny then screw. If you’re thirsty then drink. You have to know if he can form sentences like an English teacher, because if he can’t talk then he can’t screw. At least that’s what girls think. You have to know that he has a job, or is looking for a job. You have to know that he lives on his own or he’s had a bad setback and is only living at home recently and temporarily because if he’s not ambitious then he can’t screw. I mean how good could that steak dinner be if the cow was a mamma’s boy and a slacker and couldn’t conjugate Moos to save his life. If he was smart and sensitive, maybe he wouldn’t be on your plate in the first place. No I don’t work for PETA. No I’m not a vegetarian. My point is that women don’t want sex. Why is the dog getting laid more than you? Because the dog wants to get laid. Women don’t want to get laid. If they did, they would. Women want safety and security and comfort and dependability. Women want a shoulder to lean on, a chest to cry on, a lap to sit on, and someone to count on. Women want to cuddle and talk and share secrets. Women want to go out and be out and stay out. Women want to see a great show, have a great meal, and dance at a great club. Women like dressing up and being seen, but when they stay in women like foreplay. Sex is like dessert, but foreplay is the true meal, the reason you came, the entrée, and the most fulfilling part of the dinner. Women can orgasm standing in the supermarket checkout line. They don’t need men for orgasm. They have better toys then men do, trust me. Women don’t want sex. Women want to make a deep quality connection with someone who will listen and respect them until death they do part, except when Patrick Swayze haunted Demi Moore. Even death can’t keep them apart. How romantic is that? Speaking as a man, we’re more like dogs. We can be your best friends and we’re loyal to who feeds us best. We’re trainable, if you take the time to train us, but when it’s time to mate, then mate. Don’t have a headache, and don’t plan a special vacation to Vermont next month. Step up or step back and let some other woman try. I know this is wholly unattractive now, but why would I cheat if you were giving me sex when I wanted it? Everything can’t be blamed on women, but men don’t complicate sex with feelings. We just want to get laid. Just like dogs. Well, I gotta be back to work. I hope this was more educational than funny. webmaster@craigslist.org 2006-01-04T14:42:08-05:00 Copyright 2009, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/122608407.html Re: Why The Hell Is The Dog Getting Laid More Than Me? - w4m – 35 text Why I'm giving myself a vibrator for Christmas http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/120391123.html Well, once again it's Christmas, and I must admit I am not at all full of the spirit this year. Why? Well, you could say it's because my boyfriend and I split up, or that my parents got divorced and my dad got hitched to some woman he probably met on CL, or because I'm too fucking cheap to buy Christmas presents. Well, all of those things are true, but that's not what Scrooged me this Christmas. In fact, there's no Scrooging going on at all, because I'M NOT GETTING LAID. That's right, folks, I'm not getting any of the ho-ho-ho. No one, not even a fat man in a red suit, is squeezing down my chimney this Christmas. In the past six months, I've had sex exactly once, and it sucked. And I'm starting to get horny. Really horny. There are ominous internal signs of my horniness. My hypothetical "age range" has increased by about ten years in either direction, so that I now carry three accessories in my purse for the right moment with that special guy: condoms, Viagra, and lollipops. I've had sexual fantasies involving the hairy-chested bartender at my favorite drinking establishment, the guy who delivers produce to the restaurant I work in, my forty-five-year-old married boss, a character in a novel I read (an imaginary man! Not only imaginary sex, but imaginary sex with an imaginary person!), John Cusack, the guy at the gym who always wears a Rage Against the Machine T-shirt, and that guy who comes into my restaurant every day with his laptop and orders coffee. I can only pray that my preoccupation goes unnoticed by my friends and coworkers. So, you ask, why don't you just get it over with and get it on? It wouldn't be difficult. I'm attractive, in shape, late twenties, intelligent, decent sense of humor, up on current events, blah-de-freakin-blah. Not like any of that shit really matters to most guys, as long as you have a fully functional and disease-free female genitalia. Well, here's why I'm maintaining my abstinent streak and giving myself the gift that will keep on giving, an Aqua Rabbit waterproof vibrator: 1. My new vibrator will not start begging me for a blow job before I even get him out of the box. 2. My new vibrator will not ask me to "snuggle." 3. I will not have to make awkward post-coital conversation with my new vibrator. I won't even have to look at him. He'll be stashed neatly away in my nightstand drawer. 4. My new vibrator will not tell all the other household appliances that I like to do it doggystyle and be smacked on the ass with a wire hanger. 5. My new vibrator will not shut down just when I'm about to have an orgasm, and if he does, it's nothing that three fresh AA batteries can't fix. 6. There is no chance that my vibrator will give me an STD or impregnate me with a screaming, snot-tipped baby vibrator. 7. When I'm done, I can turn my new vibrator off and he won't grumble or try to lay a guilt trip on me. I won't have to endure ten more minutes of monotonous pounding while I stare at the ceiling and make up my daily to-do list in my head. 8. My vibrator will not steal the covers in the middle of the night or fart in bed. 9. My vibrator will not beg me to get a Brazilian bikini wax or any other costly procedure involving the ripping out of my taint hairs by a complete stranger. And finally, 10. Anytime I want to I can upgrade to the larger, more powerful Synergy model with oscillating action, six speeds, and five interchangeable attachments. My old vibrator will not threaten me, speed by my house at night with his stereo blaring, tell his friends I was a "psycho bitch," or call me up at 3 a.m. drunk and remind me of all the great times we had. You know why? Because he's a fucking vibrator. Merry Fucking Christmas!…and I mean that in the best possible way. webmaster@craigslist.org 2005-12-25T11:32:45-05:00 Copyright 2009, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/120391123.html Why I'm giving myself a vibrator for Christmas text The 12 Craigslist Days of Christmas http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/119923643.html On the first Craigslist day of Christmas, the OP gave to me…that dude who pooped on a park bench On the second Craigslist day of Christmas, the OP gave to me… 2 nigger haters And that dude who pooped on a park bench On the third Craigslist day of Christmas, the OP gave to me… 3 Fucktards 2 nigger haters And that dude who pooped on a park bench On the fourth Craigslist day of Christmas, the OP gave to me… 4 Homophobes 3 Fucktards 2 nigger haters And that dude who pooped on a park bench On the fifth Craigslist day of Christmas, the OP gave to me… 5 stupid cunts… 4 Homophobes 3 Fucktards 2 nigger haters And that dude who pooped on a park bench On the sixth Craigslist day of Christmas, the OP gave to me… 6 Jews a-oying 5 stupid cunts… 4 Homophobes 3 Fucktards 2 nigger haters And that dude who pooped on a park bench On the seventh Craigslist day of Christmas, the OP gave to me… 7 hipsters sobbing 6 Jews a-oying 5 stupid cunts… 4 Homophobes 3 Fucktards 2 nigger haters And that dude who pooped on a park bench On the eighth Craigslist day of Christmas, the OP gave to me… 8 ‘suits’ a-bragging 7 hipsters sobbing 6 Jews a-oying 5 stupid cunts… 4 Homophobes 3 Fucktards 2 nigger haters And that dude who pooped on a park bench On the ninth Craigslist day of Christmas, the OP gave to me… 9 spelling Nazis 8 ‘suits’ a-bragging 7 hipsters sobbing 6 Jews a-oying 5 stupid cunts… 4 Homophobes 3 Fucktards 2 nigger haters And that dude who pooped on a park bench On the tenth Craigslist day of Christmas, the OP gave to me… 10 gays a-preening 9 spelling Nazis 8 ‘suits’ a-bragging 7 hipsters sobbing 6 Jews a-oying 5 stupid cunts… 4 Homophobes 3 Fucktards 2 nigger haters And that dude who pooped on a park bench On the eleventh Craigslist day on Christmas, the OP gave to me… 11 religious hypocrites 10 gays a-preening 9 spelling Nazis 8 ‘suits’ a-bragging 7 hipsters sobbing 6 Jews a-oying 5 stupid cunts… 4 Homophobes 3 Fucktards 2 nigger haters And that dude who pooped on a park bench On the twelfth Craigslist day of Christmas, the OP gave to me… 12 taints a-tingling 11 religious hypocrites 10 gays a-preening 9 spelling Nazis 8 ‘suits’ a-bragging 7 hipsters sobbing 6 Jews a-oying 5 stupid cunts… 4 Homophobes 3 Fucktards 2 nigger haters And that dude who pooped on a park bench webmaster@craigslist.org 2005-12-22T12:05:26-05:00 Copyright 2009, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/119923643.html The 12 Craigslist Days of Christmas text What I've Learned about Philly on CL over the Past 6 Months http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/119544375.html 1. Every person posting in Rant 'n Raves- whether the OP or someone responding to a post- is a repressed homosexual. 2. The English language now contains pejoratives such as "asshat," "fucktard" and other strange, twisted combinations of the words fuck, shit, cunt, asshole, pussy, tool, retard and dimwit that are used only on CL and nowhere else. I guess it is possible that these may be used in coded messages for the time and location of drug deliveries throughout the city. 3. I'm still not exactly sure what a "BBW" is. I just know that they post a lot on Women Seeking Men and that people who don't like them are allegedly insecure fucktards who are somehow in cahoots with the mainstream media. 4. Even if a woman on CL is not a BBW (whatever that is), the person is still stone ugly to almost everyone. An example would be Jennifer Aniston. Apparently, most men on CL would find her shallow, dead inside, not all that good-looking and hook up with girls much better looking than her every single weekend. 5. The same men who bitch about Jennifer Aniston follow up their supposed weekend escapades by answering Women Seeking Men ads from BBWs and then publically bitching about their rejections on Rant 'n Raves. 6. A lot of the dating pool in Philadelphia is very cheap. I have seen pages of debate on who should properly pay for a date. The tone of these posts suggest that potential couples have come to blows in two-star restaurants over who is picking up the $13 check for two orders of cous cous and a ginger ale. I have always assumed that it was the man who should pay, and that the man should be happy about it. If a girl insists on going Dutch, then face it- you are certainly not getting any from her any time soon. 7. A woman named "Cindy" posts a LOT on Casual Encounters, and she apparently has a lot of female friends who do, too. They're ALWAYS horny and always needs a man right away for good ol' fashioned NSA sex- even if you are broke, unemployed, not good-looking, drive a '76 Pinto and live with your parents. In fact, these types of guys REALLY turn them on! Who would have thunk it? It's funny, though- their reply e-mails always direct you to a pay pornography site and they never meet up with you. Hmmmm... 8. Philadelphia must have the highest concentration of grammar school English teachers in the country. This is why the increasingly rare post on CL that is actually funny, thought-provoking or intelligent is quickly followed up by at least a dozen posts chastizing the OP for misspelling the word "the" as "teh" in the fourteenth line of his otherwise perfectly spelled post. 9. Every male in this entire city is deeply obsessed with his own taint. 10. Every woman in this entire city thinks, like, their boyfriend is, like cheating on them or there is this guy that they work with and, like, they might be interested but they can't, like, tell because he's like 45 and he has a picture of his like 275 pound wife on his desk. Would he really, like, be interested in his 23 year-old secretary who weighs only 115 pounds and has, like, size DD tits? Like, what for? 11. The following people suck: niggers, jews, spics, fags, whiteys, dagos, crackers, wops, wetbacks, chinks, pollocks, South Philadelphians, Pats fans and JM. 12. Magister Ludi really sucks, too. (He really does, though.) 13. In addition to sucking, blacks don't tip. 14. Gay men will pay you for the pleasure of sucking YOUR dick. I always thought that the sucker- not the suckee- was the one to receive payment. Imagine being paid $50 for getting a blowjob? Man, I wish I was gay! I could pay my bills much, much easier! 15. Apparently, I am gay. Every post that may follow this one will tell me so. So will the 12 e-mails in my inbox stating, "I read your post on CL. Want to get 2gether for some hot action? Signed, Hairy Mike" 16. People don't like to shit at work- and when they do, they prefer to be alone in the bathroom. 17. Every husband in Philadelphia has no sex life and cheats on their wives. Unbeknownst to them, many of their wives are also cheating on their husbands. 18. Somebody, everybody or nobody has fucked someone named "Gretchen." 19. This post- like every other in Philadelphia- has no chance of ever making Best Of. Philadelphia posters hate everybody and everything so much that they could never vote anything Best Of even it truly was worthy. When was the last Best Of from Philly? 1999? (I'm not saying this is worthy- but even it was better than War and Peace, it would not receive any votes.) 20. People who post the V-word are very annoying. I guess you guys really are a bunch of "loosers." webmaster@craigslist.org 2005-12-20T16:42:59-05:00 Copyright 2009, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/119544375.html What I've Learned about Philly on CL over the Past 6 Months text Rant: Ode to the Nice girl http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/114087824.html Ode to the Nice Girls This rant was written because a nice girl finally snapped. I've read the tribute to the nice guys; this is my response. This is my tribute to the nice girls. To the nice girls who are overlooked, who become friends and nothing more, who spend hours fixating upon their looks and their personalities and their actions because it must be they that are doing something wrong. This is for the girls who don't give it up on the first date, who don't want to play mind games, who provide a comforting hug and a supportive audience for a story they've heard a thousand times. This is for the girls who understand that they aren't perfect and that the guys they're interested in aren't either, for the girls who flirt and laugh and worry and obsess over the slightest glance, whisper, touch, because somehow they are able to keep alive that hope that maybe... maybe this time he'll have understood. This is an homage to the girls who laugh loud and often, who are comfortable in skirts and sweats and combat boots, who care more than they should for guys who don't deserve their attention. This is for those girls who have been in the trenches, who have watched other girls time and time again fake up and make up and fuck up the guys in their lives without saying a word. This is for the girls who have been there from the beginning and have heard the trite words of advice, from "there are plenty of fish in the sea," to "time heals all wounds." This is to honor those girls who know that guys are just as scared as they are, who know that they deserve better, who are seeking to find it. This is for the girls who have never been in love, but know that it's an experience that they don't want to miss out on. For the girls who have sought a night with friends and been greeted by a night of catcalling, rude comments and explicit invitations that they'd rather not have experienced. This is for the girls who have spent their weekends sitting on the sidelines of a beer pong tournament or a case race, or playing Florence Nightingale for a vomiting guy friend or a comatose crush, who have received a drunk phone call just before dawn from someone who doesn't care enough to invite them over but is still willing to pass out in their bed. This is for the girls who have left sad song lyrics in their away messages, who have tried to make someone understand through a subliminally appealing profile, who have time and time again dropped their male friend hint after hint after hint only to watch him chase after the first blonde girl in a skirt. This is for the girls who have been told that they're too good or too smart or too pretty, who have been given compliments as a way of breaking off a relationship, who have ever been told they are only wanted as a friend. This one's for the girls who you can take home to mom, but won't because it's easier to sleep with a whore than foster a relationship; this is for the girls who have been led on by words and kisses and touches, all of which were either only true for the moment, or never real to begin with. This is for the girls who have allowed a guy into their head and heart and bed, only to discover that he's just not ready, he's just not over her, he's just not looking to be tied down; this is for the girls who believe the excuses because it's easier to believe that it's not that they don't want you, it's that they don't want anyone. This is for the girls who have had their hearts broken and their hopes dashed by someone too cavalier to have cared in the first place; this is for the nights spent dissecting every word and syllable and inflection in his speech, for the nights when you've returned home alone, for the nights when you've seen from across the room him leaning a little too close, or standing a little too near, or talking a little too softly for the girl he's with to be a random hookup. This is for the girls who have endured party after party in his presence, finally having realized that it wasn't that he didn't want a relationship: it was that he didn't want you. I honor you for the night his dog died or his grandmother died or his little brother crashed his car and you held him, thinking that if you only comforted him just right, or said the right words, or rubbed his back in the right way then perhaps he'd realize what it was that he already had. This is for the night you realized that it would never happen, and the sunrise you saw the next morning after failing to sleep. This is for the "I really like you, so let's still be friends" comment after you read more into a situation than he ever intended; this is for never realizing that when you choose friends, you seldom choose those which make you cry yourself to sleep. This is for the hugs you've received from your female friends, for the nights they've reassured you that you are beautiful and intelligent and amazing and loyal and truly worthy of a great guy; this is for the despair you all felt as you sat in the aftermath of your tears, knowing that that night the only companionship you'd have was with a pillow and your teddy bear. This is for the girls who have been used and abused, who have endured what he was giving because at least he was giving something; this is for the stupidity of the nights we've believed that something was better than nothing, though his something was nothing we'd have ever wanted. This is for the girls who have been satisified with too little and who have learned never to expect anything more: for the girls who don't think that they deserve more, because they've been conditioned for so long to accept the scraps thrown to them by guys. This is what I don't understand. Men sit and question and whine that girls are only attracted to the mean guys, the guys who berate them and belittle them and don't appreciate them and don't want them; who use them for sex and think of little else than where their next conquest will be made. Men complain that they never meet nice girls, girls who are genuinely interested and compelling, who are intelligent and sweet and smart and beautiful; men despair that no good women want to share in their lives, that girls play mindgames, that girls love to keep them hanging. Yet, men, I ask you: were you to meet one of these genuinely interested, thrillingly compelling, interesting and intelligent and sweet and beautiful and smart girls, were you to give her your number and wait for her to call... and if you were to receive a call from her the next day and she, in her truthful, loyal, intelligent and straightforward nice girl fashion, were to tell you that she finds you intriguing and