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Everyone’s a 9 on Tinder

A male friend of mine, Matt, had a rather sinister experience recently, with Tinder to thank for it. He had matched with a “reasonably attractive” girl and they decided to meet up… at her house… because her parents were away… Now if thats not an invitation to fuck, I don’t know what is. Unfortunately for Matt, on arrival it became clear that he had been semi-catfished. Not fully catfished, because the photos on her Tinder were genuinely photos of herself, but they were craftily taken and very very flattering. I hate to comment on a girls looks as though that is her worth, but it’s important for me to express Matt’s thought processes to get the full comedic value of this story. Painfully awkward Tinder greeting out of the way, they went straight to her bedroom, because, Tinder. After 5 minutes of difficult “first date” conversation, not helped by Matt’s internal panic at the situation, this girl pounced onto him for a propa snog. Next thing Matt knew, he was fingering her.. natural progression? Don’t ask.
It took Matt a further 5 minutes to reassess the situation, and realise he felt a little “violated”. He told the girl he needed a pee, went to the bathroom and had one of those ‘looking in the mirror and wondering what your life has become’ moments. He crept out of the house without saying goodbye.
But the cherry on top of this story is this: On the drive home, a mentally vulnerable Matt decided he needed a fag to calm down, and while rolling, he noticed that the plaster which had been previously located on his finger was missing. Lost forever inside the catfish.

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The Six Stages of a Breakup

Having recently moved to a new city and meeting a whole new group of fabby girls on my course, I have found myself repetitively telling the story of how Lance won and then broke my heart. Where I thought I was completely over him, I now find myself thinking about him non-stop. And of course, my memories are not realistic. As with most break ups, the memories of arguments, tensions and shitty times fade away, but the memories of the amazing sex, the cute intricacies and in-jokes, the surprise trip to New York, all come flooding back and replay in your mind like the menu page of a DVD which you’re too hungover to get up and turn off.

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FACK You Right Back

The last time a real life boyfriend broke my heart I was 15. I thought he was the coolest person on earth, my best friend and I used to follow him around town, having a go on his BMX and taking an occasional toke of weed. I was gutted for a week, until GCSE stress took over.

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Can I buy you a drink?

Last night, whilst drinking my way through the Happy Hour cocktail list with a bunch of work friends, I found myself listening to a socially out of depth Doctor verbalise what really should have been a private internal debate, about whether the sexy young women who come and sit with him in casinos are employed by the establishment, or are keen gamblers with a penchant for socially awkward woolly-waistcoat-wearing doctors in their 30’s with betting problems. It got me thinking about the way humans accept it as reasonable that someones physical attributes should be used in exchange for someone else’s resources. Heck, people make a legal living by selling their beauty.

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To my little sister, on her 18th Birthday

Today you are turning eighteen, you’re about to have the funnest years of your life, but they will also sometimes be the loneliest and the most tumultuous. To help you deal with some of the kind of things I think you’ll go through, I’d like to impart some of the life lessons I’ve learnt, and am still learning, from the last six years of adulthood.

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The Good Guys Vs. The FuckGirls

So generally my posts can be of quite a man-hating disposition, and my male friends were starting to fret. The truth of the matter is: Prince Charming does exist, and you’ve probably met him 100 times already. Not all boys are fuckboys, but when you friend-zone all of your lovely mates, and only meet potential lovers in clubs and bars or worse, on tinder, you start to paint every boy with the same brush, because as far as you’re concerned, you’ve had the exact same experience with every boy you’ve crushed on this year. I’m SO guilty of this.

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Sex-iquette

I’ve got a boner to pick with you

Theres something boys do which really riles me. I’m sure we’ve all experienced this. You’re giving him a BJ, you’re just getting you’re mojo, and the mofo grabs the back of your head and starts pushing you up and down. Mate. If i’m giving you a blowie, i’ve got a plan, I’ve got a ryhthm. This all involves a system and let’s face it, no one can’t go that hard for 15 minutes straight. If you grab my head and start “guiding” me, the quality of the blowie you are receiving has just dropped by 80%. I wouldn’t mash your face into my lady business and expect you to do a good job, and even if I could, I wouldn’t pound surprise rods down your throat while you’re trying to do something nice for me.

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FACK As Fuck

I don’t mean to generalise, but I will. There is something seemingly lacking in every boy that I meet. I have my four core desirable characteristics: Funny, Attractive, Clever, and Kind (FACK). You can’t have all four. Sometimes you find a boy with three out of the four, sometimes you settle for one with two.

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40 Years of Smoothness

imageSo I went on a date with a 40 year old. I can’t really explain what made me do this, but the fact that every text I received prior to the date from Sav had caused me to pull an involuntary grimace even in some cases causing a gag reflex, probably should have been a good enough indicator to stop me going. It was probably curiosity that made me do it. But then again, curiosity killed the cat.

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