How Do You Do: Internet Crushes
There’s one really salient piece of advice in this post. For your sake we’re going to get it out of the way earlier. Do have internet crushes.
Seriously. Do it. Do it lots.
They’re harmless and they’re probably the best crush you’re ever going to have. You can take those pictures of that thing you like they post, weave a personality around it, and have a perfectly satisfying adult relationship in your head. It’s incredible.
There’s no fighting, the sex is great (well it’s technically not sex, but neither is what you do when there IS another person there) and their family adore you. You can see them at their absolute best all the time. After all, they put great care into making sure that twenty-second attempt at today’s selfie is just right. Even better you can bait them into internet-crushing you back. We all know that we’re at our most charming when our witty, off-the-cuff remarks are heavily researched, run through multiple drafts and tested in emails to close friends first.
Don’t ruin your internet crush by taking it to the IRL level. Disaster. You know all those pictures they post of things you like? Their ex got them into all that shit. The ex they’re still friends with. While nothing is going on between them in real life, in your head they’re slamming their parts together like the cymbals in a high-school concert ensemble. You’re going to realise that, like any normal human being, they’re not stunning from any angle. The sex is like two mannequins bouncing around in the back of a moving truck and their older sibling sees right through you.
Internet crushes are great, because it’s like having a celebrity crush one someone that you think you could get. They might not be as famous, but they are a mystery. And somehow, you’re confident. Hey, you’ve fucked a mystery or two before, right? Or maybe it’s a mystery that you’ve been fucked before. Whatever.
So You’re Going On A Date With: The One Who Might Be The One
This is it buddy. This is the moment. You’re like Rocky Balboa in Rocky X: Taking Palliative Care of Business. Not in peak condition, but full of passion and ready to give it a good college try.
You met her at a party. She’s been part of the same friendship circle as you for like three years, but you’ve never actually been introduced in any meaningful way. Part of that is your mutches shielding her from you (don’t look shocked, we all know what you’re like) and part of it is that she’s been in a long term relationship for most of it. But she’s not anymore. You are still as alone as you were three years ago, but that’s to be expected. She’s the first girl in a while that’s pierced your grim, resigned acceptance to Forever Alone and made you think that maybe death is worth being a tiny bit afraid of.
And now you have the simple task of compressing all those complex feelings into a tiny little ball and hiding them deep inside your soul for the next couple of hours while you try and convince that you’re a normal, functional human person. Good luck.
No, really. Good luck. Because this is the one date you’re going to need it on. We’re not big believers in fate, but for whatever reason this is going to be the unluckiest date you’ve ever been on. You’re going to forego an umbrella because the weather looks like it’s going to hold out. It’s going to rain heavily. You’re going to pick a bar that’s usually quiet, chilled and dimly lit. There’s going to be a function on. You will get a blemish in the middle of your forehead like you’re a unicorn going through puberty. She’s going to get bad news in a text message in the middle of the date.
So what are you going to do? Are you going to be a man and fight for this girl’s affection, considering that she’s into the same music as you, shares a similar ethical and political stance, can take part in a healthy disagreement about the scrambled vs. poached egg debacle and sees through your nervous bumble-fucking and flirts with you like you might actually be mildly fuckable?
Option A: You don’t.
You’re scared. You’re so fucking scared. You find yourself drowning in a drought of confidence. You try to swim, but you’re so out of your mind into this girl that you’re drowning in her pretty. Her pretty is a thick, dense pool of wet sand, and it’s somehow tightening in on your throat. It’s not that you say all the wrong things - it’s that you don’t say anything. Despite all of the good work, hard effort and general lies you told yourself and about yourself, there’s none of that confidence that you managed to fake when you started talking to her. You asked her out, for God’s sake - that was the hard part. Why are you fucking this up now?
You drive the nail in your own coffin then somehow phase yourself through the cheap plywood to lay down and die when you call the date off early. Which is stupid. She’s into you enough, but sadly, you’re not into you. All of this turns out being the go-to point of social interaction for you for the next three years of your life, when she becomes the one that got away.
Option B: You do.
A round of Gossleplause for you. You stuck to it. You embraced the horribleness of the date, and used it as fodder. You laughed at the situation. You pointed at fate’s ugly face and told if to fuck off. You kicked fear right in its dumb balls, turning it into your bitch.
You pointed out that this wasn’t going well in a charming manner. You’re confidence wasn’t handsome, but it was cute. Which is about the best you’ll ever get, because you’re a normal human being who gets scared of other human beings. That’s what people do. But you’ve learned enough lessons about yourself to know that when a good thing falls in your lap, you do your best to keep it there. You tell it a joke and tell it it’s fun. You make the thing want to stay, despite asking yourself why it would want to.