attractive and interesting and worth her time and perhaps material from which she could fashion a boyfriend, would you or would you not immediately call your friends to tell them of the "stalker chick" you'd met the night prior, who called you and wore her heart on her sleeve and told the truth? And would you, or would you not, refuse to make plans with her, speak with her, see her again, and once again return to the bar or club or party scene and search once more for this "nice girl" who you just cannot seem to find? Because therein lies the truth, guys: we nice girls are everywhere. But you're not looking for a nice girl. You're not looking for someone genuinely interested in your intermural basketball game, or your anatomy midterm grade, or that argument you keep having with your father; you're looking for a quick fix, a night when you can pretend to have a connection with another human being which is just as disposable as the condom you were using during it. So don't say you're on the lookout for nice girls, guys, when you pass us up on every step you take. Sometimes we go undercover; sometimes we go in disguise: sometimes when that girl in the low cut shirt or the too tight miniskirt won't answer your catcalls, sometimes you're looking at a nice girl in whore's clothing - - we might say we like the attention, we might blush and giggle and turn back to our friends, but we're all thinking the same thing: "This isn't me. Tomorrow morning, I'll be wearing a teeshirt and flannel shorts, I'll have slept alone and I'll be making my hungover best friend breakfast. See through the disguise. See me." You never do. Why? Because you only see the exterior, you only see the slutty girl who welcomes those advances. You don't want the nice girl.. so don't say you're looking for a relationship: relationships take time and energy and intent, three things we're willing to extend - - but in return, we're looking for compassion and loyalty and trust, three things you never seem willing to express. Maybe nice guys finish last, but in the race they're running they're chasing after the whores and the sluts and the easy-targets... the nice girls are waiting at the finish line with water and towels and a congradulatory hug (and yes, if she's a nice girl and she likes you, the sweatiness probably won't matter), hoping against hope that maybe you'll realize that they're the ones that you want at the end of that silly race. So maybe it won't last forever. Maybe some of those guys in that race will turn in their running shoes and make their way to the concession stand where we're waiting; however, until that happens, we still have each other, that silly race to watch, and all the chocolate we can eat (because what's a concession stand at a race without some chocolate?) Sometimes the nice girl gets sick of waiting webmaster@craigslist.org 2005-11-27T21:18:35-05:00 Copyright 2009, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/114087824.html Rant: Ode to the Nice girl text Thighmaster For Your Goat http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/101560454.html FOR TRADE: THIGHMASTER I hate to let it go after all these years of dedication to me, however I am badly in need of a goat, and as you know how the old saying goes, you can’t have your cake and eat it too. Right now my backyard mimics an unruly jungle, without the benefits of having wild animals (unless you consider rodents wild animals) and a tropical climate. After two years of trying all sorts of yard therapies, I have come to the conclusion that the only realistic solution for maintenance is to buy a goat. I can’t afford one to date, so instead I would be willing to trade my well-loved thighmaster. The thighmaster (TM from now on) for sale is in mint condition. It has helped me turned my legs to steel. We’ve rocked out through the decades to the likes of Madonna, Blondie, and all the one-hit-wonders of the 80’s, to the “Hammer”, Milli Vanilli and well into the evolved present-day pop culture. Just in case you think your body is in perfect shape (and by the way if you do, you are either way too vain or delusional) there are many other uses for this hot commodity. 1. Catapult. With the large blue loops on either side, objects such as large fruits and water balloons can be effortlessly pelted across a room or field at other persons.* *Please note: TM will not take any responsibility for any damages inflicted upon said persons. 2. Furniture Repair. Due to a very large piece of furniture being pushed through a very small door, my wounded sofa has been held up by a can of tomato paste and our good friend, the TM for the past 6 months. The spring-like quality of the TM gives the sofa a whole new character. 3. Weapon. Does this even need an explanation? So anyway, I suppose if you don’t have a goat, I could accept cash or a money order. Best offer gets the gold. webmaster@craigslist.org 2005-10-03T11:17:54-04:00 Copyright 2009, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/101560454.html Thighmaster For Your Goat text CL does the full circle http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/91570347.html Yes, CL-Philly-R&R has just done a full circle with topics. It was exactly 56 days ago that this site was flowing with the "Blacks in movie theatres" topic. It is the same idiotic topics over and over again. The progression of this site is synonymous with the progression of this city. Coincidence? Maybe, but I think it is a good indication of why this city, and the people in it, go nowhere. Has the idea of "change" or "originality" ever occured to anybody? So, here is the rundown of topics for the next few weeks. Each topic lasts about 1-2 weeks. 8/14 - 8/28: The "Blacks in the Theatre" issue 8/28 - 9/11: "The Black Tipping Debate" (followed by a special segment of "Muslim Bashing", to commemorate 9/11) 9/11 - 9/25: The conclusion of "Muslim Bashing" followed by an all new season of the "SUV Rant" 9/25 - 10/9: The heavily involved, and always entertaining, "Bicyclist/Driver Arguments" 10/9 - 10/23: The heartfelt, 6th grade mentality "Sex Polls" 10/23 - 11/6: Just in time for the Fall season. From the basements of Northeast Philly, we bring you: "The Monotonous Eagles Rants". This will also be displayed alongside reruns of "The Best Cheesesteak Follies", from the rooftop decks of South Philly. 11/6 - 11/20: A dramatic rehashing of the "Blacks in the Theatre" issue, which kicks off the beginning of the cycle, again. But the fun doesn't stop there! During this whole cycle we will have guest appearances from famous CL celebrities like: The Bush Basher (adolescents experiencing their first president) Angry Dumped Girls (or FLA: Future Lesbians of America The Bleeding Heart Liberal (naivete at its' finest) The Neocon Republican (supporting Hitler after all these years) Suburban Transplants (to rant about their first encounters with African Americans; i.e. movies, tipping, slow-walking, driving, loudness) Philly Phoreigners (people from other cities who, for reasons unknown to mankind, feel it is necessary to post on our site) Leisure Suit Larry (the random guy who asks us where and how to get laid, as if we really know) The JPIGS ( the plethora of idiots who find it hilarious to post pictures of V-words, food, penises, cats, scat and that Eric Estrada poster which says "You're Gay" (and he's pointing at you), etc., etc., etc.) The Clockstoppers (people who always think it is 420 and ask where to get it. Because law enforcement has absolutely no idea what 420 means.) And a whole lot more! Don't be upset if you miss anything. Just tune in a few weeks later when everyone will be cutting and pasting the same stuff. This-- is CNN. webmaster@craigslist.org 2005-08-17T02:11:11-04:00 Copyright 2009, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/91570347.html CL does the full circle text For Sale....Eagles Jersey http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/90352105.html After purchasing a Terrell Owens # 81 Eagles Jersey last year for $49.99, it has decided that it was way undervalued last year and if I want to wear it this year, I need to fork over another $150. To some this might seem like a reasonable request considering that I wore it all season and watched my beloved Eagles go to the Super Bowl for the first time in 20+ years. However, I also have a McNabb jersey, a Dawkins jersey and my eight month old son has a McNabb jersey as well. So you can see my predicament. If I give into the TO jersey and pay the extra $150, then the McNabb jersey will tell me that he has been to 5 straight pro bowls and has led the team to four straight NFC Title games and the Super Bowl and that he is arguably the best QB ever to dawn the midnight green. Additionally, the Dawkins jersey will tell me that he has a 10 year career with the Eagles and has anchored one of the top defenses in the league for a decade and that the reason the secondary always been so successful(see B. Taylor, T. Vincent, L. Sheppard, S. Brown, and M. Lewis) has been because of him. If that happens, I am not out the extra $150 for TO, $300 for mine and my son's McNabb jersey, and $150 for my Dawkins jersey. That is a total of $600 and that completely blows my jersey cap money and will not allow me to get a Kearse or Westbrook jersey. Therefore, I am willing to trade/ sell the T.O. jersey. The asking price for the Terrell Owens jersey to sell is $100. I know that it is not what it is looking for, however it is well worth it for you. Just think about the excitement you will have wearing the jersey while you rout for or against the Birds this year. If it has similiar numbers to last year, that is less than $10 a TD or 100 yards receiving, well worth the money. You could probably renegotiate a new long term deal with the jersey that will allow you to enjoy it for years to come. The asking price in order to trade for the jersey is 5 bottles of Advil since I am sick and tired of hearing all of the complaining and whining. I would honestly prefer to trade the jersey than sell it as my head still hurts from hearing what happened yesterday. webmaster@craigslist.org 2005-08-11T09:26:17-04:00 Copyright 2009, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/90352105.html For Sale....Eagles Jersey text my girl and my fish http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/81741409.html A man has a right to some sense of peace, and sometimes a fish too. To explain, two days ago she brought me a surprise. I had mentioned wanting a pet, like a dog, someone to howl at the moon with me and to guard my alcohol. She misunderstands and brings me one of her two beta fish. So now I have a fish. I am a fan of horror movies and she enjoys foreign language, so the fish's name is a compromise, "la monstroe", translating into "the zombie". So last night I arrive home from seeing a zombie movie and I am all by myself, except for the fish, which is usually the way I like it. I grabbed a beer from the fridge and I wanted to sing some songs or make interesting conversations with shadows but then I remember the fish. I am a fish person now, a man of great responsibility. "C'mon Arnold, we're going out!" By this point I have renamed the fish Arnold. So it's just the two of us on the front porch and already past midnight. I'm smoking and telling the fish about the wonders of beer. "You see Dwight (I had renamed the fish Dwight); you drink this, and all of a sudden all your problems melt away like a hound in a kennel fire. Wait, that's not a good example, but just take my word for it Enson." (I had renamed the fish Enson) The highlight of the night must have been when that guy walking his dog walked by and I challenged his dog to fight my fish. He did not accept, therefore he must have been scared. Me and the fish felt good about that. I renamed the fish Champ. And the beer was cold. Mornings catch up too soon for me these days. 35 missed calls, two text messages and three voicemails. The girl always made me pay for it when I leave my phone all by itself. And 5 minutes later she is already walking up my stairs. "Whattup shnookums" She has a vicoden haze in her movements and every word is pained. She is searching my room for contraband. I am a victim in my own home! "Where's the alcohol?!" she screams. "I drank it all, the fish told me too!" I made a mental note to rename the fish 'Button'. "How much?!" "Eighteen gallons!" I may have exaggerated, but I was angry. Where was my peace if not in my own room? "Get in bed, you look like shit." "I took too much vicoden last night." "Just get in bed." So she did, and that was nice, searching once again for the peace which I had before her arrival. But she's stubborn as hell, and demands she cannot rest at my place, so against my better judgment I let her go home again. But she's on the phone, as always, and we're fighting again, as always. I was trying to break plans with her so I could spend some time with my family and she is flipping out. My aunt and uncle are going back to Florida in two days and I wanted to see them. But she is crazy, and making up crazy words, and I was beginning to feel a panic attack. "Calm down!" she tries to tell me, but I don't want to calm down. She had worked me into hysterics. She wants to talk about everything and I can't stand all the meaningless words, they just frighten and mock me. "Everything is going to be fine," she says trying to sooth me. "I don't want everything to be all right. I want buildings to collapse and planes to crash! I want there to be more orphans and homeless people! I am so upset now and you won't leave me in peace!" Luckily she was already home and passing out from medication and sickness, so that got me off the hook for spending like a zillion more hours with her on the phone. "Fuck this shit Freddy," (I renamed the fish Freddy). I didn't want to have a girlfriend or a family or even a single friend in the universe after that. I was so upset and dizzy, and screw everything else. Out came the whiskey. Just me, the bottle, and the fish. Drinking makes me a shitty thinker, so I have forgotten the fish's name very early into this latest episode of binging, but that didn't stop him from making turns in his little plastic cube. He swam up, he swam down, he was wonderful. The drink was wonderful. My air conditioning was wonderful. Everything was so wonderful, and then my eyes closed. The events that happened next are not so clear. But even a person in a completely sober state or reckoning would have a hell of a time keeping up with this tornado. I remember screaming, absolute bottom of the throat shrieking. And I thought, well this isn't peaceful at all. She had come back, found me and the bottle. I was the only one in bed though. There was no snuggling or kisses, or any of that good stuff. She was screaming, and pouring my wonderful bottle of whiskey all over everything! My floor, my clothes, my bed. Then in a dramatic Tour de' force she flips open the window and hurls the bottle out the window. "I can't believe you threw out that good drink." I was getting up and stretching out after my initial blast of adrenaline had wretched me from bed. "WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING THIS TO YOURSELF!" She screamed. "Why are you doing this to me?" I asked back. Then she hit me in the face, twice. Later she admitted that she really hurt her hand doing so, and that kind of made me proud. I asked her to hit me again, she obliged. It kind of felt nice, I haven't been physically assaulted in a long time. Naw, but I didn't hit her, I came close to later on, but I haven't gotten to that part yet. So we're screaming, and she is throwing everything she can get her hands on at me. But I just keep on telling her things she doesn't want to hear on purpose because I was getting deeply disturbed. "Don't you love me?" she asks, "Less and less every day!" I scream. Which really isn't true, because in hindsight this fight was pretty fun. Usually we argue, just talking, and that is so draining. Now things were airborne, I was getting bruises on my arms, and my face was still sore; it all seemed so much more productive like this. For some reason I think she could pick up that hurting me really wasn't doing the trick to hurt me enough. She ran off and I found her in the kitchen cutting up my license. "This is so you can't buy any more alcohol!" "Dammit woman, you're nuts absolutely nuts." I admired her thinking, but any of the places I buy alcohol from already know me from frequent visits, nice try though honey. Now my wallet is a mess, and I have to go stand in line at the RMV. I think I will take her, just so she has to go through that torture with me. But I am trying to put back my wallet, and my hung over mind, just trying to get an understanding of what the fuck was going on. Everything was so perfect only 15 minutes earlier. Now everything was a mess, and everyone was yelling. I got back to my room and I noticed among the missing and wrecked, that there was no water in the fish bowel. "Baby, where's the fish?" "I flushed him down the toilet!" "YOU FLUSHED HIM DOWN THE TOILET?!?!? WHAT KIND OF FUCKING CRAZY BITCH ARE YOU?!? HOW CAN YOU FLUSH A FISH DOWN THE TOILET?!?!?" Sure enough, I checked, and there was heaps of fish gravel still at the bottom of my toilet bowel. Now I was ready to hit her. That was my companion, my amigo. Let it be said that I believe his last name before death was Samson. But I'm too much of a pushover, I can't hit her, what the heck is that going to solve. Even though she looked like she was having a good time when she hit me. "I'll be back at six, (it was five at the time) sleep and sober up." "I'll let you hit me again if you agree to come back at seven." "I'll be back at six!" And then she was gone. What the hell had happened? It was like a thunder strike, or some other act of god that came down to destroy my little room in my little life. It's all I really want, just a little room all to myself, I don't want to bother anyone else, just mind my business and go on trying to save my sanity like the rest of everyone. I locked every damn door and window in the place. I was still wearing my pajamas, and I just threw on an old shirt, probably soaked in whisky along with everything else. I grabbed a pillow and just walked out of there, I walked all the way down to the park. "Why is everyone else so crazy?" I thought. Why are there younger brothers, and clouds with letters in them? Why is a tree only a tree? And what if a tree was more than a tree? Why can't the ice-cream man deliver? And where was my peace? I looked for it under a small tree in the park. Just me, the pillow and no crazy woman around making noises and flushing friends down the toilet. webmaster@craigslist.org 2005-06-30T02:01:18-04:00 Copyright 2009, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/81741409.html my girl and my fish text RE: Best Self Pleasure Method http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/80712647.html I've got to hand it to the Original Poster. Using a blood pressure sleeve as a masturbatory device is a very creative technique. I feel that it is incumbent upon me to share my favorite alternative masturbation technique with the males of Craig's List as well. Using a very complex mathematical formula (Villanova grad- Physics and Statistics dual major), I was able to make the determination that heating an unskinned cantelope in the microwave for six minutes and thirty-two seconds will cause the interior of the cantelope to warm to the average basal body temperature of a woman's vagina. After removing the cantelope from the microwave and skinning it, I carve out a small hole using a potato peeler and let my erect penis do the rest of the work! As you penetrate the warm, soft, fruity flesh of the cantelope, you will find that it feels EXACTLY like sinking into a real woman! And even better, YOU'RE in complete control of the cantelope! I usually climax into the cantelope as I call out the name of my hottest ex-girlfriend, Heather. Heather was very, very hot (GREAT ass) but she was so annoying (even in bed) that it completely spoiled her hottness- including that hot ass, which I would sniff and lick like a rabid dog whenever I got the opportunity. Since a cantelope by its very nature is incapable of verbal communication, this most precious piece of produce can ultimately sometimes be more satisfying. My Catholic education taught me some real values, and I hestitate to waste ANY food products while millions starve in both the Third World and industrialized nations. Consequently, I make sure to chop up the cantelope after I masturbate into it and make a fruit salad. I usually add some watermelon, strawberries, grapes, blueberries, starfruit and sliced kiwi in with the "treated" cantelope. (CAUTIONARY NOTE: Watermelons serve as very poor