feeling very needy right now-39M
my girlfreind left me for another man leaving me all alone, Do you want to be helper in making my life better, I need someone to take care of me and cook for me help me wash my clothes and help me going to work until my car is fixed. I am 6 feet tall and avergae sized, would like to meet women, and please have car for work, i will try and help you pay you back. i am alergic to cats also so don't have cats
Ben xxx-xxx-xxxxx xxxxxx @ xxxxxx.com
A friend recently offered WWHM some insight on how she views a personal ad. “I take little bits and pieces from a personal ad and put it together like a puzzle,” she said. “Simple words and phrases offer tremendous insight, and by assembling the pieces you can create an image of whether he's a curious adventurer, a powerful businessman, or even an intellectual genius.” WWHM applied this thoughtful technology to Ben's personal ad, and all we could create was an image of a colostomy bag chain-smoking Pall Malls in a high chair.
Ben has written a personal ad primarily to tell you all about his needs. He needs someone to cook for him, he needs someone to do his laundry, and most importantly he needs someone to give him a ride to work … …. and something tells me you won't be pulling up to the front door of the Goldman Sachs trading floor.
Interestingly, after reading Ben's personal ad women also discovered they had some needs. Needs such as a burlap sack full of minted sheep balls to slap the 18th century off Ben's face into his snot-soaked Snoopy bib. Needs such as an areola extractor to decouple Ma Kettle's dehydrated teet from Ben's pursed and quivering lips. Needs such as a twine and oak ass joist to hoist Ben's sorry butt from the Frito-encrusted second-hand couch he's been living on to the laundry room at the Poughkipsee Eazy-Snore Inn where he could learn that even a mildly retarded and legally blind penguin can do a fucking load of laundry with a flipper tied behind his back and a rat gnawing on the webbing between his toes.
The truth is we all know a someone who dates a guy like Ben. "He's just misunderstood," they say with a frozen block of Bullseye TV dinner mashed potatoes over their blackened eye, "he just needs to get out of a rut." Yeah, we know honey. If the unmotivated genius inside would just crawl out of that tangle of Schmidt beer cans he's been hiding under for the past eight years, surely he'd cure cancer, run a Fortune 500 company, or even clean up a piece of dog shit that's been sitting on the carpet so long it can stink in six languages. Meanwhile, she calls you every day whimpering "..... he's ..... just ..... not .... changing."
If you want change, go buy an Atlanta Apartment Guide with a $20 bill, and you'll have two opportunities for change in one second.
But meanwhile you're destined for the set of Judge Judy to argue over a 1982 Men at Work cassette tape left in the glove compartment of a station wagon that's been sitting on bricks for four years. "I'm fixing the station wagon," he says, leafing through a Ferrari catalogue to choose which model he might buy once he gets out of his Dairy Queen greeter career if only someone gave him a chance.
Then he blames you for stale soup crackers and the minute surface temperature changes of his napping pillow. Because he has needs to be met, and you will never meet them. So why do women stay with guys like Ben?
Oh yeah, that's right.
Because he loves you!
Feel free to admit you've dated a fucking loser in the comments.