Just think about how easy the next date is going to be now that you’ve had the worst first date you’ve ever had.
Option C: She’s not the one.
New Metrics: How To Measure A Good Joke
Introducing the highest metric of honouring any given joke’s success: the Gossleplause.
Example given: “Einstein masturbating is a stroke of genius.”
Short Story Corner: I’m Sorry I Said Your Vagina Looked Like The Predator
I really am. I know it killed the mood and there’s nothing we can do about that now. Well we could go to separate rooms, think of different people and contend with the synchronous warmth, shame, fullness and emptiness that comes with icing your tummy cake or inspecting your silk ruff. But I think it’s important that you let me finish my apology first. Never wank angry. That’s what they say, isn’t it?
I know it’s horrible to equate any of your body parts with a menacing creature from Hollywood history. You know I’d never refer to your tits as The Blob. I know that you’d never call my penis Anaconda. Though one could argue that’s for reasons that have more to do with scale than politeness. It’s especially horrible to equate that part with a vicious, ruthless killer that destroys men at will.
Though now that I say that…
I’m kidding. I’m sorry. Look, all I’m saying is that sometimes mental associations are both hard to break and impossible not to vocalise. If I didn’t say it, I was going to think it and I would have started laughing. Tell me that context-free giggling during face to lower-face moment of intimacy isn’t worse.
I don’t think your vagina is from space. I don’t think your vagina killed Karl Weathers. I certainly don’t think your vagina has different modes of vision or the ability to remain invisible. I don’t think your vagina’s achilles heel is mud. In short. I don’t think your vagina is the Predator.
I just think it looks like one.
But it’s okay. You can say that my penis looks like a half-chewed sausage, or a spring onion in a rain storm or a model U-Boat made by a blind child. It’s fine, I have no insecurities about the formal aspects of my penis. I know what it looks like. But I understand why you’re sensitive. And I am truly deeply sorry. I can’t take back what I said but I can tell you that I didn’t mean it to be malicious or unkind. It just is what it is.
Have you seen the Predator?
He really does have a face like a cunt.
How To Be A Grown Up
- Stop wearing comfortable clothes in public. Grown ups are never comfortable.
- Learn what it means when the NZX drops 30 points.
- Challenge the political views of your parents (but only if they’re left leaning, right?).
- Channel some Konami Code confidence. ↑ ↑ ↓ ↓ ← → ← → B A Man.
- In the wake of any Definition of Marriage Act passing, don’t ruin the moment by acting like a smug idiot.
- Stop using ‘literally’ wrong.
- Use less similes and more metaphors.
- Learn to tie a tie. If you’re a boy or a girl.
- Start realising that ‘picking up women’ has nothing to do with your upper body strength.
- Do not be enticed by KFC or PIzza Hut’s gimmick food. Edible memes are not sustenance.
- Use less nicknames for people. Sure, ‘Gossles’ takes all of the intimidation out of him, but he’s still Ryan Gosling, not a baby kitten.
- Don’t tell your kids how you met their mother. It’s unbecoming to break down your sexcapades to your children.
- Learn the difference between ‘flirting at the bar’ and ‘trapping someone in a corner’.
- Change your sheets. Like, right now.
- Get a handle on your finances. And that doesn’t mean buy a briefcase.
- Never say you want to get your vagina murdered.
How Do You Do: Moving Back In With The Parents
You tried your hardest, but you’re just not a grown up. You decided to follow your dreams, but your dreams don’t pay well. You said it was just going to be for a few weeks. Just until you get back up on your feet. Maybe you moved home just before you went travelling, saying to yourself “After my OE I’ll move right out and get that job I know I can get”.
Grow up. No wonder you’re living back with your folks. You’re clearly still an idiot.
Luckily, your parents don’t know how much of an idiot you are. They’re naturally programmed to want to look after you and love you. Plus they don’t know how much of a creep you are at bars, how much you hit on your friends girlfriends/boyfriends, how many drugs you’ve been taking and they don’t know about that STI that you still (stupidly) haven’t got checked out. Good news – it’s not herpes. Bad news – it’s all the other ones.
Now you’re back at home. You’ve already lived out of home, so you know what freedom is. You long for it once again. But when you live in their house, you follow their rules. That’s not just a cliché. It’s a fact of life. If you were living with me, you’d follow my rules too. But you’re not, because I’m one of the friends you’ve pissed off when you’ve been skeeving off my booze, my smokes and my generosity.
Just kidding, I’d never do that. I’d never give you shit. I know how much of a fucktard you are. But that’s my point - your parents don’t.