masturbationary devices. Aside from being too large for most microwaves, the seeds can cause serious injury to your penis. Try explaining that to an emergency room physician! Additionaly, the flesh of a watermelon begins to reek as it warms in ways that an actual, live vulva never could. I've performed oral sex on girls who have been jogging in 90 degree weather after sunbathing on the beach all day, and watermelon smells MUCH worse.) After garnishing with romaine lettuce and that "other" cream- Cool Whip- I serve the fruit salad (affectionatly referred to as BLFS, or "Blown Load Fruit Salad") to my roommates and female friends, who have no idea that they are actually eating my blown load. I feel guilty about serving it to my roommates (especially when they ask for some BLFS by name and have no idea as to what they are actually referring), but I feel funny telling them not to eat it because I used the cantelope to empty my testicle. (Yes, I have only one- motorbike accident when I was 12.) Plus, it WOULD look rather suspicious if only the women availed themselves of the fruit salad that I offered to all of my guests. Serving Blown Load Fruit Salad does have one MAJOR benefit- it's a huge confidence booster when I see a girl out at the bar who has eaten a generous helping of this most seminal recipe. I am better able to hold a confident and clever conversation with even the most stunningly beautiful women, armed with the knowledge that she thoroughly enjoyed a clandestine serving of my sperm. To date, I have scored 3 hook-ups that are fully attributable to my increased confidence while conversing with these women. (Funny story- one of them remarked that I have the worst tasting sperm that they have ever swallowed. She didn't say that the first time around!) I would be remiss if I did not advocate safe sex with the wares found at your local grocer. Condoms will protect you from various fruit-borne illnesses. (If you are really determined to serve Blown Load Fruit Salad afterward, you can just shake out the condom into the cantelope.) There are reports that tribes in Zimbabwe found that their penises would become inflamed and attract insects after a similar ritual was performed using the Green Cabasawa Melonfruit that is native to that region. Its composition is similar to the California cantelope in several respects, and you do not want a trail of fruit flies zipping around your crotch as you walk around the neighborhood. It is not only unsightly, but they really start to take a chunk out of your peter after a while. Also, be VERY careful about using other fruit varieties for sexual gratification- the flesh of many produce items becomes much too hot even at relatively low cook times. I once suffered second degree burns during an encounter with a deceptively warm pineapple. I've found that the mathematical formula (which I cannot reproduce here, due to all of the necessary characters and Greek symbols not being available) only works for a cantelope. (Wait- I used the word "reproduce." Get it- rePRODUCE.) In any event, I post this because it's much easier to buy a cantelope for most guys than to obtain a blood pressure sleeve. Now fuck that fruit with a smile! P.S. I have copyrighted calling out "Heather! Heather!" while making love to a cantelope. Please use the name of another female if you wish to avoid receiving a nastygram from my attorney. Penalties for infringement can be severe. webmaster@craigslist.org 2005-06-24T14:45:04-04:00 Copyright 2009, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/80712647.html RE: Best Self Pleasure Method text RANT: Improper Blowjob Technique http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/75088659.html This is really becoming ridiculous. I am tired of hooking up with attractive women who, though they have been on this Earth for two to three decades, don't have the first idea on how to properly smoke a pole. This is especially egregious when I have just spent 30-60 minutes getting excited bewteen their beautiful, tender thighs taking orders (and my arms, neck and tongue are now completely numb, stiff and/or have pins and needles) and I've let them smoke a generous helping of my good weed. In addition to my keys, wallet, cell phone, guitar picks, and condoms, I now carry a yellow hankerchief on my person at all times. I also have one stored just underneath my futon. The next time I begin to receive another piss poor blowjob, I am going to yank the woman's head from my member, stand up, put on a black and white stripped shirt I recently purchased, throw the yellow hankerchief into the air and bellow the following in a loud voice so that all within at least 25 feet can hear me: "We have multiple infractions on the play. Personal foul, on the offense, tugging, pulling, sucking and slopping on my penis in reckless disregard of whether or not I may actually be enjoying myself. Illegal touching, using teeth on my member and stroking it well below my dickhead, where the penis is not one bit sesitive in any way, except in a woman's misinformed imagination. The player is EJECTED!" There will be no further review of my ruling. You will then be so taken aback by this display of me standing naked (except for my black and white stripped shirt, and probably my socks) and gesticulating along with my announcement that you will promptly leave my bedroom to the chuckles of both myself and my roomates, never to return. (Unless I'm THAT wasted and no one else is around. Or you just want anal.) If you are in need of pointers, read on. Otherwise, have a nice day. =============================================================================== First, (assuming the man is on his back) take the pole into your hand and pull it straight up into the air. Don't pull it too far back- if it breaks off, there is certainly going to be some trouble and you may find yourself charged with negligent manslaughter after I bleed to death. Firmly gripping the base of the shaft with one hand, then place your ENTIRE mouth around the upright penis and slowly suck to an area AT LEAST 1"-2" inches below the dickhead. This is where the penis is most sensitive. If you concentrate exclusively on the dickhead, it will be too sensitive and the BJ will be more torture than pleasure. Avoid this, especially if you don't want me to keep sucking on your clit after you come in my mouth and you are writhing atop my bed because of the sensitivity. After my stiff 7" (actually, 6.8", but if you are experienced enough to tell the difference you must be carrying at least 2 diseases and you shouldn't be in my bedroom) has been sufficiently made wet by your mouth slowly moving up and down my pole, it's time to introduce the hand into the equation. You instinctively put your hand over your mouth to project your voice to distances over 20 yards away in the event of emergency, such as, "Hey! That fucking dickhead from the Parking Authority who just earned his GED is about to write you a ticket for double-parking while you bring your groceries into your apartment!" Use the same technique here- place your hand over your mouth, just between your lips and nose, and continue to suck! Both your hand and soft lips are now gliding up and down my dickhead and shaft, providing me with indescrible pleasure. (If not for this, I wouldn't be hanging out with you in the first place.) Now DON'T actually yell out while my blessed member is in your mouth (especially to someone from the Parking Authority) but note that the excitement could be increased even further if you would moan and purr like you are enjoying my cock more than that box of chocolates that you keep dipping into despite your vow to be on your tenth straight diet. (It doesn't matter if you actually ARE enjoying it- sometimes licking your snatch is like licking the inside of someone's nose with a sinus infection, yet I don't complain.) Do NOT- I repeat, NOT- ever stroke the cock where the shaft meets the balls. There is absolutely no sensitivity in that area. Your hand properly belongs over your mouth. Even worse is when a woman starts pulling on the scrotum in that area, thinking you might enjoy it. How about I try pulling your ears from your face? It would be just as sexually pleasureable. If your technique is proper, most men will be morphed into a two-minute tiger. The cock will stiffen within minutes to a degree greater than the body of the City's 231st shooting victim of the year down at the morgue. Ejaculation is now imminent! It is VERY important that you continue sucking for at least 3-4 seconds following the first cumblasts spraying the back of your throat. This will ensure that the involuntary trigger reflex in my penis will begin. Like an AK-47 in the hands of Iraqi insurgents, properly triggering off my pole will ensure that it will keep firing and firing until the entire contents of my burdened balls effortlessly make my way into your mouth in one fell swoop and the 12,000,000,000 potential children begin the journey down your esophogus to their final destination of swimming around in your stomach. If you pull away too soon, the penis will not successfully trigger and will not continue shooting itself off without some extra effort on your part. It's best to get it all out at once so I don't have to awkwardly begin pleading and screaming, "Omigod! Omigod! Baby, there's more! There's more! Keep sucking! Keep sucking!" at the height of ecstasy. Bonus points if you flick your tongue at the base of my dickhead while I'm exploding in your mouth. After you are confident that all of the sperm has been drained from my testicles (or, my hand releases its vice-grip on the back of your head- whichever comes first), then you may remove your mouth from my penis and slowly lick up and down my still-twiching shaft. Lick the balls, too- they LOVE you at this moment. Then, pull my shaft back up toward you and slowly, softly suck for a few more seconds to top everything off. You can have anything you want from my refridgerator as I quickly fall off to sleep. webmaster@craigslist.org 2005-05-24T13:24:40-04:00 Copyright 2009, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/75088659.html RANT: Improper Blowjob Technique text Please Stop Stalking My Sister http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/70731550.html Hey You, You know who you are, the guy my sister broke up with over three years ago for painfully obvious reasons. As much as we've enjoyed reading your bi-weekly emails (and forwarding them to all of our friends and family members) you are starting to cross the line from past mistake to future restraining order. I have to admit, your emails are fantastic pieces of work. (John Hinckley apparently having become quite the muse) They are the perfect blend of expletives and pleading with just enough freshly ground lamenting and a touch of creepiness. There's nothing like a steaming hot cup of stalker to keep you up all night with your back against the wall. You obviously spend hours writing, revising, and having your emails proofread by your fellow stalkers friends. What a shame you finally excel at something and it turns out to be illegal, curse those anti-stalking laws! Here's an idea, why not move to D.C. and start lobbying against them? Hey, why not move tomorrow? Because regardless of your immense talent, it's still time for a new hobby or you'll have to clear out your palmpilot to schedule in your court dates. Not that we aren't happy to hear from you. Your emails are wonderful reminders of the way you would sequester yourself in another room at family dinners and sulk until my sister devoted her full attention to you. Or the endearing messages you left, post break up, where you described the tragic demise of my sister's antique desk under your axe wielding hands. To quote you, "that desk is no longer with us." We often ask ourselves why, if the desk is no longer with us, you still are?!?!?! Your erratic and often scary behavior really added excitement to our lives, not a day went by when we didn't fear for my sister's well-being. Good times, good times. But I digress, the point of my post is this, Please Stop Stalking My Sister. At the beginning of your last creative effort you said that you had decided that my sister had stopped using that email address. Did you ever think that maybe, just maybe, she still uses it but doesn't respond to you because she doesn't want to talk to you? Somehow, some way, over the past three and a half years, my sister managed to get over you and move on with her life. Please, feel free to do the same as soon as possible. Also, please do not create any more metaphors involving my sister and accordions, you've ruined polka music for me forever. Anybody can email except for you webmaster@craigslist.org 2005-04-28T21:25:02-04:00 Copyright 2009, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/70731550.html Please Stop Stalking My Sister text The Open Toed Shoe Pledge http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/68406924.html Place your right hand over your heart and repeat after me: As a member of the Cute Girl Sisterhood, I pledge to follow the Rules when I wear sandals and other open-toe shoes: I promise to always wear sandals that fit. My toes will not hang over and touch the ground, nor will my heels spill over the backs. And the sides and tops of my feet will not protrude out between the straps. I will go polish-free or vow to keep the polish fresh, intact and chip-free. I will not cheat and just touch up my big toe. I will sand down any mounds of skin before they turn hard and yellow. I will shave the hairs off my big toe. I won't wear pantyhose even if my misinformed girlfriend, coworker, mother, sister tells me the toe seam really will stay under my toes if I tuck it there. If a strap breaks, I won't duct-tape, pin, glue or tuck it back into place hoping it will stay put. I will get my shoe fixed or toss it. I will not live in corn denial; rather I will lean on my good friend Dr. Scholl's if my feet need him. I will resist the urge to buy jelly shoes at Payless for the low, low price of $4.99 even if my feet are small enough to fit into the kids' sizes This is out of concern for my safety, and the safety of others. No one can walk properly when standing in a pool of sweat and I would hate to take someone down with me as I fall and break my ankle. I will take my toe ring off toward the end of the day if my toes swell and begin to look like Vienna sausages. If I have been privy to the magic that is Foot Soup; I will share that knowledge and experience with the non-initiated. I will be brutally honest with my girlfriend / sister / coworker when she asks me if her feet are too ugly to wear sandals. Someone has to tell her that her toes are as long as my fingers and no sandal makes creepy feet look good. I will promise if I wear flip flops that I will ensure that they actually flip and flop, making the correct noise while walking and I will swear NOT to slide or drag my feet while wearing them. I will promise to go my local beauty school at least once per season and have a real pedicure (they are about $20 and worth EVERY penny). I will promise to throw away any white/off-white sandals that show signs of wear...nothing is tackier than dirty white sandals.. webmaster@craigslist.org 2005-04-14T11:40:43-04:00 Copyright 2009, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/68406924.html The Open Toed Shoe Pledge text You date me, You date Jesus - m4w http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/67545961.html I am looking for me someone to love as much as I love Jesus, but obviously in a different way. Since Jesus has been in my life I have found nothing to be impossible. I can do everything and anything. Except for the NYTimes crossword puzzle (Jesus can only help me so much). I am looking for a woman ready to bear somewhere between 5-10 children. I will always work, always paint the house, water the lawn, and even cook sometimes. I just ask that you dust because I am allergic. I am 5'11 with brown hair, slight build, no tatoos, one birthmark that looks like Jay Leno on my right buttocks (so I'm told). I have had sex before but it was with a woman who said awful things that made me cry. I do not like to make love again unless its for children. Oh the things she said and the way she took the lords name improper. Just bad dirty!! I would like you to be yourself as God mad you and Jesus supervised. You can wear hats if you choose. I don't mind a stutter if you have one. Don't be a blinker though. I don't like when people blink too much or squeeze their eyes. I feel like they don't want to SEE JESUS. Sorry I got excited. I would like to know when you found Jesus and where you found him. I would like to know your favorite non-confrontational television broadcast and what snack you eat while watching it. Please email me and I can take you out for a meatball parmigiana, my favorite (you can eat whatever you want but I'll be eating that). Bless you. webmaster@craigslist.org 2005-04-08T15:31:51-04:00 Copyright 2009, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/67545961.html You date me, You date Jesus - m4w text Free concert...bring a blanket! http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/64913150.html Just wanted to let all of my fellow RnR'ers know that, right now, there is a free concert going on in the alley between the 32XX block of Chatham and Gaul Sts. Please bring a blanket to sit upon so that your day of musical entertainment will be that much more enjoyable. Performing today and today ONLY will be the infamous LOUDMOUTHED BARKING FUCKING BLACK DOG. He will be accompanied by his equally retarded yardmate the FAT BROWN STUPID BARKING DOG. They have been performing since 8AM today, so I don't know how much longer they will be here (whereas I am considering cutting out their vocal chords). As of right now, you have missed their rendition of the entire musical scores from Phantom of the Opera, Annie - The Musical, and (ironically enough) Cats. From what I understand, still to come is Rent and The Producers with Tommy as the Grand Finale. Please don't miss this opportunity to listen to these two fuckers wail away as their owner sits in her house completely oblivious to the musical phenomena occurring outside of her window. Also, rumor has it that there will be (if they live this long) an accompaniment by the local "in heat" cats of the area. Don't miss it...they may not be here long! PS: I'm sure all of the tree-hugging, vegan, animal rights activists will be all over me for threatening these two beasts. So, I shall tell you ahead of time, GO FUCK YOURSELF! :-) this is in or around Port Richmond webmaster@craigslist.org 2005-03-22T10:43:12-05:00 Copyright 2009, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/64913150.html Free concert...bring a blanket! text South Philly Hilarity http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/64366795.html After five minutes of straight shouting I finally moved to the window to check it out. I assumed it was probably just the 12-year-old prostitot from next door in a heated discussion with one of her many customers, but no, I see instead another neighbor's kid. By kid I mean maybe 17. (It's so hard to pinpoint ages of Italians due to their rather short stature and their excessive hair growth which seems to begin around age 5). At any rate, this man/child's nose is bleeding profusely - obviously broken. He is screaming at someone in the rowhouse. Suddenly, he leaps up his three-step stoop and disappers inside. Thinking the show is over, I return to taking bong rips and watching "Pardon the Interruption." Seconds after sitting back down, I hear a loud crash and glass falling to the street. Rushing back to my post, I tilt the blind to see the same Man/Child standing on top of a car and hitting it as hard as he can with an alumunim baseball bat. Now picture this with me for a minute. A 5'3" hairy Italian guy with blood pouring out of his nose is standing on the roof of a car slamming it with a bat. In about three minutes, the previously tricked out Civic looks like a roadblock in Iraq. Eventually man/child starts to tire. It looks like he just might be done swinging. He takes a quick breather, preparing for what looks like the final blow. Out of nowhere I hear a pop and man/child grabs his neck. Another pop and man/child jumps of the car and crouches down behind it. Out of the corner of my eye I see movement from the front of the rowhome. It's man/child's older brother slowly creeping out the door with a pellet gun and a garbage can lid as a shield. Unfortunatly for the viewers of this fantastic new reality show, Man/Child's bro., let's call him Vinny (which is probably actually his name) is shirtless, proudly displaying his out of control back hair. So back to the story. We