Ever since I posted my Guide to Online Dating, I’ve been getting a consistent number of emails from guys asking for profile advice. While I value being seen as a source of help and enlightenment, all of these guys seem to share the same deficiency: Cluelessness. Some of these hopeless cases seemed to know what they were doing, with maybe a couple instances of idiocy on their profile. Most of the profiles presented to me, however, were downright awful. It got to the point where I found myself cutting and pasting the same advice to all the different guys. I’ll still respond to new emails, but in order to avoid redundancy, I decided to write this blog to address some of the problems I’m seeing. I’ll even include actual profile excerpts from three of the guys, who I’ll refer to as Jose, Garrett, and Wayne.

Please note: All of the “sample profiles” I recommend towards the end are not profiles I’ve used. They’re cut and pasted–with a few revisions–from guys who I felt had effective profiles (By the way, looking through guys’ profiles made me feel incredibly homosexual, but I did it for the people.). I did not include my actual profile, only to protect my identity. Also, Jose was kind enough to let me use his pictures. Though I have placed a black stripe over his eyes to keep things professional.

Without further ado, here is the best of the worst of my emailers…

Jose (his profile was essentially the same as the following two guys, so I’ll only post his pics. There was one additional picture, but it was a newspaper clipping with his name everywhere of him winning some bike race, so I left it off.)

 

 

 

 

 

Garrett

Who am I?

I am self-employed, operating a manufacturing facility in South Asheville (Arden NC). I like Harleys but am not anal about them.

Whenever I grab my long shirt-sleeves (to put on a jacket) I’m reminded of my mother showing me how.

My stock broker’s the etrade baby.

I get excited when Google changes their Logo.

I clench my butt cheeks before hitting unavoidable potholes on the bike.

I get emotional during Publix commercials.

I like buying event tickets for the elderly couple behind me in line.

I can spell, so writing whole words is no problem.

I’m never a liar or cheat and insist we both play fair (unconditionally).

I’m easily impressed, but more interested in your personality than sporting a trophy girlfriend.

On weekends, I like playing outdoors at the lake or beach, riding the bike, or water skiing (any combination works).

I have a handsome Rottie/Bullmastiff named Bosco who’s a perfect judge of character. If he likes you, I probably will too.

I’m turned on by petite women 32 to 44 with common life experiences. I’m not into fakes, drama, head-games, or wasting time (so be real). Unlike Bosco, I have a soft bite.

BTW- I am 5′ 9 1/2″ and weigh 170lb with no kids. Photos are current.

What I’m doing with my life

Having good times while growing a business. I am goal-orientated, time-conscionable and immersed in my work but always find time for important things like invaluable time shared with family and friends.

I’m really good at

Snoring, singing in the shower, making funny faces, math, and not looking back!

Oh! I’m a Master Cuddler…

The first things people usually notice about me

I’m alpha-male and have all my teeth.

Favorite books, movies, shows, music, and food

Book-the Holy Bible
Movie-the Rock
TV show-Pinks All Out (also Survivor-but rarely admit to reality shows…)
Music-Rock, Hard Rock, Blues and more…
Food-anything off the grill!

The six things I could never do without

morning coffee, Vance & Hines, popcorn, dental floss (to get popcorn out of teeth) Pandora radio, and God

I spend a lot of time thinking about

…man stuff!

On a typical Friday night I am

…doing practically anything (sometimes, nothing…).

The most private thing I’m willing to admit

Filling the coffee maker makes me want to pee.

I’m looking for

• Girls who like guys
• Ages 32-44
• Near me
• Who are single
• For new friends

You should message me if

You’re ambitious, and spontaneous.

Wayne

About Me

My name’s Wayne and I’m a fun, laid-back person. I like fast vehicles. Of the two in my pics, I own one. :) I’m new to Austin. My subject line refers to the time I was choosing between an internship in Italy and one in Austin. :)

I travel. I bike. I run. I play volleyball. I seek out adventure. Moms love me and children want to be me. Basically, I’m awesome. :-)

The most fun I ever had was when on a quiet afternoon in an eatery, the waiter brought me food and then said “Sir, do not eat the fish”. That’s a story for later :).

