Oh, Chicago--Don't be so lonely!

I know Chicagoans have it rough, what with everybody either dismissing their city as windy/cold or, worse (?), just flying over them all the time, but has it really gotten this bad?

How bad? This bad:

(link to post)

What? Also, what?! This creepy dude wants "a female" to spend a long time describing--in an email--how her hand moves while she eats cereal? How on Earth would this be enjoyable for anybody who isn't certifiably insane? Is this a last cry for help before RickMoranisRulez spikes his own Tab? Or will he choose to go to work one day with a collector's-edition Rick Moranis mask and a pair of over-the-counter machine guns instead?

Chicago must be real lonely right now. If you know somebody in Chicago, please give them a hug so this craziness stops before it spreads to the entire Midwest and the Pervert Monster gets so big it ultimately destroys both dismissive coasts (who are never paying attention) with a careless flailing of a giant-sized arm--as painstakingly described by LonelyGirl69 in a soon-to-be-legendary email blast.

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Men Get Raped, Too, You Know

Tempted?

And it's always funny [When it's by a woman -Ed.]:

Just wanted to extend a thank you to the very much of a big girl that roofied, then raped my roommate, and then robbed us blind last weekend. As you know my roommate doesn’t drink much and according to him after the two drinks you insisted on purchasing for him at Table Steaks, that was sadly his last coherent memory. In your defense my roommate is a pretty cool and funny dude to be around, but what’s not in your defense is that you drugged him, stole my IPod, his laptop and wallet, plus your white trash ass took five bottles of liquor from our bar. There is no way in hell that you didn’t drug him. I was awoken at three in the morning by you bumping your dirty fat girl music while giving my roommate a striptease and rubbing him up and down with your back fat rolls as he laid there motionless. You also had the audacity to ask if I wanted a lap dance next. Politely I replied “No thanks, I’m pretty tired, you too have fun.”
What I should have done is thrown a box of Oreos out the window and watch you race gravity to catch those delicious cookies all twenty stories down to the pavement. I will admit that due to your large stature, you probably could’ve kicked both of our asses, hell; you probably could have eaten at least one of us. Making matters worse not only did you rape my roommate but you did it while you were on the rag and left our couch looking like a fucking crime scene. One of the cops who showed up to our house to file a police report started gagging when we showed him our nice new cream colored couch that now after your endeavor; looks like someone drop kicked a can of meaty marinara sauce across it. Since you’re so fond of taking things that don’t belong to you, feel free to swing by ally adjacent to our condo and pick up that couch you and your hatchet wound destroyed. Also, since you treated my roommate like a mechanical bull, he has been limping around like a 17 year old German Shepherd with hip dysplasia all day; needless to say you fucked him up pretty bad. Oh my roommate just informed me that Season 3 of Arrested Development is missing, “Jesus, you are the worst kind of skank-waffle ever!”

[From the Craigslist (Denver) Missed Connections]

Side note: This totally explains the weird strawberry syrup stains on my couch and--trust me--I have learned my lesson. From here on out, it is Jennifer Convertibles all the way.

Why? Because I'm worth it.

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Hubba Hubba!

(photo courtesy TMZ)

I think I just found the cover photograph for Nadya Suleman's eagerly-anticipated-by-losers upcoming book.

Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ that is a distended abdomen. Where is all that skin going to go? Can she donate it to a burn unit somewhere? Would they even want it? Who wants somebody else's stretch marks on their face? Or is that already already some kind of fetish among people with whom I would never willingly associate?

I shudder at the thought, but it would not surprise me, not in this world.

If she is unable to find a capable plastic surgeon in Southern California, once her literary career crashes and burns, Nadya at least has a future in the potentially-lucrative stretch-mark-fetish market on Craigslist. Or the one in Africa.

That should put at least one of her fourteen kids through community college.

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