Unfortunately you’re not grown up enough to realise that perhaps you shouldn’t take advantage of that fact. You’re going to steal the small change you see floating around the house. You’re going to go up and “get the milk”, but you’re also going to keep the change. You’re going to bitch and moan that your parents are telling you that you need to do something with your life and that your dreams might have to go on hold. You tell them that you’re an artist/writer and that you won’t sell out. Here’s a question: When was the last time you wrote something? Was it when you thought of a good idea, put a note in your iPhone (which your parents bought you) and then completely forgot about? Sound familiar?
You’re young. You’re under 25, probably. It’s okay to be back with your folks. What they don’t understand is that it’s not actually all that easy to go and get a job, even at a cafe. What you should be doing is volunteering. You love puppies and kittens? Go work at the SPCA. Oh, that’s too far away? Okay, how about you go volunteer at a radio station. They’re full up, not taking any more vollies? Maybe try asking them again next week. Show how you actually want to do that sort of thing. Oh, turns out you don’t? Maybe go work on a student film set for free. Network and learn about things. Oh, you don’t like working collaboratively? Here’s what I’ve got from you:
· You like puppies and kittens as long as they’re on the internet and you can play with them but not actually help them / you’re selfish
· You want to work in radio because you’re really “into music” except you’re not willing to put the hard yards in / you’re lazy
· Your dreams of working on a film will never come to fruition because you say that you don’t like working with others who don’t know what they’re doing and don’t take your constructive ideas to heart / you just realised you don’t know a thing about film
Thank God you’ve moved back in with your parents. You’ve got a lot of growing up to do, young man/lady.
But it’s not all bad. Home cooked meals are great. Since you’ve got nothing to do, eventually you’ll stop watching television and decide to start exercising. You’ll start to experiment with cooking and baking. After your parents really give you that grilling you so sorely need, you’ll realise that the world doesn’t owe you shit.
Do you think your grandparents had dreams? They worked jobs that suck so much now robots have been invented to do it because those jobs caused cancer. They didn’t moan. They just did it. You lack work ethic, and you’ve watched far too many indie coming of age flicks where the protagonist got that job interview.
At best, you’re a supporting character in someone else’s film. It’s far more likely that you’re an extra, or not even in the film at all. Really, you’re just an audience member for life.
So be thankful you’ve got your parents to look after you, make you a hot chocolate and a Sunday roast, because if anyone’s watching the straight-to-dvd film you call your life, it’s them. And they’ll give you rave reviews.
Dating Do Nots
- Do not ask a girl who works at a café if she wants to get coffee.
- Do not ask that girl at the gelato shop out. She always says no.
- Do not tell that guy about your ex. Ex-boyf or ex-girlf. We’d rather just not know.
- Do not bat one out before you go on a date. You’ll lose your sex drive. You think that it’s going to help you last longer, but really you’re not going to get any until she’s horny. And that’s not at 1pm on a Tuesday. Coffee is not an aphrodisiac.
- Do not keep asking that girl out. No means no. In fact, yes mostly means no. Yes very rarely means yes.
- Do not be sad if a girl just wants sex. You are lucky enough that she trusts you as much as she does. You don’t even trust you.
- Do not get upset if your friend manages to lay that girl/guy you’ve been into for over three months. You’ve either tried and failed or you never tried at all.
- Do not wear your best clothes on the first date. You’ve then set a precedent that you’re fashionable, which we all know is not the case. You’ll only let them and ultimately yourself down.
- Do not wear a coat or jumper on a date. You will sweat and sweating is gross. Everyone can see that bead on your forehead, and everyone knows that you’re wiping it off. You might think you’ve got it down, but you really, really don’t. Just order some water.
- Do not talk about the date on social media. If you do, disguise it so thinly that it makes it awkward for them to bring it up.
- Do not critique their hobby, especially if it’s water polo.
Dating Facts, Part 2
The following facts are true, sourced from somewhere I can’t remember but they’re real.
If you want to create an instant link with a date, say his or her name at least twice in the conversation. This shows attentiveness and connectiveness.
This seems like something that was said in Hitch. Yeah, we’ve seen it. We sat down and watched it with our mothers. Which might sound weird, but one of us watched Dogtooth with his mother, and that’s a bit weirder. She gave it a thumbs down.
If a group of women are standing together but their eyes are wandering, they are likely to be looking for guys. If they each take a turn to break away from the group to head to the bathroom alone, they are on the prowl. If they are huddled together giggling, they are usually not interested in finding men.