—
Wayne
“Life is a succession of moments. To live each one is to succeed.”

 

First Date

would take you on a romantic date to burger king. You can order all the fries and shakes you want. You want a large soda? No problem. A toy with your meal? Girl, you don’t even have to ask. Haha :)

But more likely, we’ll be at a live music show but I’ll be whistling to Top Gun in my head.

Note: he also provided a link to his profile in which he had four pictures displayed–one pic was of him standing microscopically in front of an airplane. Another was of him standing boringly on the beach with a Battleship off in the distance. Then there’s a picture of just his car–he wasn’t even visible. And lastly a picture of two undistinguishable men doing a tandem skydive.

My response(s) to these poor guys…

 

Jose, Garrett, and Wayne-
 
That was one of the worst profiles I’ve ever even heard of. Holy crap.

Jose- The pictures need some work. I would only post the last one. Yes, one picture is OK. You’re too serious and unsmiley in the mirror bicycle picture. The one with you standing up high with your friends crowded around makes you look like a 13-year-old. The newspaper pic comes off as desperate, as if  you’re trying to show off (That belongs on your wall, not a dating profile.) The picture of you standing with your bike with the hill behind you makes you look fat. The picture with your parents belongs on your work desk. Putting it on a dating site makes you look like a mama’s boy geek. Only the last picture of you smiling at the marathon I like. You look buff, confident, and cheery–attractive to girls. Only use that picture. It will be enough.

Garrett- Please don’t take offense, but what girl in her right mind would want a guy who SNORES, is “immersed in work,” is a self-proclaimed alpha male (which means you’re probably are a total weenie), is a self-proclaimed cuddler (which means you’re probably a total weenie), and who mentions urination during breakfast time as some sort of joke. I also don’t recommend mentioning God or the Holy Bible unless you’re looking for a religious girl, in which case you need to find a Christian dating website–not POF or OkCupid.

Wayne- Is this supposed to be funny?: “The most fun I ever had was when on a quiet afternoon in an eatery, the waiter brought me food and then said “Sir, do not eat the fish”. That’s a story for later :)” Dude, that is without a doubt the shittiest attempt at humor in the history of literate man. Also, delete all your battleship/airplane/car pictures. Here’s what girls will make of you: This guy is a wannabe Nam veteran, materialistic, boring, and untrustworthy (that’s probably not even him in the skydiving pic). Make sure you only post your FIVE best pictures (if you don’t have five, then post one or two). If you’re not sure which ones are your best, ask a trusted chick’s opinion. Make sure you put at least one picture of you with a group of your buddies to show that you’re socially accepted, and so girls won’t think you’re some loner creep. Also, the Burger King thing was just stupid.

But this is just the beginning of all your disasters. Here is what you three need to do:
 
1) Delete everything you ever typed.

When girls see a guy who’s trying too hard, they immediately label him as desperate. You do not need to sell yourself. Also, all your jokes fail miserably. I’ve tried the humorous (the good kind) profile approach; it doesn’t work. Trust me. Keep it simple. The less you write, the better.
 
You don’t need to fill everything out, so leave all the irrelevant stuff blank–favorite tv shows, movies, books etc. Who cares! Girls don’t give a shit about that, so only put that if you plan on being funny about it (dry humor preferably, and if you’re not sure about the joke, that means it sucks. Delete it).
 
 
Jose and Garrett- If you’re passionate about riding bikes then you need to write it in a way that is sensual. Don’t just say, “I love riding my Harley. It is my passion.” Shit like this might impress a special ed fourth grader, but real life women will immediately hit the back button.
 
Check out what this guy wrote: “Few things in life compare to riding my bike through the mountains, feeling the curves of the road with my woman on my back. I consider myself an enthusiast who enjoys the simple things in life, but is always up for random adventures. I know who I am and what I want and am looking for the same in a woman.”