now have a showdown in the street. Man/child makes the first move and takes a swing which Vinny blocks expertly with his trash can lid. Man/child is now wide open and Vinny pops him with a bee bee from three feet away right to the gut. This goes on for about five minutes while the neighbors are betting (really, side bets were being taken) on the victor. Form around the corner three black gansta types appear. As they walk by the fighting ring (actually a little side street called Wilder St.) one of them foolishly makes a comment. Wrong time, wrong place for that. A neighbor hears this and promptly takes a swing at the guy. All three black guys stop and start talking shit. Now it's really on. To wrap this long story up, three black gansta dudes are sprinting down Dickenson St. with about 30 Italians following. Vinny is runing and stopping to fire some pellets from time to time like a WWII soldier. This is a completely true story. It was the craziest 20 minutes of action-packed reality that I've seen. Gotta love South Philly. EXPLANATIONS: I got the scoop later that day. Man/Child's nose was broken by Vinny b/c Man/Child was stealing Vinny's Ectasy. Man/Child was so pissed about his broken nose, he destroyed Vinny's ride. Black ganstas were just in the wrong place and the wrong time and said some stupid shit. Rumor has it that neighborhood caught up to ganstas around 8th St. and administered a vicious beatdown. webmaster@craigslist.org 2005-03-18T13:33:35-05:00 Copyright 2009, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/64366795.html South Philly Hilarity text Can someone tell me where I can get a secret lesbian decoder ring? http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/61801750.html An Open letter to lesbians: I understand that this is an unusual request but can you please tell a straight man where he might be capable of purchasing a secret lesbian decoder ring? Here is my dilemma. About nine years ago I met the woman of my dreams. After dating for two we were married and had five years of what I thought was wedded bliss. Then, unknown lesbian wife informed me that we needed to talk. Lesbian wife proceeded to tell me that she “thought” she was a lesbian. Sorry lesbian wife but it wasn’t so much talking for me as it was listening to fourteen years of repressed sexual frustration. It turns out that she IS in fact a lesbian. Strike ONE for me! Cut to the future. After walking around in a haze for the past two years wondering how I could not have known that my wife was a lesbian and after having numerous meaningless sexual encounters to prove that lesbian wife’s sexuality was not the result of my inability to perform. I found a woman in which I have become quite smitten. After many drinks, a Big Head Todd and the Monsters show (who completely rocked!) we ended up at Silk City Diner. We were sitting at the counter chatting about how much the BHTM show rocked and I became totally freaked out by the stalking dyke waitress staring at my chick. (Sorry dykes, but she was a total dyke! Boy haircut, sleeves of tattoos and overalls, etc.) I might not have noticed given my euphoric state but dyke waitress just stood there wiping one spot on the Formica countertop until she almost drilled a hole to China. I went to the bathroom and dyke waitress took the opportunity to pounce on then unknown lesbian date. I came back from the bathroom and I saw the uncomfortable exchange of napkin notes at which point dyke waitress and lesbian date became quite uncomfortable with the awkward situation at hand. Strike TWO for me! Now, I don’t blame you lesbian date, how were you to know that I had so much experience in picking up awkward exchanges due to being married to lesbian wife? I don’t blame you dyke waitress, my lesbian date was smoking HOT and I would hit on her too! I am sorry dyke waitress that I didn’t leave you a tip but I felt that if you can score my lesbian date, you might owe me a tip! So, I return to my original question. Would a caring lesbian be willing to sell me a secret lesbian decoder ring or at the very least, a pair of secret lesbian revealing sunglasses? I am at a loss! I have listened to Amazon country very closely and I have also played Melissa Etheridge and Indigo Girls CD’s both forward and backward to no avail. I promise I will not break any lesbian code of honor. I am just looking to sort out future dates because it is becoming very clear to me that without the assistance of some sort of James Bond spy equipment I am unable to distinguish between straight and gay women. For all the straight women who might stumble upon this request. Yes, I am single and available. Yes, I am handsome and charming. At least that is what the lesbian women from my past have confirmed! Thank you for understanding my request. this is in or around Silk City Diner webmaster@craigslist.org 2005-03-01T11:01:37-05:00 Copyright 2009, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/61801750.html Can someone tell me where I can get a secret lesbian decoder ring? text 12 Things http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/59296716.html 1. I have a mirror in my shower, people thing it's for shaving (and it is), but it's REALLY for making shampoo horn and monster faces at myself every morning. 2. I have a dent puller suction cup thing I bought to pull a dent on my car, worked great, so now I pull dents out of stranger's cars when they're not looking, I find this quite satisfying. 3. I wear Sponge Bob boxer shorts under my business suit, and NO, I'm not gay. 4. I'm in my forties, but I still listen to music that angry fourteen-year-old boys like, Slipknot, Lamb of God, Static-X, Pantera......REAL LOUD. 5. I send magazine subscriptions (pre-paid) to people to bug them, I figure out the magazine they'd hate the most and that's the one they get. Ebony to my racist friend, BBW to my ex-wife, Playboy to my friend with the super jealous wife, Hot Rod to my environmetal friends. 6. On the weekends, I dress like a bum (torn shorts, baseball hat, Timex watch) and drive my old muscle car. I hit on the most stuck-up women I see, if they reject me, I get a weird pleasure in knowing that I'm really a successful Architect who could buy and sell them. Silly girls. 7. I flirt with little old ladies, not in an overt way; I get a kick out of how randy of a sense of humor most of them have. I think some of them would go for it if I wanted. 8. I have a collection of Hot Wheels and Japanese toys that is worth thousands of dollars. 9. I still eat Cocoa Puffs and watch cartoons in a tent in my living room sometimes. 10. The oldest woman I have ever slept with is 35, I find most women my age boring and controlling, I am single (Duh). I don't look my age, I'm pretty hot. 11. I put bumper stickers on people's cars without their knowledge, "I love my dog" ones, Kerry stickers on conservatives, those little gay pride flags or pink triangles on REAL uptight people's cars, and again, NO, I'm not gay but I work with a bunch of gay people. 12. I tell strange dogs to "get the kitty" and watch them freak out. You may think I'm immature, but I'm really happy. webmaster@craigslist.org 2005-02-11T03:29:39-05:00 Copyright 2009, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/59296716.html 12 Things text An open letter to the insufferable bitches in my neighboring cubicles: http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/57915656.html I have a nice life - a nice home, a wonderful, nurturing boyfriend, a good relationship with my family, and a thriving social life. I have a job that I’m good at and that I actually enjoy… except for two things: You, the judgmental shrew in the cubicle to my right. And you, too, the hipper-than-thou scenester in the cubicle to my left. Boy, do you two drive me fucking crazy. Listening to your pointless, misguided drivel for eight hours a day is making me insane, especially because I’m too polite (read: wussy) to tell you how I really feel. So, here are the comebacks to all of your bullshit that I was too timid to say to your idiot faces this week. MONDAY: 9:00 AM - Righty, you come in, proudly clad in a new jacket. It is white satin, with red and green cuffs. On the back, the word “Italia” is embroidered in green script, and the map of Italy, in green and red is below. You tell us how it was a present from your mother-in-law. You tell us, for the gazillionth time, how your in-laws “are, like, off the BOAT.” What I wanted to say: “Righty, you are not Italian. Your husband is, but you are not. I know your maiden name. You are a full-blood Irish Catholic. I’ve met your husband on several occasions, and although his parents are ‘like, off the BOAT,’ he doesn’t feel the need to pronounce words like ‘mozzarella,’ ‘minestrone,’ and ‘ricotta’ with a thick Italian accent. While I respect your assimilation into your husband’s culture, I shudder to think how your poor Irish parents must feel. Because, I repeat, YOU ARE NOT ITALIAN. And you can wear satin jackets circa 1987 and gold Italian horn necklaces all you want, but it’s not changing that fact. Fungu.” 2:15 PM - The new CSR walks by, wearing a black turtleneck and jeans. Lefty, you are infuriated because you wore the same exact outfit on Friday. “Everyone here copies the way I dress,” you whine, and start surfing eBay to find a pair of vintage cowboy boots in your size. Ninety minutes later, you are still online, and when you get a new account, you whine to our supervisor that you are too busy. Your account gets reassigned - to me. What I wanted to say: “Lefty, if you want people to stop dressing like you, you better cough up some dough and start buying some haute couture. That outfit that you wore on Friday? You bought that shirt at the Gap. The jeans are Levis. Who DOESN’T own a black turtleneck and jeans? You’re not as original and hip as you think. So you have a short, shaggy, red hairdo, live in a loft in Fishtown, go dancing at Makin’ Time, and listen to the Scissor Sisters… so do about a thousand other people in this city. You‘re no different from anyone else. And one more thing: just because the guy on your left didn‘t know that the band ‘!!!’ is pronounced ‘Chk Chk Chk‘ it doesn‘t make him an idiot.” TUESDAY: 11:30 AM - Although I am listening to Pavement, at full volume, with headphones on, I can still hear the divas blaring from your cube, Righty… Shania Twain, Celine Dion, Cher for chrissakes. I take off my headphones and ask you to turn it down so that I can make a quick phone call. Apparently, you listen in on the whole thing, because as I end the message to my boyfriend with an “I love you” and hang up, you say, “Aww, that’s sweet. Now when is that man going to put a ring on your finger?” When I tell you that I’m in no rush to get married, you say, “You may think that now, sweetie, but your clock is ticking, you know.” What I wanted to say: “Righty, go to hell. I’m 27 years old and if I ever decide to have babies, I have plenty of time. Right now, I’m having a ball being single and childless. I live in a beautiful apartment, blissfully alone. I travel three or four times a year, sometimes at a moment’s notice. I can go out drinking until three in the morning without worrying about a babysitter and I can spend an entire Sunday naked on the couch, eating Cookie Crisp from the box, without making a bad impression on anyone. You’re a wife and mother - good for you. But some of us want different things and that doesn’t make us worthless or irresponsible. And if you eve call me ‘sweetie‘ again, I will punch you in the throat.” 4:15 PM - Another new CSR, a woman in her late forties, comes to my desk to give me a phone message that I’d missed. She is wearing khakis and a lilac sweater set, has a perm, and is very sweet. Lefty, you glare at her and as she walks away, you hiss “What a square… who wears sweater sets anymore?” What I wanted to say: “First of all, Lefty, are you a beatnik now? Who calls someone a ‘square?’ Are you going to start ironing your hair and quoting ‘Howl,’ too? And second of all, this woman is your mother’s age. Cut her a break.” WEDNESDAY: 9:00 AM - Lefty, you and I are both wearing v-neck sweaters from H&M. Mine is black and yours is gray, but you scowl and say, “Oh, nice sweater” with venom in your voice. Your gaze travels down to my black suede boots that I bought last month and you say, “I used to have boots like that… back when they were in style.” What I wanted to say: “Go fuck yourself.” 9:15 AM - Righty, you have a new photo of your toddler daughter who somehow, I must admit, ended up being adorable. You spend the next hour and a half showing everyone who walks by the picture of her making poopy on the potty and twenty minutes after that trying to find space on your desk for the frame. Because you have TWELVE other photos of her, clogging up your cube. For the rest of the day, your incessant jabbering is peppered with statements like the following: “Oh, I like your skirt, pink is my daughter’s favorite color,” “Ooh, you’re eating popcorn, my daughter loves popcorn,” “Is that a SpongeBob screensaver? My daughter knows all the words to the theme song,” and “Oh, that’s a cute picture of your baby, did I tell you that I’m taking my daughter to an agent tomorrow?” What I wanted to say: “While I respect and admire the fact that you love and are proud of your child, give it a rest! You want to see her face during the day? One or two photos will suffice, and maybe you’d stop losing paperwork if you had a square inch or two of your desk that wasn’t covered up with pictures. And all the talk? We KNOW you have a baby. We don’t care. You’re just showing off, trying to make us jealous. All it’s making us is angry.” THURSDAY: 12:00 NOON - Righty, you’re taking a half day so that you can take your daughter up to New York, to meet with an agent and get her into commercials and catalog work. You send out an email to the entire company saying, “I’m out at noon to take my daughter to New York and make her a star!” As you’re about to leave, you can’t find your car keys. “Where are my BMW keys?” you ask. “I can’t believe I can’t find the keys to my BMW. Has anyone seen my BMW keys?” And when you find them, they are, surprise, surprise, behind one of your picture frames. Then you say, “Oh, here are my BMW keys, thank God I found them!” And then you leave, and I spend a blissful afternoon, Righty-free. What I wanted to say: “Nobody gives a shit why you’re leaving early. When I took a half day last month, my email didn’t say ‘I’m off to get a PAP smear,’ did it? And about the car: yes, we all know you drive a BMW. We also know that the BMW was given to you free from your uncle, that it’s twenty years old, covered in rust, and breaks down on average once a month. Again, we are not impressed.” 4:45 PM - The new CSR (the black turtleneck and jeans one, not the sweater set one) walks by again. You scowl again, Lefty, although I can’t imagine why, as I’ve never seen you wear anything like the orange hoodie, pigtails, and Converse All-Stars that she’s sporting. But as she walks away, you say, “Jesus Christ, if you have belt loops, wear a fucking BELT.” What I wanted to say: “You work in a casual office in Northeast Philadelphia. If you want a job where you can tell people what to wear, maybe you should leave here and get a job photographing Glamour ‘Don’ts’ or something. And, I repeat, your clothes are from Franklin Mills, just like everyone else’s. Just because you have your new $80 cowboy boots from eBay that are a size too small, and you put those teeny little band buttons on your messenger bag, and you wear your belt with the buckle on the side instead of the front, and you still have the leather coat that your mother wore in 1978, it doesn’t make you better than the rest of us. I mean, you sure as hell don’t seem HAPPY.” FRIDAY: 10:30 AM - I skipped breakfast and now I am famished. I go to the vending machine and purchase a small bag of Cool Ranch Doritos and a Tastykake. As I dig in, Righty, you poke your head around the cube wall and sing, “Carbs, carbs, carbs!” What I wanted to say: “Righty, I am not overweight. Even if I was, you have no right to say anything about what I eat. By the way, that gummy lasagna that you bring in for lunch every day is loaded with carbs, too.” 2:45 PM - Righty, you send a basically incoherent email to the department with some procedural suggestions. What I wanted to say: “’You’re’ is a contraction meaning ‘You are.’ ‘Your’ is a possessive pronoun. ‘They’re’ is a contraction meaning ‘they are.’ ‘There’ is an adverb, pronoun, or adjective. ‘Their’ is a possessive pronoun. ‘Too’ means also. ‘To’ is a preposition. ’Supposably’ is not a word, but ’supposedly’ is. AND WHEN YOU TYPE IN ALL CAPS, IT’S REALLY RUDE.” 6:15 PM - To celebrate the busiest year on record, our boss is taking the entire department, all nine of us, out to dinner in Olde City. We park in a garage and have to walk four blocks to the restaurant. The sidewalks are still snowy and icy, and Lefty, in your high-heeled cowboy boots, you’re falling behind. You slip, you slide, and you shuffle. “Wait for me, guys!” you call to us. When our boss makes a joke about how maybe you should have worn more appropriate winter footwear, you sneer at him and say, “Fashion before function!” What I wanted to say: “I hope you fall on your ass.” This was just one week, of hundreds. I hate you both, so much. this is in or around Philadelphia webmaster@craigslist.org 2005-02-01T00:38:06-05:00 Copyright 2009, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/57915656.html An open letter to the insufferable bitches in my neighboring cubicles: text Free Dog!! http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/57498003.html Free dog. This is a smallish yet loud dog. It is not small enough to fit in your purse, but who the fuck are you kidding, you're no Paris Hilton. Sizewize, it is somewhere between the Taco Bell dog and Benji. It is brown and white, or possibly just white but dirt caked. I think it's about a year old. I think that because it's been about a year since I've been able to sleep past 6:30am without being awakened by the barks of a meduim sized dirty dog. I don't know that it knows any tricks, but it is very skilled at shitting in my yard and barking incessantly. I think it is a boy dog, but I only think this because the owner of said dog is a misogynistic, wife beating dirt bag, and I can't imagine that he'd have a girl dog, but I could be wrong about that. I've never gotten close enough to the dog to check out its goods, so if gender is a deal breaker for you, you might want to pass on this one. I don't know this dog's name, but I can tell you that it does not answer to "JesusChristPuhleeezeShutTheFuckUp!!!" If you're looking for a dog with that name, than this is not the dog for you. The one tricky part about this transaction is that technically, this is not my dog. In fact, there is no "technically" about it, this is definitely not my dog. This rank creature belongs to my next door neighbor, The King of Rank Creatures. What makes this whole scenario feasible is that said next door neighbor has the disposition of a drunken Boo Radley, and will almost certainly not even realize or care that you are in his yard stealing his dog. Also, as the next door neighbor, I will provide excellent look out skills. No givebacks. this is in or around Abington webmaster@craigslist.org 2005-01-28T16:33:10-05:00 Copyright 2009, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/57498003.html Free Dog!! text A Turd in the Tub http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/56305427.html About eighteen months ago, I decided to do my wife a favor, and bathe our (then) two-year old. Being a toddler, she likes a LOT of toys in the bathtub, along with a metric TON of bubble bath. So many toys and bubbles, in fact, that it's hard to tell that there is actually a CHILD in the tub.Being a helpful child, she likes to hand you things. Also, being a female child, she keeps up a steady patter of stream-of-consciousness natter in the background as she does so. Like most parents, I tuned it out and occasionally interjected a mutter of my own. Until..."Here, Dahdee. This is for you." And she hands me a SLIMY, STICKY, STINKY BROWN TURD.I hollered. I gagged. I promptly threw up un the bathtub.Which upset my daughter, and pronpted HER to throw up in the bathtub. Leaving my daughter in a tub full of bubbles, toys, turds and puke.My wife went NUCLEAR. Snatched our daughter out of the tub, ran her into the OTHER bathtroom, and re-bathed her.Leaving me to deal with scrubbing out the tub and washing shit and puke off of each of the zillion bathtub toys. Gah. webmaster@craigslist.org 2005-01-19T17:48:57-05:00 Copyright 2009, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/56305427.html A Turd in the Tub text A simple request for Craig (Mr. List) http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/56118047.html Craig, can I call you Craig? Ok, we’ll stick with Mr. List for the time being. Listen, I have one simple request, and I hope we can work something out here. See, I am a simple man, with simple plans. I don’t want money, or even happiness for that matter. I just want one thing in life. I want to be in your “best of” archives. I don’t ask much, just a smidgen of space on your site that will be memorable, and provide a chuckle to all those who read craigslist. I want to share space with the great folks that have been able launch great storytelling full speed ahead in this here twenty first century of ours. 