I’ve recently been approached by an online dating agency about applying my verbal winning to their blue-balled masses. They believe I ‘have what it takes’ to be an online love guru. They asked me to do my charitable part to help men ‘get theirs’ by writing love letters to future cat ladies with just the right amount of finesse to get their ovaries fist-pumping.

Special kudos to me for writing like I’m wielding a foreskin sword or a mushroom-shaped bazooka. I do agree that I possess the dangerous combination of having a vagina and the borderline abhorrent, vulgarity and speech of a real-life Van Wilder. It’s a gift, I suppose. I declined the opportunity, as it for a lack of a better explanation, gave me the heebie jeebies. But here is a usable template for the clueless men out there that want to boost their editorial appeal and understanding of what women really want.

Hi my name is ____,

I like sex. In fact, I like sex so much, I’ve spent the equivalent dollar amount of 1.5 bottles of protein powder, to optimize the pool of applicants that want a one-way ticket to fucktown on my trouser pony. I understand that sexual encounters can be bartered for things like hand-holding and sushi dinners, which I am willing to offer. Special arrangements will have to be made if said sushi dinners are followed by 2 hours of movie watching of the Rom-Com variety, as such activities deeply sadden Mr. trouser pony. You must be willing to forgive me for my emotional unavailability and sad attempts to dispute said emotional unavailability. C’est la vie.

I’ve been known to be spontaneous, and can prove said attractive attribute by suavely ordering a Jack & Coke one minute and a Heineken the next. Keep the bitches guessing, that’s my motto. I will never ignore you in front of my friends, but I may engage you in a fun game where I pretend you are invisible, while my hommies are present. But please keep in mind, it is just a game, and not a testament to my affection. I enjoy partaking in calorie burning activities including, intense beer pong tourneys and masturbation. I will forever believe that a print-out of my checking account is a sexual conduit and can provide said print-out if it will speed up the panty-dropping process. I will also forever believe my stature and penis are exactly 1.5 inches larger than their actuality, and expect you to go along with said disillusion.

I may respect you and adore you with a Van Gogh-like intensity, but am reluctant to show said affections out of fear for a swift drop kick to my cardiovascular unit. Withhold sex for exactly 3.5 weeks and I will be yours forever. Please message me before I start to bald.

Yours truly,

Hornypants McMidlife crisis