Yeah, men who go out looking for girls really give a shit what girls want to do. The fact is, there are two types of men - the ones that are comfortable playing the numbers game (the confident ones) and the guys who play the long game, powering through the hours hoping that some girl will eventually say “hey, come back to my house and drink”. Think about how many times that’s been your drunk-brain game plan. If a guy wants to flirt, he’ll flirt. Because men are horrible and stupid. Although huddling together and giggling is a good way to make us think you’re laughing at our penises.
Choosing exciting places for a first date increases the chances of the other person falling for you. There is a definitive link between danger and physical/romantic attraction.
One time Matt took a girl on a skydiving date. There’s no rush like eating wind. Makes you feel powerful. Another time he took a girl to a shark punching arena. Lots of danger there. Sam once asked a girl if she wanted to go jump off a building, but she took it the wrong way. It’s hard to get the ingredients of danger and romance just right. Technically, just going on a date with a man is dangerous. Statistically, there’s a 100% chance he’s going to kill, fuck or marry you. Who wants to take that chance? We think Taylor Swift might.
Research shows that men know they’re falling in love after just three dates, but women don’t fall in love until date 14.
Someone’s picky. This makes a lot of sense though. We all know date three is FuckDate. So it’s no surprise that the men go soppy-eyed and stupid over the person he’s splurking his genital-jelly into. If for no reason other than it’s nicer to fall asleep next to than the old t-shirt he’s been doing it into for the previous six months. Women obviously need another eleven bangs of the gong to make sure his beater is up to the challenge. That’s fine, we get it. You’re shallow.
Dating is a bit like…
- learning to ride a bike. You skin your knees and cry a lot.
- restaurants. You’re always jealous of what the person next to you is having.
- trying on clothes. More often than not, the thing you like most doesn’t fit properly.
- your first attempt at growing your own tomatoes. Fruitless.
- pop music. Everyone’s into something new within the month.
- wearing your t-shirt backwards all day. Awkward.
- hunting treasure. It’s not easy to find it, and you don’t want to share the booty with your mates, but once you do finally unlock the treasure chest it’s amazing. Although you get greedy and want more. Then you realise it’s the hunt that you really love.
- being in France. Everyone always talks about it, and yeah, the end result is amazing, but you’re hardly the coolest person there. Or, more importantly, who’s been there.
- that exam you just did. You thought you were prepared, and you’re worried you didn’t do as well as you could have.
- Eric’s stories. There are a lot of lies (or embellishments through vicarious anecdotes) told.
- watching the first five minutes of UP. You don’t want to cry. You better not cry. You must not cry. You cry.
- learning to drive. Practice makes perfect, and you’re sure you’re not too drunk except you definitely are.
- jumping off a building. It will end in a splat.
- football. The Europeans and Brazilians are great at it, and it’s fun to watch as long as it’s exciting and being done by professionals. But only one team can ever really win.
Dating Facts, Part 1
The following facts are true, sourced from somewhere I can’t remember but they’re real.
In the online dating world, women are afraid of meeting a serial killer. Men are afraid of meeting someone “fat.” According to Ann Rule, about 3% of men are psychopaths, of which only a tiny percentage are serial killers.
Men are needlessly afraid fat women because they’re worried that these girls will rudely eat their penis. It’s very unfair and judgemental, but the fact is, men don’t want their penis chopped off by a pair of teeth. Weirdly the guys have a slightly more rational fear here. But it’s nothing to do with body types, so lay off it, Dove. Stop throwing your ‘beautiful’ agenda down our throats. Or we’ll bite it off.
Nearly 40% of men do not feel confident meeting a woman for the first time.
Just remember that, women. Dudes are shit scared of you. We’re not being rude, we’re just not confident. Which is why we’re sweating so much. That and we drank too much before the date. Yes, it was stupid of us. But we thought it would make us confident. We were wrong. With that in mind. If you do have a wee bit of coke in your bag, offer it to us. It’s going to make things all that much easier.
Immediately after Tiger Wood’s affairs became public, men looking for discreet relationships on BeNaughty.com dropped by 47.5%.
Studies show that schools, colleges, coffee shops, and malls are all excellent places to flirt because people are more open to meeting others in these places. Poor locations are restaurants and movie theaters.
There’s safety in numbers and safety in the light. Why women allow men to go on dates to movies is beyond us. You’re letting us take you into a dark room where you have to be quiet or people will be angry at you. Why risk a public rape dungeon? Plus who wants to listen to the sound of popcorn consumption?
Studies show that men are put off by groups of loud women. If a woman wants to get a date, she should break away from a loud group to give a man a chance to approach her.
Again we’re not sure that this is the best advice. Have you ever seen what happens to the baby buffalo that goes off for a wander in a David Attenborough film? Look either way you’re going to become prey. Question is do you want the predator that hangs around the bar till you’re alone or walks up to your gaggle with his big, furry manhood on show?