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. sincerely, Mr. Average this is in or around Philadelphia webmaster@craigslist.org 2005-01-18T12:54:09-05:00 Copyright 2009, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/56118047.html A simple request for Craig (Mr. List) text To my neighbors: please have louder sex http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/55043803.html Hi neighbors. It's time we got to know one another. I live in your building. You have loud sex. Sometimes. I have to hand it to you, if it's a Friday or Saturday night, maybe you've got some booze in you or maybe you just like to hang loose, but you put on quite a show. Seriously. I could sell tickets, or at least open a 900 number. Especially you, madam. You take the cake. I've had people over, and we've tried to "retaliate," but I just don't think I've ever come up with anything as good as what you two do. But on Sunday and Saturday mornings, well, things are different. I understand sometimes you like to be tender, but the volume just isn't there. The show just isn't the same. Now, I know I have no right to be entertained by your copulation, but here's the thing: Whether or not you're going at it full blast, yelling "oh YES!" at the top of your lungs, your bed still makes that THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP noise we've all come to love. And that, kids, that wakes me up. So I feel that if you're going to get me out of bed early on a Sunday, the least you could do is make it worth my while. It doesn't have to be Debbie Does Dallas, but at least toss in some moaning and groaning. Something to bring a smile to my face. And while you're at it, you might want to try doing it for more than five minutes. this is in or around Philadelphia webmaster@craigslist.org 2005-01-09T21:52:01-05:00 Copyright 2009, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/55043803.html To my neighbors: please have louder sex text Tell me why I'm on here again http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/53967644.html I have no clue. I don't even remember how I found craigslist, since none of my friends have ever heard of it. I must have clicked a link or something, checked a few posts, and for some reason bookmarked it. A few months ago I was clearing out my bookmarks, decided to revisit CL, and since then I've been on here more or less every day. I don't know why, because: -I don't have, or need, a free couch. Well, OK, I need a couch, but not the kind found in the Free section. I have one I could probably get rid of that may possibly be too shabby even by CL standards, as it has had stuff spilled on it, animals slept on it, it was owned by two generations of smokers, I've had sex on it, and the former owner got halfway through ripping the upholstery off to recover it and decided to junk it instead, which is why I now have a couch that occasionally sticks me with wayward carpet tacks that used to hold on a makeshift cover that was replaced by a southwestern WalMart throw found in this apartment when I moved in as well as a Woolrich blanket salvaged from a dumpster at work. (Keep in mind this all occurred over five years ago when I was throwing furnishings together without the benefit of a job.) -Speaking of jobs, I don't need one of those either. I have one that provides me with my recommended daily allowance of stress and aggravation, few perks, hourly wages, and the added benefit of walking on wet concrete eight to ten hours a day (average 10-20 miles per day, before I threw out my pedometer in disgust). I do have a great boss though, and my immediate coworkers are good people. Hey, if you need a job, I can get you one. -I don't want a f-r-e-e i-p-*-d, thank you very much. And I have twenty-two Gmail invites pending new owners; don't need Gmail either although you slackers trying to get something for them are shameless. They're FREE, get it? I did trade one for a joke, and several for .jpeg images of foreign countries, which was cool and didn't cost anyone anything. -I have no kids, so I don't need to barter for baby clothes or toys or infant formula or whatever. I also can't have pets here, as much as I'd like to rescue somebody's totally awesome freaky cute demon cat. Really. -I live in a small town. This means there is no Best Buy, Borders, Ikea, etc. anywhere near me. I don't need gift cards to any of those places. I'd have to use them online, and the shipping on most of the stuff I'd want would be the same cost as gassing up the truck, driving to the city, and getting it myself. -I don't have any missed connections on the bus, the bookstore, or Starbucks. We don't even have Starbucks here. (Quit making that bug-eyed "O" face; it's true.) Maybe I'll see someone I'd like to know better. When I do, I talk to them. Remember talking? Without the benefit of cell phones, text messaging, and chat rooms? It still works, believe it or not. -I'm not looking for 420, or prescription drugs of any kind. I have a fully-stocked medicine cabinet full of crap from the doctor that I'm never going to use, but you can be sure I'm not going to jail for selling off my scrips here. I'll flush 'em first. In fact....BRB -Sorry, just realized I had to pee. To continue: I also don't need hot, steamy sex with any of the various assorted men attached to the penises in the personal ads. I'm happily married. Thank God. I can't imagine trolling for sex on here; I've never been that desperate. Ever. Besides, my husband and I have sex that makes the neighbors blush. We don't care if the guy across the hall hears us. His bathroom is right outside our bedroom window, so if I have to hear his morning grunt-and-fart routine, he can put up with our illegal-in-some-states sex life. The downstairs neighbor we're more respectful of, since he's older and single, and our couch thumps the floor when we get busy and his bedroom happens to be right below us. So we only go for it on the couch when he's visiting his family in Jersey. More points for the couch, huh? As for the snobby girl who can't park who lives behind us, I'm sorely tempted to put amplifiers in our window and project them at hers. Maybe she'll move and take those damn wind chimes with her, and I'll have more than half a parking space when I get home. Oh well, she's marginally better than the teenagers who used to sit on the balcony smoking pot and blowing it into my inward-facing window fan. In summary, I have absolutely no reason to be on CL. I mean, I could get rid of the couch, I suppose, but the beyond-desperate person that actually wanted it would have to drive here and then figure out how to get an eight-foot rigid-frame sofa around two 90-degree turns and down the inner stairwell without gouging the vintage door moulding or the walls. We plan on leaving it here when we move, along with dotted chalk lines indicating where the next tenant should use the chainsaw to hack it into manageable pieces for easy removal. My husband and I have frequently joked about getting a cute Asian housegirl, so maybe I should advertise for one of those. My guidelines would be kind of strict, though, and I doubt many cute girls, Asian or otherwise, would be willing to make the drive once a week in order to be blatantly ogled and probably underpaid. Besides, I'd feel the need to clean everything before she got here anyway. Pointless, I know, but women are like that. I could advertise for new neighbors, I guess. Nice people who can park on the first or even second try would be nice. People who don't mind the occasional fornication noises coming from our place. People who remember to turn off their porch light so it doesn't shine directly into our bedroom all night long, getting past the blinds and the drapes in that one tiny crack of space that happens to be in a direct line with my left eyeball. People without wind chimes, most definitely, and preferably ones without irritable bowels that act up at six AM every morning. I forgot what my original intention was. Why am I here, that's right. I have no idea, but if you're a female Asian (or a freckled redhead, either is fine) with a couch to get rid of (sectional with a chaise at one end ideally) and moonlight as a housekeeper (emphasis on the "moon" part) and could actually live in a town with no cell phone towers (read: NO cell service) and no Starbucks, please give me a reason for being on CL. The rent is $425 and includes heat, water, and parking. I'll make sure there's an empty apartment by the end of the month. Make my time here worthwhile; I'll repay CL with free Gmail invites. webmaster@craigslist.org 2004-12-31T01:49:55-05:00 Copyright 2009, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/53967644.html Tell me why I'm on here again text Rave: Gotta Love These! http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/52413557.html Let me know your sizes. Christmas is tight this year. I've learned to make bedroom slippers out of maxi pads: You need four maxis to make a pair. Two of them get laid out flat, for the foot part. The other two wrap around the toe area to form the top. Tape or glue each side of the top pieces to the bottom of the foot part. Decorate the tops with whatever you desire, silk flowers, etc. These slippers are soft and Hygienic; Non-slip grip strips on the soles; Built in deodorant feature keeps feet smelling fresh; No more bending over to mop up spills; Disposable and biodegradable; Environmentally safe; Three convenient sizes: Regular, Light day, and Get out the Sand Bags. Happiest of holidays........  <table><tr><td align=center><img src="http://b.im.craigslist.org/j7/o5/xMIiXeGAhpVz38eWwHBTEn9Vr3Yt.jpg"></td> <td align=center> </td></tr> <tr><td align=center> </td> <td align=center> </td></tr></table>  this is in or around Philly webmaster@craigslist.org 2004-12-15T09:04:15-05:00 Copyright 2009, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/52413557.html Rave: Gotta Love These! text An open letter to Craig http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/51527990.html Dearest Craig, I just adore your site. Really, thank you for providing me with your wonderful service. I have used this service on several occasions with varying degrees of success. I got a job off the job board, it pays the rent in the apartment I found on the sublet board. Right now I have a boyfriend, who I actually met live and in person, and not off the personals board, but he is important information for you to know since I am writing about a past Casual Encounter. Before I met my boyfriend, I was feeling a little randy. The summer months tend to do that to me. I get all hot and bothered. But I hadn't met anyone all that interesting and I really didn't want to mess up the friendships I have with my guy friends. What is a girl to do? Turn to Casual Encounters, of course. So I did, and it was great. My post essentially laid out the following information; I was looking for an ongoing but casual situation which would be mutually beneficial. I received many responses from which to choose, chose one, met him, played with and enjoyed him, and repeated the encounter with him many times over the summer months. Actually, that was perfect. He was just what I needed and I am pretty sure I was just what he needed, too. Like I said, mutually beneficial. Then I met a great guy (the aforementioned boyfriend.) He and I started going out and pretty soon my mutually benefiting friend and I stopped seeing eachother. It was an easy separation, as the entire thing had been quite casual. Well I am angry, Craig. Not at you so much as at myself. You make it so easy for a person to ask for what she wants and go out and get it. Well, I asked, I went out, I got it. Now it turns out that what, or more accurately, who I got is about to start a new job working with my brother-in-law. SHIT MOTHER FUCKER. I did some dirty, dirty deeds with my Casual Encounter. He and my brother in law have a lot of things in common, and will be working in the same department. I know, I am probably not that high on Casual Encounter's list of people to talk about, as it is somewhat embarrassing for him to reveal anything about our encounter, too. But the "what if's" are running violently through my mind. Please, please be aware that your service is so easy to use, and successfully, no less, that your users should think twice before using it. If you ask for what you want, you just might get it. And then what? Thank you, Craig, for our time together. I think that I need to stop seeing you. I am erasing you from my favorites bar. I will no longer check your Rants and Raves for my amusement at work. I will no longer look for a better job on your Jobs board. I will no longer laugh at your Best Ofs. You are addictive and effective. A deadly, or at least mortifying combination. And to my Casual Encounter, good luck at your new job. If you run into a guy who loves golf and Nascar as much as you do, please don't mention me to him. And if, somehow, he ever brings me up, please do the gentlemanly thing of pretending that I never let you fuck my ass, never licked your balls, never let you come on my face, or even let you see me naked. The polite thing to do is pretend you never met me at all. Yours very truly, A Satisfied User this is in or around University City webmaster@craigslist.org 2004-12-07T16:34:56-05:00 Copyright 2009, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/51527990.html An open letter to Craig text Beer wanted ... http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/49691789.html We'd like some nice beer to keep our fridge well stocked, no Milwaukee Best, Natural Ice or Pabst Blue Ribbon... we'd prefer, Yuengling, Becks, Heineken, Bass, Guiness (for Nick), Sam Adams, or anything you deem "quality" If you'd just like to give us the stuff, we'll take it - I mean, come on -- you were in College once, you know what it is like-- But, you're probably wondering What can we do for you? Well, we're smart guys... Here is a list of our skillsets: Misc. Computer Skills (PC, Mac, Linux, Unix... yeah we're smart like that) Photography (could require loads of beer depending on assignment), Digital Photography questions answered, Writing, Covering for you while you're with your mistress (eg. "honey, Im with the guys from Temple tonight -- we're going out bowling") Transporting legal goods up to ten miles via bicycle, Acting, Efficiency Consulting (requires loads of Beer) Ebay Sales Wingman (also requires loads of Beer) Spaghetti Eating Cheese making (Mozzerella- other types of Cheese require loads of Beer) Personalized AIM buddy icons Movie recommendations Driving stickshift Dancing next to you to make you look good Pete and Pete questions answered Fact Checking 25 Shortcuts to Great Sex (ripped from the headlines) and we're open to negotiations... this is in or around Temple U webmaster@craigslist.org 2004-11-20T17:52:04-05:00 Copyright 2009, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/49691789.html Beer wanted ... text I am completely finished with CL personals… http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/49665098.html I am done and I thought I should let all of you men who wrote to me know. •To the fireman with the dick/jeans picture, thanks, I’m not interested. Nothing against your dick. But, no. •To the musician/poet/patchouli worshipper, please take a shower, then we might be able to talk. On the phone. •To the CU guy with that likes football and keggers, and whose language consists of primarily the phrases ‘it was wild’, and ‘dude’ i.e. ‘Dude, it was wild.’ OR ‘It was wild, duuuuude.’ Are you kidding me? •To the salesman guy that re-quoted everything I said, please get your own sense of humor, and then use it. No to you. •To the attractive tall guy who I went out with, I don’t know what you do for a living, I’m sure as hell you don’t know what I do for a living. But I do know all along you were just looking to see if you could get in my pants that night. I’m not that kind of girl, so please go suck on someone else on a first date. •To the skinny ashen-faced computer geek who wrote about his D&D games. Oh fuck I don’t even want to waste the space on you. •To the guys who have ads on Craig’s List, and on Westword, and on Match.com, and on Lavalife. Three-parter here: 1) Do you see the problem? 2) You’re not going to even write me a personal message? Just “direct” me to your OTHER means of chick-bagging? Sick. 3) You reference places that are out of business. Your ads have been up for over a year. Please change them up a bit, you’re pathetic. Not a chance. By the way, that picture is of you 5 years ago, and it’s really tacky to see you with your arms around another woman. •To the sincerely sweet and tenderhearted short man with the stutter and awkward social skills. I’m sorry. I just can’t. •To the metrosexual well-dressed Aquarian who was 2 hours late because your priority was to get a replacement cartridge for your lint-roller that had filled up. Oh my God. What the fuck have I ever done to deserve this? •To the architect (intern) with the deprecating remarks about, well, basically everything. I can call my mother for that. So, no. •To the guy with the kidney problem and nice family, if you talked about anything besides your kidneys and hospitals, maybe. Sorry about that and everything, but no. •To the manic-depressive late 30’s man in between jobs, you seemed like a great catch, but, no. •To the self-described antisocial genius. Obviously you don’t need me. •To the guys who responded to my “your picture gets mine” post without a picture. I must assume you are trying to win me over with your overwhelming personality, but when all you write is “send pic”, there’s not much interest on this end. Why did you even bother? •Speaking of ‘pic’, to the guys who are too lazy to type out ‘-ture’, to those who can’t spell, or those who use abbreviations to disguise the fact that they can’t spell, No. You will never challenge me in a game of Boggle. And we all know that matters. •To the whiners who complain that I am dating too many men at once. Get over it, you can see the ones on skulking around Craig’s List are not exactly “competition.” •There was one guy, though. I ruined everything. So I am done. Bye. this is in or around cute, sexy and frustrated webmaster@craigslist.org 2004-11-20T13:28:45-05:00 Copyright 2009, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/49665098.html I am completely finished with CL personals… text I BLAME YOU http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/49619972.html I am writing this letter to the people in the red states in the middle of the country -- the people who voted for George W. Bush. I am writing this letter because I don't think we know each other. So I'll make an introduction. I am a New Yorker who voted for John Kerry. I used to live in California, and if I still lived there, I would vote for Kerry. I used to live in Washington, DC, and if I still lived there, I would vote for Kerry. Kerry won in all three of those regions. Maybe you want to know more about me. Or maybe not; maybe you think you know me already. You think I am some anti-American anarchist because I dislike George W. Bush. You think that I am immoral and anti-family, because I support women's reproductive freedom and gay rights. You think that I am dangerous, and even evil, because I do not abide by your religious beliefs. Maybe you are content to think that, to write me off as a "liberal" --the dreaded "L" word -- and rejoice that your candidate has triumphed over evil, immoral, anti-American, anti-family people like me. But maybe you are still curious. So here goes: this is who I am. I am a New Yorker. I was here, in my apartment downtown, on September 11th. I watched the Towers burn from the roof of my building. I went inside so that I couldn't see them when they fell. I had friends who were inside. I have a friend who still has nightmares about watching people jump and fall from the Towers. He will never be the same. How many people like him do you know? People that can't sit in a restaurant without plotting an escape route, in case it blows up? I