Now, compare this guy’s awesomeness to your feeble gayness. He doesn’t just say things; he paints a powerful picture using cool words like “mountains,” “curves,” “enthusiast,” and “adventures.” Women will go for this dude any day over you two, because he’s, well, a man. 

 
Since most guys feel the need to write about themselves, I’ll give you a couple other ways you can do this and get away with it… 
 
I am outgoing, love the simple things in life, grounded, genuine and try to always make the best out of every situation.

It would be nice to meet someone who is fun, easy-going, has a wicked sense of humor and loves random adventuring.

I am very open-minded, and I don’t judge people based on how they look. Besides, different is interesting.

I know who I am, and I know what I want, so I’m hoping to find people like me who understand themselves and strive for their dreams.
 
 
Another good one. It’s short and to the point. Even though you wrote about yourself, it doesn’t come off as trying to sell yourself, so it would be effective. Here is another:
 
I’ve been on here for only a few months and keep getting the same questions from girls. So I’ll answer them here to save us some time: YES, I have nice shoes, straight teeth, and my parents are still together. If you’d like to know more just ask. But basically, I am an awesome and fun guy looking for the same in a girl. I’m not crazy about one-night stands. I’m also not looking to jump into anything serious right away, but I would definitely consider it with the right girl. Let’s get a drink and see if we click!

If you wanna lose the humor and be a little less risky, then go with:
 
I am an awesome and fun guy looking for the same in a girl. I’m not crazy about one-night stands. I’m also not looking to jump into anything serious right away, but I would definitely consider it with the right girl. Let’s get a drink and see if we click!

Again, shorter is better. These are just some ideas for you. Feel free to use them. 

Sorry for being so harsh, but your profiles were disturbingly bad. I hope my advice was helpful.
 
-Dave…

After sifting through guys’ profiles, I now see why so girls are so frustrated with men. Nine out of ten guys had shitty profiles with suspect pictures. If you know what you’re doing, you should have a distinct advantage over all these idiots. You can even use them in your favor. For example, lately I haven’t even been reading profiles; I’ve been using this cut-and-pasted message and getting a significant response…

Oh yeah, one last thing: I recently read some online dating statistics and learned that the subject line “How’s it going?” gets the most response. Get on it, and don’t wind up like Jose, Garrett, or Wayne…

 

 

I remember when I saw my own cum for the first time. I was in middle school and ignorant, especially since I’d never seen it before. Before Penthouse Letters, I began masturbating in the fifth grade to imaginary images of looking up a girl’s skirt. Whomever I had a crush on at the time would wind up as my jerk-victim. When I first started to cum in seventh grade, I thought something was wrong with my dick, and I should have been aiming my jizz in a sink or container since everything that ever came out of my penis had always gone into a toilet. I quickly discovered appropriate cum dispensers–tissues or printer paper–once I realized masturbation was there to stay, and when I realized how good the feeling of these newfound wet orgasms felt.

I remember other momentous sexual moments. I thought it was so cool feeling those little sacs of fat when I got my hands on a real set of boobs. I squeezed and squeezed until they became red. I remember the girl lying on her back, looking at me curiously, and smiling.

My first kiss was in the seventh grade while playing in a game of truth or dare. I was dared to kiss this cute eighth-grade chick–a girl who would soon enter my up-the-skirt masturbating mind. I hesitated and licked my lips before planting the kiss. Afterwards, she made a face and proclaimed to all twelve participants, “There was like, spit in there.”

When I fingered a pussy for the first time, I smelled my fingers for over two hours thinking I was “the man,” despite the fact that in retrospect, that particular pussy was probably in the bottom 4% of all pussy fragrances.

I remember getting my first blowjob, blissfully sitting on a couch thinking to myself, “Damn…oh fuck…whoa!”

I first had sex in the passenger seat of my car, the two of us awkwardly trying to find a comfortable position. I couldn’t develop any rhythm or ascent and remember thinking to myself, “This is sex? What a waste.”

The first time I had anal sex happened on a Friday night.

