Nine Things You SHOULD KNOW If You Want To Msg Me (Or Any Girls!)
You got your pen and paper? Better yet, print this, burn it, mix with 100ml of cold water (or juice, if preferred) and drink it so that you can commit it to memory.
- Don’t ask me to sms or chat with you on instant messenger and then call me a prude when I don’t. I am sure you are a nice boy and your mom will be too happy to serve as reference. But I don’t sms and I don’t chat. Deal with that.
- Don’t ask to get to know me better when what you mean is you want a good lay; or that your marriage is boring and you are looking for some action on the side; or that you want to date me and then eventually marry me and have me cooking gourmet meals for you in the kitchen of our loving and lovely home while you send "Can I get to know you better" emails to other girls on Friendster. Be a man. Say what’s on your mind. Cat and mouse games are for sissies.
- Don’t tell me I have great bons bons. I know that. A blind man standing 265 miles away in pitch dark in the middle of a snowstorm knows that. Putting it in writing doesn’t give you extra brownie points. And by the way, only little boys call them bons bons. Grown-ups call them by their real name. BREASTS.
- Don’t call me love, darling, sweetheart, honey, dear, poohbear, princess, munchkins, sweetie, cutiepie or whatever terms of endearment that you think would sound oh so cute. It’s not. If you have the urge to do so, give yourself the three-finger salute (that means press Ctrl+Alt+Delete, you pervert). I’m not 13 and I am not your honey. Just call me by my name.
- Don’t ask me if I would like to try any of your manly services that includes licking, massaging or any form of physical contact whatsover. That, and cybersex or phonesex or IM-sex or SMS-sex or whatever you kids call it these days. I don’t jack off and if I do, I certainly don’t need your help. Not even if you ask me real nicely. No matter what those macho, testosterone-laden porn movie says, no still means no.
- Don’t get mad and launch into a 16-page tirade telling me what a pompous, arrogant bitch I am when I don’t reply to your message(s). Believe it or not, I have this thing called a job to take care of and a real non-internet related life to live. If you can’t wait for my reply, suck it up, leave me alone and go play with some other girls. The bitch part, I already know that.
- Don’t tell me what a great person you are. I’m looking for friends, not a soulmate or a politician. If you are who and what you say you are, I’ll eventually figure that out myself. Advertising it won’t help. It only makes you look sad. Very sad.
- Don’t forward me any of those oh so amusing, rib-crackingly funny and educational emails that you got from your friend’s sister’s nephew’s office-mate’s gym partner’s long lost grandmother. This is cyberspace. Hello? Chances are I have received those emails 54 times from hundreds of other well-meaning but slightly misguided friends. If you have nothing to say, just say Hello will do.
- Don’t lie about your status to get a response from me or anyone else, for that matter. If you are married, say so. If you are in a relationship, say so. If you are divorced with 12 kids from different marriages, say so. The Internet may be faceless but it’s not a place for your alter ego to crow and prey. It’s never cool to hurt people with lies that you designed to fit the kind of life you think you deserve. How long did you think you can keep it up till the truth catches up with you anyway? Think about that.