am a worker. I work across the street from the Citigroup Center, which the government told us is a "target" of terrorism. Later, we found out they were relaying very old information, but it was already too late. They had given me bad dreams again. The subway stop near my office was crowded with bomb-sniffing dogs, policemen in heavy protective gear, soldiers. Now, every time I enter or exit my office, all of my possessions are X-rayed to make sure I don't have any weapons. How often are you stopped by a soldier with a bomb-sniffing dog outside your office? I am a neighbor. I have a neighbor who is a 9/11 widow. She has two children. My husband does odd jobs for her now, like building bookshelves. Things her husband should do. He uses her husband's tools, and the two little girls tell him, "Those are our daddy's tools." How many 9/11 widows and orphans do you know? How often do you fill in for their dead loved ones? I am a taxpayer. I worked my butt off to get where I did, and so did my parents. My parents saved and borrowed and sent me to college. I worked my way through graduate school. I won a full tuition scholarship to law school. All for the privilege of working 2,600 hours last year. That works out to a 50 hour week, every week, without any vacation days at all. I get to work by 9 am and rarely leave before 9 pm. I eat dinner at my office much more often than I eat dinner at home. My husband and I paid over $70,000 in federal income tax last year. At some point in the future, we will have to pay much more -- once this country faces its deficit and the impossible burden of Social Security. In fact, the areas of the country that supported Kerry -- New York, California, Illinois, Massachusetts -- they are the financial centers of the nation. They are the tax base of this country. How much did you pay, Kansas? How much did you contribute to this government you support, Alabama? How much of this war in Iraq did you pay for? I am a liberal. The funny part is, liberals have this reputation for living in Never-Neverland, being idealists, not being sensible. But let me tell you how I see the world: I see America as one nation in a worldof nations. Therefore, I think we should try to get along with other nations. I see that gay people exist. Therefore, I think they should be allowed to exist, and be treated the same as other people. I see ways in which women are not allowed to control their own bodies. Therefore, I think we should give women more control over their bodies. I see that people have awful diseases. Therefore, I think we should enable scientists to try to cure them. I see that we have a Constitution. Therefore, I think it should be upheld. I see that there were no weapons of mass destruction in Iraq. Therefore, I think that Iraq was not an imminent danger to me. It seems so pragmatic to me. How do you see the world? Do you really think voting against gay marriage will keep people from being gay? Would you really prefer that people continue to die from Parkinson's disease? Do you really not care about the Constitutional rights of political detainees? Would you really have supported the war if you knew the truth, or would you have wanted to spend more of our money on health care, job training, terrorism preparedness? I am an American. I have an American flag flying outside my home. I love my home more than anything. I love that I grew up right outside New York City. I first went to the Statue of Liberty with my 5th grade class, and my mom and dad took me to the Empire State Building when I was 8. I love taking the subway to Yankee Stadium. I loved living in Washington DC and going on dates to the Lincoln Memorial. It is because I love this country so much that I argue with my political opponents as much I do. I am not safe. I never feel safe. My in-laws live in a small town in Ohio, and that town has received more federal funding, per capita, for terrorism preparedness than New York City has. I take subways and buses every day. I work in a skyscraper across the street from a "target." I have emergency supplies and a spare pair of sneakers in my desk, in case somethng happens while I'm at work. Do you? How many times a month do you worry that your subway is going to blow up? When you hear sirens on the street, do you run to the window to make sure everything is okay? When you hear an airplane, do you flinch? Do you dread beautiful, blue-skied September days? I don't know a single New Yorker who doesn't spend the month of September on tip-toes, superstitiously praying for rain so we don't have to relive that beautiful, blue-skied day. I am lonely. I feel that we, as a nation, have alienated all our friends and further provoked our enemies. I feel unprotected. Most of all I feel alienated from my fellow citizens, because I don't understand what you are thinking. You voted for a man who started a war in Iraq for no reason, against the wishes of the entire world. You voted for a man whose lack of foresight and inability to plan has led to massive insurgencies in Iraq, where weapons are disappearing into the hands of terrorists. You voted for a man who let Osama Bin Laden escape into the hills of Afghanistan so that he could start that war in Iraq. You voted for a man who doesn't want to let people love who they want to love; doesn't want to let doctors cure their patients; doesn't want to let women rule their destinies. I don't understand why you voted for this man. For me, it is not enough that he is personable; it is not enough that he seems like one of the guys. Why did you vote for him? Why did you elect a man that lied to us in order to convince us to go to war? (Ten years ago you were incensed when our president lied about his sex life; you thought it was an impeachable offense.) Why did you elect a leader who thinks that strength cannot include diplomacy or international cooperaton? Why did you elect a man who did nothing except run away and hide on September 11? Most of all, I am terrified. I mean daily, I am afraid that I will not survive this. I am afraid that I will lose my husband, that I will never have children, that I will never grow old and watch the sunset in a backyard of my own. I am afraid that my career -- which should end with a triumphant and good-natured roast at a retirement party in 2035 -- will be cut short by an attack on me and my colleagues, as we sit sending emails and making phone calls one ordinary afternoon. Is your life at stake? Are you terrified? I don't think you are. I don't think you realize what you have done. And if anything happens to me or the people I love, I blame you. I wanted you to know that. America today where, "WAR IS PEACE FREEDOM IS SLAVERY IGNORANCE IS STRENGTH" ~George Orwell, "1984" this is in or around red states webmaster@craigslist.org 2004-11-19T22:44:22-05:00 Copyright 2009, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/49619972.html I BLAME YOU text 20 things i gotta tell my boss...... http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/47318455.html I have to figure out a way to tell my boss all or almost all of the things listed below w/out being fired.... 1. get a fucking cell phone charger for your car--we're in sales and you might actually talk enough into it during the day that the battery will run down. and having a dead cell phone on the last day of the month is bad for business. 2. stop burping in my car after lunch--it smells, it's uncomfortable. 3. i never thought i'd tell a chick to stop wearing skirts but here goes--you're 5'0" tall and weigh about 175 lbs.--big pant suits are the way to go sweetie--with heels as high and klunky as u can walk in. 4. stop telling me about your kids--i don't give a fuck. u told me u couldn't be bothered to take them 100 yards away to the god-damned ocean this summer...too much stuff to bring along... wow, you're really mom of the year. 5. stop telling me about your husband--again, i don't give a fuck. why? because any guy that is having sex w/ you ain't worth talking about. i feel sorry for him...but i don't want to piss him off because any guy that's man enough to climb on top of you is way more manly than i am. 6. stop telling me about your parents--i REALLY don't give a fuck. 7. u told me u got behind in e-mail and sent me a lead two weeks late. my job is to FIND customers sweetie, so when one calls me and wants to buy something, that is a really good thing...and BTW, it's how i pay my mortgage. but i'm really glad the new show "lost" is so entertaining. what the fuck is this "lost"? and why are u watching it when u should be forwarding me my leads? 8. the potential rep who i took out on a ride along, asked you, after u passed him over for the job, "is there anything that i could improve upon..." this is a legitimate request you idiot...and it made u angry that he would ask. why? the guy's trying to see if it was his background, body language, etc, that caused him to lose the job...and make improvements if necessary. being the boss means sometimes having to tell someone the truth...even if that truth makes u uncomfortable. 9. u have taken more vacation time over the last 6 months than my 2 previous bosses and me...combined. our quotas are huge sweetie...and when we hit them we get paid way more money than we need...the trade-off is that we really can't leave our jobs for extended periods of time. going away for 2 weeks and refusing to answer phone calls or e-mails...that is fucking minor-league, soccer-mom bullshit. (nothing wrong w/ soccer moms-but be a soccer mom OR be my boss--NOT BOTH.) 10. ok...you're jewish...i get it. stop saying things like "oi vey" and referring to yourself as a "yenta" every minute. u and i were both born here, we're americans...so shut up. 11. you've been on six sales calls w/ me and i have yet to walk out of a client's office w/ paperwork when you are...please see the connection. 12. if you're following me to a sales call, please try to stay behind me. i'm not driving like a maniac and i don't have time to keep pulling over to let u catch up. 13. when i ask u for help, don't say..."that's not my job." i do many things that are technically "not my job". we're not hourly wage, union grunts, ok? 14. unfortunately, you were hired as a sales manager but u have never actually sold anything...i don't know how this happened but...please get a thick skin and stop taking everything so god-damned personally. you wanted to wear the "daddy pants" so deal with it. 15. at this particular job sweetie, the reps make more money than their bosses. so if you're going to say, "if i wanted to make a lot of money i'd just become a rep and take a territory"....you can't ALSO bitch about having to take a pay cut. that's like saying, "i love tropical weather, so i'm going to move to minnesota." fuck, the OJ Simpson jury made more sense. 16. if you have something to say to me, say it to ME. not to YOUR boss...he'll take your side at the meeting and sternly tell me to put myself in your shoes and be nicer to you. you'll feel vindicated after this but please realize that your boss views this as weakness on YOUR part. i'm only a dickhead salesman, he EXPECTS me to be a dick. he doesn't expect my boss to call him down to defend her like a fucking big brother. 17. when u buy lunch, and you order the fatty shit u eat, please order a regular soda, or water...washing down 1,000 calories of fat w/ a diet soda makes no sense...but i see every fat person doing it...just stop. 18. the muckety-mucks in nyc are not happy with your performance. 19. your old job just opened up...and i heard u were well-respected there. 20. please go back...i KNOW you're thinking about it... SEE U NEXT WEEK SWEETIE..... this is in or around w/out getting fired!! webmaster@craigslist.org 2004-10-30T15:44:46-04:00 Copyright 2009, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/47318455.html 20 things i gotta tell my boss...... text Jaded Hag Seeks Ugly Bastard for Breeding Feral Children http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/46499690.html Loathsome, bitter wretch seeking repulsive mate for creation of ugly brood of offspring. I'm not really looking for plain, unattractive mates, but more two-ply brown bag, can't leave the house hideous (but virile!) to assist with conception of world's most foul, deformed, dog-faced children. Disfigurements should be genetic as opposed to accidental. I have no outside interests or likes. I am hated, alone and thoroughly disliked. UB2. webmaster@craigslist.org 2004-10-22T22:44:45-04:00 Copyright 2009, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/46499690.html Jaded Hag Seeks Ugly Bastard for Breeding Feral Children text Philly's Crazy Homeless Bastards - A Who's Who http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/46208708.html Philly’s Crazy Homeless Bastards– An All Star Tribute This is dedicated to the loons that haunt the kooky corridor known as East Market Street, making my walk between the train and the office a gauntlet of piss, obscenities, change cups held by imposing figures, piss, dubiously priced umbrellas on rainy days, stepping over bodies, and piss. So here’s to you, ye hardy folk who don’t abide by pesky rules of “hygiene” and “sanity”, and live life on the wild side... ”Gandalf” – sporting a beard to make the wizard jealous, this yellow-eyed trenchcoat husk lurks about fairly quietly, usually too shitfaced from his trusty brown bag to bother anyone. The elder statesman of the crew, if you will. Don’t let the jaundice fool you, Gandalf is not to be fucked with, as one unfortunate pigeon found out when he tried to steal some of Gandalf’s trash, and was promptly kicked into traffic. ”Big Mama” - Perhaps the most imposing of the crew, Big Mama’s previous career was as a linebacker for the Eastern State Penitentiary’s Football Team. After her knees gave out, Big Mama began a career of standing in the middle of the sidewalk and glaring at me before work every morning, shaking her change cup over my head. “The Phantom Pisser” – More of an apparition, this nocturnal creature leaves massive lakes of piss to greet commuters every morning at the Wissahickon station on the R6 line. He works in pee like other artists work in pastels or watercolors, creating arching splatter patterns all over the train station. I fantasize about catching him in the act and pressing his face into his own hot piss puddles, but I believe that the Phantom Pisser is the ghost of an old dead bum, cursed to forever haunt Wissahickon Station and piss all over the goddamned place, so I will never have justice and will continue to hop effeminately over pee puddles every morning. ”The Entrepreneur” – Only emerges from his hole when it rains. Offers shitty umbrellas to hapless pedestrians. If you refuse, he strikes the sidewalk with the umbrella in a fit of rage, and probably hunger. ”The Sentinel” – Standing guard over the Market East train station, The Sentinel’s shift is in the evening, when he strides quickly around his territory, clutching a club/stick in his hand tightly with an unsettling look in his eye. Needless to say, this is quite entertaining when the suburbanite teenage girls are giggling it up in the train station, having just seen a show in the city. One glimpse of The Sentinel, and things quiet down a tad. ”Lou Sprawls” – Probably the most annoying of the bunch, Lou Sprawls flops himself directly in the middle of the sidewalk, groaning loudly. People are forced to walk around him as he moans “uuunnnnnhhhh” into the concrete. If you make the mistake of stopping to check on Lou, he will hit you up for cash, and resume groaning if you turn him down. ”Motherfucking Crazy Fuck” (MCF) – Taking a pro-active approach to the crazy lifestyle, this guy goes after anyone/anything. Sporting wild white hair, a filthy beard, and clothes stolen from a retarded kid in the 1980’s, MCF has a broomstick and stalks around Dunkin Donuts. His technique involves squatting in an athletic stance, raising the stick into a javelin throw pose, and threatening cabs that dare pass by his sidewalk with a Tarzan yell. When this does not have the desired effect, MCF will then sprint across the street and brandish his spear, shouting “NO NO NO NO NO”. Here's to you, crazy bastards, for initiating my formerly naive suburbanite ass into the world of city life. Cheers. this is in or around East Market St. webmaster@craigslist.org 2004-10-20T13:46:33-04:00 Copyright 2009, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/46208708.html Philly's Crazy Homeless Bastards - A Who's Who text Wanted: Brain for President of Country http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/44159033.html Desperately seeking one medium to large brain for President of large country. Will accept entire person. Can pay shipping.  <table><tr><td align=center><img src="http://b.im.craigslist.org/PV/tV/BlJDmTcIMlFpvwgt1RLz99iKqk1A.jpg"></td> <td align=center> </td></tr> <tr><td align=center> </td> <td align=center> </td></tr></table>  this is in or around USA webmaster@craigslist.org 2004-10-01T00:52:32-04:00 Copyright 2009, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/44159033.html Wanted: Brain for President of Country text A Decentralized Approach to Home Entertainment is Wrong for America http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/42159981.html My opponent supports decentralizing your home entertainment devices. These divisive policies belong to America's past, not its bright future, and I won't advocate them. Not gonna do it. See, I'm a joiner, not a divider. My plan for America brings your stereo, tv, playstation and dvd player together in one unreasonably large piece of furniture that celebrates America's strength and world stature. Others want to apologize for our country's strengths, but not me. I'm not afraid to tell you, America's strength lies in it's unreasonably large entertainment centers, like this one right here. It also lies in its SUV'S, which represent our freedom to drive to West Philly and pick up unreasonably large entertainment centers any time we want. Maybe even right now. Yesterday a hard working American asked me, "anonimous craigslist poster, sometimes I feel like pointing all my furniture in one direction, but I don't know in which direction I should point it." Let me tell you right now, America's furniture needs leadership, and my entertainment center can provide it. YOUR FURNITURE SHOULD POINT TOWARDS MY ENTERTAINMENT CENTER! See, under my opponent's decentralized plan, you have lots of remotes for lots of devices, but you can't tell which one is for what or where you're supposed to point it. Point the wrong one in the wrong direction and nothing happens. Zip. Nadda. See, when nothing happens, the enemies of America win. Under my centralized plan, you point all remotes toward the entertainment center. It doesn't matter which remote you pick up, if you point it at the entertainment center and mash a bunch of buttons SOMETHING WILL HAPPEN! This keeps America safe. Some suggest the entertainment center is an unfunded mandate. That's not true. It's fifty bucks. 53"W x 47"T x 17"D. TV area is 27"W x 25"T. Email for picks. My name is Anonimous Craigslist Poster and I support this posting. this is in or around West Philly webmaster@craigslist.org 2004-09-11T18:02:54-04:00 Copyright 2009, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/42159981.html A Decentralized Approach to Home Entertainment is Wrong for America text 10 things about a dog http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/41804191.html 10. I don't have fleas, I bite my ass because I like the taste of my own poop. 9. One time when my owner was at work I got into the fridge, ate the tuna and egg salad, and then puked it back into the bowl. 8. Sometimes I dream of being gang raped by a group of dobermans and pit-bulls 7. Sometimes I dream about raping the cat and then killing it. 6. Every day I find my self waking up in a vast sea of self pity and discontent, yet somehow I always manag......wait a second.....did you hear that noise?......... grrrrrrrrrrr grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr raf raf raf ra ra ra ra ruff ruff ruff aaaaar bark grrr bark grrr arf arf arf arf arf arf arooooooooooooooooooooooooooooguh bark bark bark ruf ruf bark bark. 5. I have fucked hundreds of bitches. 4. If I ever figure out this whole door knob thing im out of this shithole. 3. If someone tells me to "sit" one more time I swear to christ almighty im gonna loose it. "Want the ball! Want the ball!" NO I DON'T WANT THE FUCKING BALL GODDAMMIT!!!!!!!!! And just in case you were wondering I don't want the frisbee, I don't want to play tug, and I shure as shit don't want to roll over. SO STOP FUCKING ASKING ME! Assholes. 2. I never knew my father. 