Dating. The same word as fear, but in a different word. Nobody ever admits the truth, and that truth is universal. And that truth is that dating is the same thing as being scared. It’s the scariest thing in the world ever, and I can prove it.
Actually I can’t, because I haven’t thought this through at all. Not that I need to, you should be sucking my cock for this crap, after all…if you’re quite at the point of the day where you’re reading this and haven’t got as far as Wikipedia, or bored.com, you’re clearly desperate.
Anyway, shut the fuck up and sit down before I hurl a javelin into your eyes. This is what Wiki says about “Dating”
“Courtship or dating is the process of selecting and attracting a mate for companionship, sex, marriage and sexual reproduction.”
For my own part, I tend to rely on humour and charm of wit. As i’ve a very sick sense of the first and none of the latter I simply enter the arena wearing a big nappy and with a funnel shoved up my bottom. I then proceed to lay on the floor in front of an intended to be, pouring water into the funnel and crying my eyes out.
It doesn’t, and will never work. Dating is terrifying for me, really. That’s why i’ve never been very good at it and tell you lot daily.
Another entry refers to an American “Dating Do’s and Don’ts” sixties information film. Quite honestly, at a time when STD’s ran utterly rife and protection was in the form of a bicycle’s inner tubing, this probably wasn’t helping. But it does pose these questions……
“What kind of girl should he date?
How should he ask her out?
How should he say good night after the date is over?
Brilliant, I must say. This is actually the almost exact nightmare I had, or have, summed up in three bite size thoughts. I would answer the above thusly:
1. He should date anybody that is real, for a start. There’s nothing worse than spending a week in your loft, stitching a woman together out of cloth, chicken bones and old bin bags only to find out that she’s not real, even after you’ve drawn breasts and a vagina on her. Often the result leaves a man screaming in the foetal position on the floor and crying tears into the floorboard.
2. He should make it clear, by cutting the bum out of his trousers, writing “CAN I GO OUT WITH YOU?” on each buttock, or between the two, sitting on the bar (Or wherever he is) in front of her and baring the arse in her direction slapping his forehead and shouting in a kind of bastardisation of Welsh and French. Woman fucking love that shit, Brutus.
3. Saying Goodnight is never easy. It’s best not to cry into her mouth, lean in for a kiss and scream while you’re doing it, and definately don’t wear a bucket with two eyeholes cut out of it and some lips painted on. She won’t kiss you and she won’t be calling you again.
Best thing to do is to suck your thumb all the way home, never look at her, and hold an invisible mother’s hand whilst juggling your scrotum with the other hand. She’ll be so fucked off she’ll never ever call you again.
So there you have it. No good advice whatsoever from somebody who knows very little. I’m sure you can cope. I’ve got to go to work now. Sod it. Sod the lot of it. Bye!