Etienne had the big table reserved at Sutra, and about ten of us headed out to mooch off his hook-ups. We were poised for an adventure, and there were even a few celebrities present: Matt Leinart, Dennis Rodman, and a chick named “Alex” from the MTV reality show Laguna Beach.

There was bottle service at the table, but I refused and bought my own beer. Drinking mixed drinks would often cause me to lose control of my fadedness, often resulting in an unfortunate behemoth hook-up or even worse, loss of memory. I am at least able to maintain control along with my memory when I drink beer. I walked back to the bar to buy another cold one.

When I returned to the table, I noticed a blonde gothic-looking chick talking with my buddy E.J. She wasn’t hot, but her black eye-makeup and lipstick sparked my curiosity. I kept my eye on her. E.J. was at the club with his girlfriend; when he saw me looking at goth chick, he left her at the post and went to the bathroom. “She’s all yours, bro,” he said as he strolled past. I walked up to her immediately.

“I like your eye shadow.”

She looked at me for two seconds, got within six inches of my face, and began to speak as if she’d just downed a six-pack of Red Bull. “What’s your favorite sexual position?”

“Uh, doggie-style.”

“Mine’s anal.”
I smiled and chuckled for a moment. “Oh, we are definitely partying tonight.”

What in the world? I had said FIVE words, and this chick just implied to me that she wanted to get ass-fucked. We talked some more about sex. In fact, we embarked on an in-depth discussion on why anal sex is so advantageous and underrated. I had never fired my dick into a butt-hole before, but I lied and told her, “I used to date this girl who was all about it. She loved it.” She listened attentively, just bathing in my artificial juicy experience.

I continued to smile and talk about how cool I thought her make-up and black clothes were. After a half hour of feeding her this shit, we took off.

Maybe someone had slipped something in my beer, but what happened in the next twenty minutes remains a mystery to this day. The next thing I remember, we were standing next to a fire hydrant near a liquor store two miles down the road. I had no car. She had no car. There are a few possible scenarios of how we mysteriously arrived at that location:

1)  We took a cab (But I would have remembered that and why wasn’t the cab next to the fire hydrant with us?).

2)  We had taken a pitstop for water on our 18-mile walk home (No).

3)  A guy with a rickshaw from India was visiting California and was looking to make a few extra bucks. In our drunken haze, we thought it would be adventurous.

Whatever had happened, at least we were both safe. In that moment of re-awakening, my roommate KG called my cell phone and asked me, “What the fuck happened to you?” My reply sounded something like this:

“Uh…I’m uh…dude, I’m at the store. I’m faded, it’s a liquor store, we’re standing next to a fire hydrant down the street.”

After several more questions from him, he figured out where we were and drove by with his girlfriend to pick us up.

KG and his girl were both laughing at us. “How the fuck did you end up here?” they asked. Tracy (goth girl) and I looked at each other, laughed, and could not come up with an answer. “We wanted more beer,” I volunteered.

Tracy began to ask KG’s girlfriend Sally what kind of sexual positions she liked. Sally had never tried anal and wasn’t too open to talk about it. Lacking tact, Tracy kept pushing the issue, eventually ending it with “I think every girl should try anal at least once. There is sooo much more sensation down there. Oh my gawd!” Sally remained silent while I quietly laughed: it was hilarious, and I agreed with Tracy. I was going home with a winner. Even better, she wanted my dick up her ass.

Prior to this night, I’d had two opportunities at anal sex. Both opportunities had ended in disappointment. Either I just couldn’t get my dick in there, or the lube was inadequate. Or both. In fact, both girls halted my attempt with a sentence beginning with the three words “Actually, I don’t..” It just wasn’t meant to be. But tonight, things were different. I hoped.

When we arrived home, Tracy and I sprinted upstairs, slammed the door, ripped each other’s clothes off, and she started sucking my dick. Blowjobs were old news. I wanted butt-hole.