1. Despite what everone tells me, deep down I know im not a good dog. this is in or around poop town webmaster@craigslist.org 2004-09-08T11:25:51-04:00 Copyright 2009, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/41804191.html 10 things about a dog text Memo to the Guys http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/40204309.html Hey there, fellas. We need to chat. Because you have this untimely habit of doing/saying things to my girlfriends that are really cramping my fun, carefree lifestyle. I like being happy. I don't complain too often. I try to look at the bright side of things and realize that even though I might have had a rough day, it was probably better than 80% of the world population's. But I find myself surrounded by friends who are miserable as of late and it's mostly because of you. Call them drama queens--you're right, they probably are. But when you give my friend a dubious look when she orders the Eggs Benedict over your brunch date, *I'M* the one that has to listen to an hour-long diatribe about how you think she's a pig and how she vows to never have Hollandaise sauce again, not you. So keep your judgemental looks to yourself. When you date my friend for a month, tell her that you love her, but then leave her for a slutty 18 year old cocktail waitress a week later, *I'M* the one who has to play amateur psychologist on the phone while she details her absolute misery for the next three months. Even shrinks have a time limit for their patients--I am not so lucky. Fellas, when you leave your stuff haphazardly lying around the floor of the apartment you co-habitate, *I'M* the one who has to listen to my friend moan about what a good-for-nothing slob you are. Not you. No, you're off playing basketball with your guy friends while I'm helplessly glued to the cell phone. Please, please call me to play basketball with you so I don't have to console my buddy over your dirty boxer shorts! I can nail a three pointer like you read about. So, here's the deal: if must do something crappy, please do it on a Friday or Saturday evening so that I at least have a legitimate excuse to not answer the phone when the misery-hotline starts ringing (("Sorry, it was loud in the club I was at--I didn't even notice you called until after 2am...and I didn't want to risk waking you up! Besides, I had a really hot one night stand and didn't even get home until 2 o'clock this afternoon. Yup, he took me to breakfast and I had Eggs Benedict--WITH the hollandaise.")). At least I can delay the inevitable...because I know my girlfriends will never stop bitching about the minutea of life. I just need a little break! I really like watching Six Feet Under and Ali G on Sunday nights. And I really like going for a jog every now and then after work. And I really like spending time with family, upbeat friends and the guys I date without my cell phone ringing every three seconds. So I beg of you, boys, please tone it down so that I might be able to live my own life rather than constantly counsel my friends on theirs. webmaster@craigslist.org 2004-08-23T11:19:54-04:00 Copyright 2009, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/40204309.html Memo to the Guys text WANTED: Gay Man with Excellent Perception Skills http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/39855889.html Hi, I need a gay man who has excellent perception skills (a.k.a. gaydar). I will need you to meet my boyfriend so that you can form an evaluation regarding his sexual orientation and then report back to me discreetly the next day. We will obviously need to rendezvous somewhere socially, so you will be compensated with $20 and free drinks. You don't need to stay out long--only until you think you know whether my boyfriend is gay or not**. If I don't return your e-mail it's because I have already accepted someone else's offer or my boyfriend has decided to come out of the closet on his own. Thanks. ________________________________________________________________________________ **If you think he IS gay, please refrain from flirting with him or picking him up in front of me. That's just not right. this is in or around Center City webmaster@craigslist.org 2004-08-19T14:01:34-04:00 Copyright 2009, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/39855889.html WANTED: Gay Man with Excellent Perception Skills text I took your shoe, Fake Lesbian!!! http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/39737071.html Dear Fake Lesbian: I'll start with the back story. My friend and I (we'll call her "Maria") just planned to have a quiet dinner at her house in West Philadelphia on a Tuesday night. This was to be the beginning of a new phase of entertainment for us; we're prone to meet for "one drink" and wind up slurring and irritating our mostly teetotaler boyfriends. So, in an effort to prove that our friendship isn't based on alcohol consumption, we had dinner. Pasta salad, if you must know. Sidebar: I'd like to take a minute to explain that I'm close to boycotting West Philadelphia altogether. It's a pain in the ass to get over there; once I'm there there's not that much to do; and getting home late at night is either expensive or dangerous, depending on your mode of transport. On this particular visit, I was caught in a torrential downpour AND I lost my wallet. I'm pretty sure that the wallet thing was my own sorry fault, but it happened in West Philadelphia and I'm going to go ahead and blame her godforsaken neighborhood. I digress. We had dinner, watched "America's Top Comic" or whatever the hell it's called (for a brilliant woman, "Maria" is embarrassingly addicted to even the most brain-deadening of reality programs). Around 10:30, we decided to go out dancing in Center City. On a Tuesday. Did I mention that we drank two bottles of wine with our pasta salad? So. We shot down to the Rittenhouse area on the trolley, because I remembered that Loie usually has some cheezy 80's-type music playing, no cover, and a decent-sized dance floor (which we needed, as "Maria" is partial to an Expanded Robot, and I like to pretend I'm an Olympic Gymnast doing cross-mat dance routines). We were having a good old time, "Maria" and myself, when you and your other Fake Lesbian friend came along. You'd done a little too much tippling, I think, and you were off your gourds. You'd left your boyfriends on the side of the dance floor. I imagine what began as a little experimentation at the suggestion of the boyfriends had turned into a Full Show for the whole bar. You were on the dance floor, making out in the most inconvenient places. NOT dancing. I repeat: NOT dancing. Only grinding all over the dance floor in what was rapidly beginning to concern your respective Frat Boys. I hate it when girls make out to excite the boys around them. There's nothing worse. It just serves to reinforce that stupid fucking "lesbianism is hot" thing that makes me believe we'll never break past the point at which the majority of the idiots in the world think that being gay is a choice. Lesbianism may be hot, but only when it's LESBIANS who are acting like lesbians. Anyway, sorry. I took your Bedazzled Flip-Flop and put it in a booth down the bar right before I left. I feel a little bad about it, but not very. I'd do it again in a heartbeat. Love, The Shoe Bandit this is in or around Loie webmaster@craigslist.org 2004-08-18T12:35:02-04:00 Copyright 2009, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/39737071.html I took your shoe, Fake Lesbian!!! text Unhappy Ending For The MASSAGE GUY http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/38987180.html Prologue: We all know the massage guy. Its hard to miss him since he posts on every category of Craigslist from Activities to Casual Encounters. He stirs up all sorts of trouble by posting his seemingly innocent ads requesting to give ad free massages yet all that deal with him directly tell a different story of his intentions. He will then post countless defenses to his character and intentions not only as himself but as other anonymous and strikingly similar supporters. My favorite was the PHD Psychiatrist that explained it was quite fine to except foot massages from a man with a foot fetish. So after countless weeks of seeing all the hype, I decided to take action and look into this for myself. Mind you, I am a complete dickhead. First I tried emailing him a few times as myself to request a massage. Yet, I never got a response. I guess he doesn’t respond to men. So that’s when cutepartygirl96@hotmail.com got involved. Cute Party Girl:Can I get a massage? How old are you? I am 24, brown hair, green, eyes, 5'7, 105lbs. Just graduated temple. -Emily Check out the adjectives he uses for a platonic massage Massage Guy: Hello Emily, Thank you for responding to my ad and I would love to set up an appointment for you. Are you woman who loves the benefits to a great massage? Have been looking for that and for the extra benefit to? Are you looking for that total erotic mind, body and spiritual aspect from massage? If so then please contact me and let me help you fulfill that desire you have been searching for. I am a professional massage therapist who has been practicing for over 10 years. The massage consists of various modalities such as swedish, deep tissue, accupressure, trigger point and sports. All this will done to make your bady relax but then it is ended with a heightened orgasm at the end of your massage. All this is done with use of hands, strokes and compressions. The only one who will be undressed is yourself and no other reciprocation will be needed. So if you are looking for an inexpensive way to relax then email me back. The location would be were ever you are since I have a portable table and can come to the comforts of your home. I look forward to hearing you again and remember SERIOUS replys only. I like your self do not like to play games. Cute Party Girl doesn’t care if he’s a little creepy but wasn’t this on free section maybe he forgot because he posted it everywhere else. Cute Party Girl: Sounds awesome. But I thought the service was free? It cost $100. Wasnt this on the free section? -Em Massage Guy: Hi Again Emily, I am glad it sounds awesome but I am sorry no it is not free but it is well worth the price. Hope we can set work something out? Cute Party Girl: how about $20 for 60 minutes. Massage Guy: Hmmmmmmmmm $20 for 60? How about $30 and I will give you the extra half hour free? $30 for 90 minutes what a deal! Cute Party Girl: I'm a 40 minutes from the city? Can you come out to Limerick? You can hang out and have a few drinks after so that you dont drive 1.5 hours for a 90 minute massage. ;-) -Em Massage Guy: Hi Emily, Yes I can come out to Limerick, not a problem. When would you like to set up an appointment? $30 for a 90 minutes massage plus 90 minutes of driving, How does he make any money? Cute Party Girl: how about tomorrow at 8pm? I can send you directions. Massage Guy: Hi Emily, Tomarrow at 8pm would be great. All I need is your address with Street and zip and I will map quest directions. Massage Guy: Hi Emily, Are we still on for 8? Cute Party Girl: 111 Sanatoga Rd Sanatoga PA Its right off 422. It's easy stick it in mapquest you'll find it. 8pm right? -Em Massage Guy: Hi Emily, 8pm it is! Your number just incase I get delayed or lost? See you then! Cute Party Girl: I dont have a home phone and my cell phone is disconnected until Saturday. How about you give me your number and if there's a problem I'll call you. But I will be home by 6pm I will be there and its easy to find... its a huge yellow house, you can't miss it. -Em Massage Guy: Okay see you at 8pm! Trip 1: 40 minutes each way. Total driving time = 1 hour 20 minutes Massage Guy: Hi Emily, Well unfortunatelyu there is no 111 Sanatoga Rd. I did find 110 and the guy there told me there was no 111. So was this a complete run around or did I miss something? Do you want to reschedule? Cute Party Girl: Oh my god! I am so sorry... it's 11 Sanatoga, I must have hit an extra one... I waited till 10pm for you but you didnt show up. I was so mad but its my fault. I didnt have your number to call. I am so sorry...By the way my friend asked me your name and I didn’t know it, maybe that’s sketchy? Whats your name? Number? -Em Massage Guy: Hi Emily, I figured it would be something like that, sorry we could not get together tonight. Anyways do you want to reschedule? I am aviable able tonight if you would like to set up something? If so or if not let me know? Until then! Cute Party Girl: Well, I'm home now... but I dont have your number but if you can get here before 4:30 you can come over, my girlfriend is here though is that allright? -Em Massage Guy: Hi Emily, I just got your message and it is after 4:30 so I would not be able to get there. However I did say that I am available later today or this evening. Let me know! Talk to you soon! Out till 4:30? Must have been another late massage? Massage Guy: Hi Emily, Would you like to do tonight? Cute Party Girl: Can we reschedule for tonight? Maybe after 10pm? or is that too late? Looks like your a nightowl like me anyway? -Em Massage Guy: Yes we can reschedule for 10pm, that would be fine. Massage Guy: Hi Emily, Are we on for later? If so please give me directions from 422. Massage Guy: Hi Emily, I am going to run an errand but will be back soon. If you would still like to get together tonight then I do need directions from 422. Hope to hear from you soon. I send directions again Cute Party Girl: What happened? I waited till 1130. Maybe another time. Trip 2: 40 minutes each way. Total driving time = 2 hour 40 minutes Massage Guy: Hi Emily, I was there around 10pm but I couldnt find 11 Sanatoga or a yellow house. Are you off Fricks Lock Rd? Maybe we can do it later but you need to meet me somewhere besides your house. You can call me on my cell at (555) 555-5555. Until later! Cute Party Girl: I will be in center city tommorrow night at my g/f house. Can we meet then? It would be easier for you that way. My g/f told me that she got a massage on the front and back... I didnt know they did front rubs, she said it was great. Do you know how to do that? -Em Massage Guy: Hi Em, 10pm tonight would be fine, just email me the address and I will see you then. As for those areas yes I do work on them. You are in for a treat. Notice he’s calling me “Em” now. Cute Party Girl: Ok, I can't wait. My address is 1620 Chestnut apt 34. So how about happy endings ;-) -Em Massage Guy: Hi Em, What about them? Cute Party Girl: Do they cost extra? Massage Guy: It is part of the massage. Anyways I am going to be heading out in a bit so I will see you at 10pm. So it is 1620 Chestnut St near 17th right. That is what map quest is saying. If I am late you can call me at (555) 555-5555 to see where I am just incase I get lost. Massage Guy: Okay and that is Chestnut St which is near 17th right? Cute Party Girl: My penis and I cant wait! I don't think he got this email in time Cute Party Girl: Where were you? We are waiting? Trip 3: 15 minutes each way. Total driving time = 2 hour 20 minutes Massage Guy: Hi Em, I went to 1620 Chestnut which there is not one. THere was 1622 which was the Philadelphia school of arts but no 1620. Massage Guy: What do you mean penis and I? So are you serious about getting a massage or are you waisting my time? Cute Party Girl: Waisting your time. Stop posting so much on craigslist. You’ve been wasting my time. Ha ha. -Em webmaster@craigslist.org 2004-08-10T18:47:35-04:00 Copyright 2009, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/38987180.html Unhappy Ending For The MASSAGE GUY text BREEDERS http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/37696327.html Fucking cocksmoking bitches! Stank ass pussy-eating apes! If god wanted you to make babies, he'd have put more food on the earth! You ruin everything with your fucking whiny ass kids. Taking welfare money, using MY TAX DOLLARS to educate your rugrats, creating urban sprawl with your nuclear fkn families! DIVORCE. ABORTIONS. FUCKING FAMILY LEAVE FROM WORK. It's not economical to be popping out babies all the time. Evolution states that the ENTIRE HUMAN RACE will be WIPED OUT due to overpopulation within the next millenia! CAN"T YOU SEE WHAT YOU"RE DOING IS WRONG AND IMMORAL?? Why can't you fucking understand that GOD created man first, that MAN is the original and ultimate prototype, and that MEN SHOULD BE WITH MEN! I GET ALL OF MY ESTEEM FROM BELIEVING THAT I'M BETTER THAN YOU BECAUSE OF MY RANDOMLY ASSIGNED GENOTYPE. I HAVE NOTHING ELSE GOING FOR ME WHATSOEVER! Go ahead and breed, you fucking sick bastards. When the time comes you can fill HELL with MINIVANS, FAMILY INSURANCE PREMIUMS, AND LITTLE LEAGUES. I'll be looking down on you in HEAVEN with a cosmo in one hand and a 22 year old ripped surfer dude in the other... webmaster@craigslist.org 2004-07-28T12:05:12-04:00 Copyright 2009, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/37696327.html BREEDERS text Rant: rubber and jelly http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/34640697.html So I am a girl, and every girl has her naughty drawer. You'll usually find it in the nightstand by the bed, for convenience. Well, in my naughty drawer I keep condoms and lube, I keep some porn and some soft-ties for light restraint. But I also keep my dildoes and strap-on attachments and my sweet, sweet vibrator in the drawer. They are made of rubber and of jelly. And they smell awful. No...not like rotten cooter awful. They smell like rubber. No matter how many times I wash them with a mild soap and water or run them in the top rack of the dishwasher they still smell like rubber. But this week they have started stinking, that eyes-watering, noxious fume-y stink of old rubber. Do you remember when you were a kid you would run around at Halloween with a pig snout on your nose, or a cat's nose and whiskers? Those little masks you would put over your nose, they stunk like rubber. And they were on your nose, so it stunk bad. That is the smell. Do you have an olfactory memory, now? Well, I don't know why it is just starting to stink now, maybe, could it be the heat? Could it be that after years of use and care, the rubber is finally starting to revert? What can it be? Will I be forced to replace my entire collection? That is an expensive proposition. I am sad. But I am having houseguests next week and I fear that my naughty drawer will be exposed if it continues to stink up my bedroom like this. Goodbye, jelly dong, goodbye vaginal and anal plugs. Goodbye, double dong. You filled me front and back and I was never lonely when you were around. Goodbye vac-u-loc attachments, we spent some fun time together, and introduced our share of men to the wonderful world of pegging. Goodbye realistic looking cock. Goodbye jackrabbit vibrator. I will miss you most of all, with your precious pearls rotating and your long ears tickling my clit. We had some fun together. I wish I could keep you, but I don't want to be exposed as the pervert I am. Why? Why did this have to happen now? Now when I just got fired and am trying to save my money? Now when I have no boyfriend to substitute for my rubber friends? Why now, when I am having guests next week and don't have much time to order replacements and get the stink cleared out of my apartment? Alas, I must go to Goodvibes.com and meet some new friends. I hope they are as good to me as you have been. this is in or around my naughty drawer webmaster@craigslist.org 2004-06-24T14:11:36-04:00 Copyright 2009, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/34640697.html Rant: rubber and jelly text rave for older women http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/33405273.html I disagree whole-heartedly with the last poster on this topic. I have dated plenty of older women, and always have. My experience has been that they far outshine the capabilities of most girls in their early twenties. [Now, the following comments are meant to represent what I have *generally* found to be true, and as such, I am making no mention of occasional exceptions.] Here we go: --Young girls claim they can give great head, for example, but when it gets down to proving it, they often are clueless. Not enough experience. --Young stuff can't go the distance--I like to hide the sausage for an hour or more, upon each entry--and nearly every young girl I've been with has trouble taking it for more than 15 minutes. They just cant stand up to really vigorous punishment. --They often require a lot of tutoring and 'bringing along' with regard to exploring their own bodies. There's a lot they have never tried. They dont know the different types of orgasm they are capable of. --Theyre often slightly selfish in bed, self-centered. Older women, on the other hand, show a really gratifying enthusiasm and genuine appreciation for the opportunity to be with a guy they like, and to have that guy utterly satisfy them. Its not taken lightly and (speaking for myself) I'd rather perform for a receptive audience rather than to someone stuck-up and sulky. --Older women give better pillow-conversation after sex. They have great anecdotes and history, they're direct, upfront and raunchy and you can have a lot of laughs with them. --Older women are far more stable and grounded than someone who is just entering their twenties. They know themselves really well, and they know their passions, and they know men. They have no hidden romantic or fiscal agendas, and are pretty happy with just a really good fuck. --Older women usually dont balk at a request for anal sex. No problem with it at all. They're like "sure, luv it, bring it on!" Thats tough to beat. --I will agree that sometimes an older woman can own some signs of wear-and-tear (this is natural enough) but I have rarely seen them at a loss, sexually. (In fact, the best sex I ever had was with a 45 yr old). --Why should a few infirmities make a difference? So a few stretch marks have appeared. Big whoop. Thats just "added character" in my book. If you really, truly love women, it shouldnt be a big deal. I personally think women reach the peak of their beauty in their thirties. A good-looking woman in her thirties is basically a ripening of whatever potential she had when she was 19. That girl she used to be is usually still there, somewhere within her; but with the passage of time she now has all sorts of wisdom and skill and compassion and humor that make her a helluva lot more fun to be with. In short: you should be able to love a woman at any age, in any circumstance. I just gotta shake my head at guys who only date young bleach-blonde bimbos: they arent really seeing the whole picture of what women are about. Give it a try, guys. webmaster@craigslist.org 2004-06-10T13:43:23-04:00 Copyright 2009, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/33405273.html rave for older women text morning glory for pedestrians http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/33188352.html 8:45 am, Tuesday. 