Okstupid

Okstupid

Albert took a drink as he hit the send button. Tonight there hadn’t been any messages but while waiting for a response he decided to reflect upon his inbox as a whole.

The absolute worst were the few who had sent him petty insults. There were others who had sent uninterested one word replies as, but the most common response to his messages was the absence of one. Most girls had decided to simply flatout ignore him.

Bitches. Albert considered himself an empathetic man who was taught from his earliest days that racism and generalization of any kind was bad. Therefore, he did not hate women but the soul crushing business known as online dating was making him begin to second guess his lifelong philosophy.

Tonight was a drinking night. For every girl he messaged a shot of beer was poured. Albert was never big on booze but earlier on his way home from work he had decided to use the ineptitude for alcohol as a time management tool. The concept was simple: when he got too drunk he would simply have to get off the website. Too many nights in the last three months had been spent wasted meaninglessly scrolling through badly written profiles and sending out wonderfully written messages. Three months, huh?

It’d been three months since that bitch Ashley had let him go. It had not been a match made from heaven, not from the very start. Yet something in Albert, some will or desire to see the good in people made him want to change her dishonest ways. It was later on that he realized the only reason he’d ever tried changing her in the first place was because she was the only girl who had given him romantic attention in three years. He’d found out afterwards through mutual friends she only dated him in the first place because of his money. It did not surprise. She was the queen of all bitches.

If her bitchiness level could be visualized into an apple then most of the girls on this site were just seeds. It’s not as though the site had been devoid of all intelligence. Approximately for every ten messages Albert sent out he’d gotten one reply. From those replies only one in four ever sent him a message back that was worth reading, more than a couple of badly strung words that comprised less than a sentence.

With those few that sent him decent responses he’d had a couple rallys going at one point. What inevitably ended up happening was that, after discussing politics or literature or travelling, Albert would send them his number and the suggestion that they continue the discussion over coffee. No girl messaged him back after his closer, despite the paragraphs they had been typing to one another before that.

At first Albert thought the problem might have been his profile. He’d sought out message board tutorials, tips and asked for critiques to make his profile more appealing to the masses. It did not work. As his success rate dropped so did his standards and eventually his passion. At present time Albert did not even bother looking through the girls profile, the pictures were enough. The messages no longer treated each girl as if she were a potential suitor but instead the goal was simply for them to acknowledge him in any way. From the terrible messages he was now sending he had even gotten one or two nasty responses, some as uncaring and cruel as Ashley herself had been at their final meeting.

No point was lower than now, though. It was the seventh girl of the night and Albert was now completely drunk. Somehow his fumbled mouse clicks had led him to a girl showing cleavage and little else of importance. As he was typing the message some offhand quote randomly came into his head but he couldn’t remember (nor cared) where it had come from.

I think it was some shitty movie once said you either die a hero or you live long enough to see yourself become the villain.

“sup babe. you got some nice ttitties on u.hi im al, ive got a high paying job im a good guy and ive got a seven inch cock. look i see you live in rossett park well thats really closee to where i am. if u message me back ill give u my number n address and we can have a partry, just the two of us. no strings attached.”

Albert grinned and laughed to himself before sending out the message, but then he threw up next to his desk when the laughter had overwhelmed him. That was probably enough for tonight.

--

Ashley browsed through tumblr and instragram saving pictures of attractive dudes and chicks in different folders as she found them. Despite knowing what sappy girls look for in a booty more than lame guys, she still preferred getting the attractive women pics. A lot of the time the guys that messaged her various accounts suggested they talk on skype or on the phone. If anything she had a pretty feminine voice and could talk dirty if need be. The guys lapped it up when she did.

Mentioning those guys, after only two months she had a few nice targets already set up. Guys even richer than her wimpy goody-two shoes ex-boyfriend.

Oh. Mentioning him, something funny had happened last week. Out of the hundreds of profiles in their area he had actually messaged her, granted by then she’d had over a dozen active profiles, each with a detailed bio and pictures of a girl a country away.

Ashley did not think much of it. On this particular profile she had unintentionally listed things that was in common with his likes. She laughed at the realization and decided to send him a quick response after viewing his profile.

It was simple, to the point: “your ugly dont message me again.”

Life was funny. Her catfish scheme held the promise of great success, screwing over that moral shit Albert a little was just a bonus.