Okay, so asking for what I truly want, and *gasp* actually expecting to find it, has left me picking up the shattered pieces of my own disappointment. Since attempts at the easy way have yet to pan out, I'm going to spice up my life a little and pull a 180. Fellas, here's what I now want. You can be any one of these, OR a combination of them all:
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Guido - Is your name Tony or Bruno or Joey? If your left bicep weighs more than I do, I think we could have a shot at something magical. I'm talkin' thick gold chains, little to no neck, and TONS of back hair. I've always wanted a bodyguard - er, boyfriend - who I'd have to dumb myself down for. You've learned everything you needed to know on the streets (probably on the East coast, no?), and dammit, that's good enough for me. Really, all we need to discuss is how much iron you can pump and what amazing advances are being made in the steroid biz. I want to have little baby meat heads with you while you reminisce about the good 'ol days of football and kegs. My heart flutters at the thought.
Creepy old guy - You are far more refined than the others, and gosh darn it people like you. Money, cars, own your own company... you've got it all. You get your rocks off by taking me shopping. And, I love it when you try to touch my knee with those long-nailed, well manicured hands of yours. You hate kids (who needs 'em?), but you love trophy girls who are more than half your age. Perhaps we can fulfill that little schoolgirl fantasy of yours. I know how you fancy wearing my underwear. I won't tell your colleagues, promise.
Pot head/surfer guy - What time is it? I don't have to ask you twice - It's 4:20, ALL the time. Dude, are your clothes made of hemp? Mine too! Like, cool man. I don't mind that your hair is dried out and looks as though it hasn't been brushed since '85. And trust me, that cured leather look on you is righteous, man. After all, you're a child of the sun. No need to plan for the future, or have a job. We can tie our boards on top of your '67 VW bug and cruise the PCH in search of the perfect wave. Bonus points if you play acoustic guitar and sing sappy love songs about dolphins.
Mr. Corona - What's that smell? Oh, why that's the smell of stale beer (mm, my favorite) on your breath as you grab recklessly at me in a bar. How did you know my name was Baby? You are one smooth cat. Sure, you can buy me a drink, especially if that means you're going to hang all over me and breathe that honeysuckle breath of yours on me all night. That sleepy-drunk look is so dreamy. I'd love to produce offspring with you (God knows we need more of your kind polluting the earth), but I'm afraid that your constant state of inebriation has killed off all fertile sperm. That's okay, we can look forward to lots of sloppy sex and cotton mouthed hangovers.
Baggage guy (aka Mr. Wonderful) - The world IS against you. I'm sure it had nothing to do with the fact that you still have yet to get your GED (Good Enough Diploma). No job? That's okay. I understand that an aspiring musician like yourself can't concern himself with the likes of the working force. Yours is the sensitive type, certainly not jaded. I realize that ex of yours broke your heart. How dare she accuse you of having no ambition or drive? I don't mind that you keep a picture of her in your wallet still, or that you drop her name like it was going out of style. We both know you're over her. Got no money or car? Don't worry, I love starving myself so that I may buy lunch for you with the last of my paycheck (I'd have more money, but you still haven't paid me back the $500 you owe me from 6 months ago). Our perfect date: circling your ex's house as she leaves with a really hot guy. If you break down and cry, it will only bring us closer.
So these are my top 5. If you fit any one of these descriptions, you must contact me asap. Send me a pic too. I'll respond even quicker if it's a picture of your genitalia, your surfboard, your guitar, or a pic of you and your ex together. Should you be intelligent, witty, extremely good looking, and have your shit together, please don't respond. Your kind has lost its luster.