13th street block between Filbert and Arch. A guy in a black Elantra pulls out of a parking garage, and being in a hurry, nudges his car quite close to a pedestrian crossing his path. The pedestrian isnt thrilled by the driver's attitude and makes a gesture to give him more room as he passes. The driver snarls something like 'cmon fuckface, move your ass' which really makes the pedestrian walk extra slow. He returns the driver's insult with one of his own. Finally he is clear and the driver peels out, all of fifteen feet, before nosing up to the next car in the lane (a line of cars is waiting for the light to turn red). The driver then hurls yet another very loud insult. The pedestrian strolls calmly across to the drivers window, raps on the glass, and tells the driver to settle down and that pedestrians have the right of way. Then he starts back on his path. This makes the driver go ballistic, and he unleashes another vicious, derogatory torrent of abuse as the man walks off. "You gotta problem with me, asshole??" he shouts, inviting the stroller to come back and take it up with him. He just cant let it go. There is this clear, wonderful moment when the pedestrian, now back on the opposite sidewalk, stops dead in his tracks, and seems to debate with himself. This moment is perfect, its like a wave about to break. Three seconds later all hell will break loose; and the character of the scene will be completely different, but those three seconds are golden. In a flash, our hero makes up his mind and strides quickly back to the driver's window, and slams his palm on the glass. Bam! In a VERY loud voice, now, he commands "Pull it over!!" I mean, NOW!!" Instantly the driver in the black Elantra is surrounded by the blue uniforms of very large motorcycle cops. They're all bellowing at him to pull his vehicle over to the side of the street. At this point I continue on to work with a huge grin on my face. I dont have to watch anymore. See, all along 13th Street near Arch, there is a tell-tale line of police motorcycles, often parked prominently along the sidewalk. There is also a small municipal parking lot on the corner filled with police cars. There are little eateries and pizza joints here too, usually filled with cops getting a snack. Up the street is a large official-looking government building. Police officers are usually striding purposefully into this building with papers under their arms. Other men go in and out too, and they're usually wearing suits and ties. Final clue: a big gray sheriff's bus, with grill windows, is usually parked on this very corner. In short, this building is one of Philadelphia's Criminal Justice Centers. So, just how many more clues does one need that a passing pedestrian male, (a guy in his mid-forties, tall, husky, wearing a polo shirt, Hagar slacks and loafers) is probably a plainclothes detective? Idiot. Situational awareness! Hurrah for pedestrians. this is in or around c.c. webmaster@craigslist.org 2004-06-08T10:01:26-04:00 Copyright 2009, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/33188352.html morning glory for pedestrians text Rave: Puppy Love http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/32743926.html On 2nd street...we met ever so briefly, but I'll never forget the encounter. I was walking my dog, you yours. We both stopped and our dogs sniffed rears. In an instant, I glanced into your eyes and saw your soul, your beautiful being sent my heart soaring, my life touched by an angel in the quickest of moments. Just then, your dog dropped a major deuce and mine ate it. You were appalled...me, I was in love. I long for the day when I can see your sweet face again. For now, I'll have this memory of you, me and my dog, gum-deep in your mutt's feces. this is in or around Olde City webmaster@craigslist.org 2004-06-02T20:37:39-04:00 Copyright 2009, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/32743926.html Rave: Puppy Love text To the Judgemental Hipster Girl at my video store http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/32594665.html To the judgemental hipster girl who works at my video store and smirks every time I rent a "Sex and the City" tape and actually ROLLED HER EYES the third time I rented "Win a Date With Tad Hamilton" (Josh Duhamel = Dreamy.) This girl is so condescending that I question my worthiness to even own a VCR. Now, for every "Cheaper by the Dozen" rental (Tom Welling. Enough said) I feel obliged to throw in a documentary or anything with subtitles so I am not made to feel totally soulless. Well, judgemental hipster girl, on Saturday afternoon I saw you walking out of... STARBUCKS!!!! And you were not empty handed, oh no. You had a venti (thats the biggest) cup of something and a little wax bag for some type of pastry. Starbucks? You are so hip and urban I would expect you to be over at La Colombe gnawing on beans with the rest of the coffee fascists in this city. Your secret is out judgemental hipster girl. You go to Starbucks. That probably means you devour every issue of People magazine as soon as you can get your hipster hands on it. I bet at the end of your hip, judging workday you go home and unwind by putting your hair up in a pony tail, slipping on a pair of Juicy Couture terrycloth sweatpants and slipping in a tape of your favorite episodes of "Friends." Your freezer is full of Lean Cuisines and chocolate ice cream. Your fridge is stocked with Diet Cokes and wine coolers (Wild Berry .) You know everything there is to know about the Olsen twins (Mary Kate is your favorite) and in college you belonged to a sorority. You were known to all the other Tri Delts at Bucknell or Lehigh or Penn State for your collection of scrunchies. Judgemental hipster girl- embrace your inner cheesiness. Don't be ashamed of your devotion to Matt Damon and your hobby of decoupaging lampshades with pictures of unicorns and bunnies. You go to Starbucks and that means that for every Saturday night you spend downing PBR's in a cloud of clove cigarette smoke at McGlinchey's or Bob and Barbara's you secretly wish that you were extending a french manicured grip around a big pink cosmopolitan at a Stephen Starr restaurant surrounded by our So Jer sisters from across the bridge. For all your smug, judging hipness you are just like the rest of us. Well, judgemental hipster girl, I am putting you on notice. I am marching over to the video store and renting every "Sex and the City" tape chronologically, beginning with Season One Episode One (you know it. The one where Carrie meets Big for the first time.) I am going to rent cute Reese Witherspoon romantic comedys and The Meg Ryan/Tom Hanks combo films. I am going to have you retrieve every film that James van der Beek has EVER been in. And maybe when I come in, I will bring you a Venti, decaf, non fat, no sugar, light whip, macchiaspressoccinomochalatte from Starbucks. Because you love them. webmaster@craigslist.org 2004-06-01T11:29:29-04:00 Copyright 2009, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/32594665.html To the Judgemental Hipster Girl at my video store text I Love Asian Woman http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/32271988.html I have a pair of Olive Green, silk, linen mix, Tommy Bahama business casual dress pants. They kind of look like army pants but by the way they look and flow makes them much dresser. These pants are perfect for every occasion and I look good in them. Damn good. So I am heading outside for a quick cigarette at work the other day and I head over to the picnic table. I wave “hi” to my female co-workers as I sit down but something is not right. I can tell I sat in something. Something sticky and I am wearing my favorite pants. But I don’t panic. I can’t jump up and act alarmed in front of the ladies. I have to finish my cigarette because I’m cool. Cool. After everyone heads back inside, I jump up to see what I sat in. Tree Sap, Fuck! I have tree sap all over the ass of my favorite pants. Can you even get tree sap out? These are my favorite pants. I don’t know if I can even buy another pair and I look good in these pants. Damn good. After work, I go to the local dry cleaners. It was not encouraging. They all kept telling me the same thing. The cute blond at Sanatoga Dry Cleaner was most direct. She said nothing would get out tree sap and to buy a new pair of pants. My head starts to spin. Not only are these insanely expensive but I don’t even know who sells this brand around here or if they still even make this style but I say, “Ok, no big deal” because I’m cool. Cool. Last ditch effort I go to Chinese Dry Cleaner in King of Prussia. I have no clue what they are talking about but they have never let me down. I point her at the sticky ass of my pants and give a slow emphatic “Tree Sap.” “Oh tee sap, thank you thank you” She nods having no clue what I am saying. “No. Not thank you. TREE SAP” I state a bit slower and louder. “Oh, TEE SAP… Thank you, Thank you.” Still nodding. I left the pants with her and just hoped against hope that somehow my pants would make it out all right. That they would pull through because I seriously look good in them. Damn good. I pick them up today. I pulled through the blue cellophane to see how my pants came out. It was a miracle. No sap. No stains. Nothing! The pants look like new. The Chinese lady just smiled and nodded at me. I was so psiked I was ready to jump over the counter and hug her but I didn’t because I’m cool. Cool. So now I am happy again. The world is perfect once again. The sun comes up, the birds chirp, as children play in the street. I want to share my happiness with someone. So if someone wants to come into town with me for a drink let me know. I’ll wear my pants and I look good in them. Damn good. this is in or around King of Prussia webmaster@craigslist.org 2004-05-27T14:50:18-04:00 Copyright 2009, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/32271988.html I Love Asian Woman text Do you like cute puppies? http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/32206610.html Send Me Your Picture or the Puppy Gets It! <img src=http://www.pmrboston.com/temp/mrpup.jpg align=left> Ok, I said it. I mean it! I hate to go to such drastic measures but I am frustrated, bamboozled, and honestly out of ideas. I have placed a few honest ads for myself on here but no response. I have stated my humble intentions, listed my good qualities, and described myself as good looking. But no one cares. So that's it. I am resorting pure terror and violense. So unless you want to see an Al-Queade style execution with this puppy. <img src=http://www.pmrboston.com/temp/mrpup.jpg align=right> You best email me your pic. Maybe, you think: "Why would I ever want to meet someone that would harm a puppy?" "Could such a person be a danger to me?" "Should I condone such ruthless acts by succumbing to the demands?" "What if his demands go beyond a simple email or picture?" "Would appeasing him only endanger more puppies in the future?" "Could this lead to more puppy perpretrating acts?" These are very valid questions. They demonstrate a deep understanding of human nature, social awareness, and strategic political action. But they are not helping this cute little guy. So unless you want to see this him on Al-Jazeera Animal Planet! <img src=http://www.pmrboston.com/temp/mrpup.jpg align=left> Email me or the puppy gets it. this is in or around *Picture* webmaster@craigslist.org 2004-05-26T18:51:45-04:00 Copyright 2009, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/32206610.html Do you like cute puppies? text Women hate air guitar http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/31756915.html Women hate air guitar. It’s a fact of life that just cannot be explained. Yes it does look ridiculous, and that’s why I try not to do it in public. But the response it elicits from my wife is completely over the top. It makes her mad. I mean very very mad. Not just roll-your-eyes-and-ignore-the-dipshit mad, but truly pissed off. She’ll be mad for almost an hour afterwards sometimes. So, of course I do it on purpose just to push her buttons. It doesn’t happen when I play drums on the car steering wheel. It doesn’t seem to bother her and I’ll even get the occasional complement when I get through a particularly tough part of the song. Sometimes if I whack the high-hat (rearview mirror) a little too hard she’ll just shake her head, but that’s it. So it’s really just the air guitar. I guess I could try piano or bass to further experiment but how lame would that be? Past girlfriends have also reacted violently to my blazing riffs. Maybe it’s my technique or the look on my face when I am rocking out. I should mention here that I am a mild-mannered glasses and books kind of a guy, so the werewolf-like transformation when “Spirit of Radio” comes on is a little abrupt. I get this heavily concentrating snarl look and make grunting sounds in time to the music. My arms curl up in a cerebral palsy like contortion that in any other context would have me immediately hospitalized. My eyes roll up in their sockets and I’m there, man. In my mind I am on stage with my Fucking Hendrix tribute band laying down the law and catching that brunette’s eye in the third row… So basically I look, and sound, like a grunting retard having conniptions. But is that any reason for her to be angry at me? webmaster@craigslist.org 2004-05-21T10:20:23-04:00 Copyright 2009, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/31756915.html Women hate air guitar text biggest mistake was letting you go http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/19650307.html if i had known letting you go meant never finding another like you again, i wouldn't have done it. i'm so sorry. i never thought it would be like this. never thought it would be this hard to find your replacement. i took you for granted, and assumed since you were getting old i could dump you and find another as soon as i wanted to. i don't know what i was thinking. you were dirty, but could be cleaned up. you worked hard and well at what you did, and i admired you for being the only one who could do it. you were healthy for me. and so easy to get along with. well i want another you. i need another you. microwave popcorn is just too greasy. DO THEY NOT MAKE AIR POPPERS ANYMORE???! webmaster@craigslist.org 2003-11-20T14:36:03-05:00 Copyright 2009, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/19650307.html biggest mistake was letting you go text To the chick with the time machine..... http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/17008269.html To the one I've been seeing around at all the major events in history, Don't think I don't know what's up, chikie. I first noticed you in 1776, at the signing of the D. of I. by congress on Aug 2. You were one of Benjamin's girls. You looked at me funny, maybe cause you knew why I was there. I remember you being out of place cause you were chewing gum. Nobody had gum back then. Then saw you at the theatre when Lincoln was assasinated.......member that? You didn't even know I was there! I was watching you the whole time, you were in the balcony booth right across from mine, lookin at Abe through opera glasses, and never even noticed me. And what about the Mt Vesuvious eruption in 1631? Saw ya there too. It seems to me we have a problem. I thought I was the only one in existence to own a time machine. I guess I was mistaken, but now i have to find out who you are and what you're doing cause You see, I trust MYSELF with the time machine not to totally screw up history, but you? No way. And you know exactly what I mean too. I saw you at the 1911 earthquake epicenter talking to that fireman, and when i got back from the trip, I found that my dog was gone, and any record or indication that I ever owned him was too, And now I have red hair, and my Mother's a prostitute. How did you manage that? You really screwed up. Now Scruffy's gone cause of you. And that's not even the worst one: Before I left to see the dedicating ceremony at the Pyramids of Giza (where I saw you selling copper knick-knacks by the way), Ross Perot was president. Imagine my surprise when I got back, and Clinton was in office, and all that work Perot did making it legal to shoot people who owe too much money to the IRS was lost. I hope your happy. Selling Heiroglyph versions of bumper sticker sayings to ancient Egyptians is just wrong. "My other CART is a Lexus?" C'mon, did you really think anyone'd understand that? Anyway, I'm leaving now, and I've got to find out who you are. This is gettin really bad, and I'm worried that when I get back next time (From wherever I see you screwing with history), Bush will be president instead of Gore, (I know, I know, let's not get carried away.....). By the way, you're really hot. -Time machine man webmaster@craigslist.org 2003-09-30T13:21:25-04:00 Copyright 2009, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/17008269.html To the chick with the time machine..... text Where is my Polish lover(I think Polish) http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/11331841.html I think she had a Polish accent. I was young and excited and horny at the time and I was not concentrating on her speech patterns, but if I had to bet, I would say Polish. At the very least it was Eastern European. Bottom line, it was not American. Anyway, it was 1960 and I was twenty. We were in Philadelphia's Veteran’s stadium. Actually, we were in a broom closet in the stadium. I am embarrassed to say that I have no recollection of how we found ourselves in the broom closet. Nevertheless, we were really going at it in that small broom closet, her bent over like that, when I heard the cheers. The roar of the crowd. Michael Jack Schmidt had just hit a grand slam home run to win the game, and I was missing it. Should I turn and run and see the end of the game? Or be a gentleman and stay and finish. I had to see the celebration. I turned and ran and never saw my little Polish friend again. By the time I got back to the broom closet another couple was there. She was gone. I never knew her name. I dream about her every night. It is now 42 years later. I am married most all of that time. I have had a successful career although I never played baseball. I managed to get three college degrees, raise a couple of kids, and stayed married. But now in 2003, baseball has never been more boring. I often walk by that broom closet, but the kids of today dont care. They dont use it. So, where are you, my little shiksa friend. Come back to me. I need you. webmaster@craigslist.org 2003-05-15T09:42:12-04:00 Copyright 2009, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/11331841.html Where is my Polish lover(I think Polish) text