She asked if I had lube. In my bathroom, I scrounged through the cabinets in a horny frenzy. I had nothing. Although I had seen K-Y jelly at the supermarket here and there, I never had the balls to buy it for nights like this because I was secretly worried about what the store clerk would think of me. My lameness was about to cost me butt sex. Luckily, my other roommate had some after-shave gel. It was the best I could do.

I didn’t want Tracy to see my failed attempt at finding an adequate lube. When she tried to get a look at the borderline lubricant I had brought back, I turned her around quickly, turned off the lights, bent her over, put the condom on, and squeezed the after-shave gel all over her ass and my dick, just the way pornstars did it. At least I had fooled her. Now I just had to get my dick in there.

My dick went in easier than I thought. Her asshole muscles were weak, and a minute later she was screaming (in pleasure I hoped). The after-shave gel had worked. I was officially a member of the Ass-fuck Club.

About seven minutes into the plowing, she asked if I wanted to take a shower with her. No girl had ever asked me to take a shower with her mid-fuck, but I said okay anyway. I was ass-fucking her missionary at the time, and when I pulled out, I heard a slow rumbling farting noise. It wasn’t loud or ominous. It was kind of like hearing a motorcycle four blocks away slowly coming to a stop. I figured it was just my dick coming out of the now vacuous poop-chute that had caused it. But the smell. Oh the smell. It didn’t smell like a fart. It smelled like real-life poop. I gave her the benefit of the doubt, however, and we got up headed to the bathroom.

She got in first and turned on the shower immediately. When I got in, the water on the shower floor was a shade of light brown. Light brown! She tried to divert my attention by grabbing my dick, and almost succeeded, but I know what I saw. I squirted some shampoo on both our heads to take my mind off that color.

The shower water returned to normal; we finished up and dried off. She blew me in the shower to get me excited again. For some reason, I was starting to think she had ulterior motives or at least “a plan,” but she distracted me. When we got back into my room, she demanded, “Fuck my ass, NOW.” I obeyed. We finished up and passed out.

The next morning, we both felt triumphant. She had gotten a much-needed anal fuck (She said it had been a while and that she “needed that”), and I became a member of the ass-fuck club.

When she went to the bathroom, I got on my computer. As I was clicking from the fantasy sports page, to MySpace, to email, I briefly glanced at my bed. Almost exactly in the middle was a dark shade about the diameter of a softball. Dreading what I’d find, I moved in to get a closer look. It was poop. Tracy’s poop. It wasn’t a log, just a half-dried puddle with some definite texture. That motorcycle fart had been much more substantial than I had originally thought. Tracy had left a patty in my bed, and we had slept in it.

I checked my body: no brown marks. But I didn’t trust my eyes. All her “moves” with the shower, sudden dick grabs, and sudden blowjobs, instantly hit me. What a mess.

When she came out of the bathroom, I told her we had “better get moving.” I drove her back to her car and could not get the brown softball image out of my mind. I contemplated telling her about the present she’d left on my bed, but refrained in the end because talking about it would have just made me feel worse. This incident was something I needed to keep bottled up. She tried to ask me about being a teacher and other small talk, but I just remained passive and sped down the highway for eighteen miles. When I dropped her off, I told her I’d call her. “Okay, yeah call me. Next time I’ll prepare myself for you,” she replied. I didn’t call her. I think she knew about the shit stains all along. She’d prepare herself? I assumed she was talking about an enema or something to wash the shit out. Yuck. Porn stars have it rough.

When I got back home, I felt like a guilt-burdened murderer returning to his mutilated victim. The patty was waiting for me. In disgust, I ferociously ripped my sheets off my bed. EVERYTHING. I took a shower, tossed the sheets in my car, drove down the street, and then threw the sheets in the neighborhood dumpster. I considered tossing out the mattress but didn’t find any residue, so I just sprayed some 409 in the softball vicinity and gave it a second chance.

Yes, I am in the Ass-fuck Club, but I have my scars. I can still smell the motorcycle “fart,” and I can still picture the aftermath of my bed. Brown is a horrible color.

 

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