An online Dating Service Profile
(please note: this post is in exceedingly poor taste)
A parody.
HotOldGentleman
Let’s address the age thing first…
I have good hair. Many friends twenty years my junior lust after it. A late bloomer, I started shaving in my fifties. Although my third wife claimed in a spiteful letter to our local community newspaper that I
was hung like a chipmunk submerged in iced water, I have it on good authority from many more credible witnesses that the water part is patently untrue…
I have good genes…my grandmother traveled the world-over
for 101 years, dating and exhausting countless young suitor. I cook four-minute muffins in two and have been known to tread water for five days in a row… just for the hell of
it…without water-wings.
I can serve tennis balls at more than 900mph, throw a football the length of North Dakota, and walk for 400,000 miles non-stop without relief. But I’m 74 years old.
When in love, I’m as loyal as 70,000 chiwawas, possess the ardor of 30,000 long horned steers who have been quarantined for 200 plus days in a paddock reeking with the scent of heifers in heat, and have a member that can stay erect for more than the length of time it takes for Sophia Loren to smoke a pack of Wine Tipped Colt cigars…in short, in the very best sense of the words, I will be as horny for you, my prospective love, as a married man…
I possess the pluck of a scarlet bibbed Scandinavian rooster without the attitude or stench… the wisdom of Socrates without his wife-beating habits, and the compassion (despite what Christopher Hitchens says about her being a douche bag) of Mother Teresa,…but alas, I remain 74years old…
…so, if you are one who judges others by age, not only are you missing out on a great deal this world has to offer…you’re going to miss out on me 
…now, to the offense:
The walls of my shagging pad are papered with books containing reams of how-to illustrations on every conceivable erotic Eastern Hemispheric love making technique you can imagine. My balcony is surrounded by fir and scented apple trees. My bedroom is home to a trapeze set used in the Cirque du Soleil production of Salammbo, and I’m not afraid to use it; my bathroom glories in a diamond studded bidet stolen from the harem of a Turkish eunuch, who happened also to be a midget.
I have a close group of friends, and a family that means the world to me. I’m as uncomfortable in a pair of high heels as I am cuddling up on the couch in a pair of jeans watching PBS.
I want to read and discuss shallow books, watch and celebrate WWW wrestling performances, dance, sweat, play, sleep, travel, be outdoors and walk with you, my potential sweetheart, along beaches, beside canals, and around dark streets in Harlem full of overturned burnt-out pimp-mobiles. In fact I want secretly to do this with a shit load of smart, well educated, stacked bitches who are passionate about life and at the same time tattooed and willing, without persuasion, to scratch my scrotum for hours on end. I don’t care if they smoke. In fact I would kinda prefer it. For the record however, I am looking for a long term, loving monogamous relationship with a special kind of ‘lady.’ A soul mate who’s willing to take it one day at a time, and who wont throw a hissy fit if she finds me surfing the service for someone a little bit better.
Perhaps you are her or she, or the…(no hes please)…if so, I’d love to meet you…unless of course, contrary to your expressed desire for adventure, you really just want to sit around in baggy track pants quaffing Coke floats, mowing back Mars bars and putting in time till you find some doltish sugar daddy stupid enough to believe your profile…then by all means hold out for someone better…
Finally, thanks for reading my profile…and good luck with your search. Hope all your dreams come true. And remember, no picture, no response…because, if you are ugly enough to be afraid of letting me see what you look like, then there’s no way I’d want to go out with you in the first place.