Super Poke!

After watching my date check his emails, thumb his Blackberry, and refresh his Facebook status to reveal that absolutely nothing had transpired in the nanoseconds since his last update, I came to the realization that this man was a techno-junkie. Although we were ambling around Prospect Park on a luminous, unclouded afternoon, the serene setting did not distract this bloke from squinting at his iPhone screen and muttering the word "FarmVille" repeatedly.

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PARK SLOPE CRAIGSLISTING: Friend Without Benefits

Occasionally, I peruse the Craigslist personals section in order to gain insight into the minds (genitals) of Brooklyn-ites in their progressive pursuits of relationships (genitals).

Like many of the folks who solicit strangers online, the author of this ad attempts to appear laid-back and practical in her request for a "friend without benefits". Unfortunately, while her lengthy list of irrational requisites rise, her casual credibility proceeds to plummet.

Greetings,
Right away I'm sure since I'm posting this ad particularly in the "strictly platonic" (friendship) section, that many of you assume that I'm just looking for a friend to hang out with. When in fact, my intentions are far more intricate, hence the "engage in platonic relationship." I am specifically looking for someone who is interested and willing to become a platonic companion. What that basically means is that we would be forming an affectionate attachment with the intellect of an opposite sex with no intentions of physical romance or sexual pleasures. In other words, I'm basically looking for a sexless marriage, though of course we don't actually have to get married.

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[Sex In The Slope] Abe Lincoln

In order to avoid becoming a complete solitarian this winter, I've been forcing myself to spend a few hours a week at Gorilla Coffee, where I sit amongst the living, drink overpriced herbal tea, and write these pretty words that you're currently reading.

One afternoon, the cafe was unusually crowded, so I agreed to share my table with Jim, a gentleman who was in need of a place to sit. He set his coffee mug down, settled himself into the wooden chair adjacent to the table, and complimented my Wonder Woman notebook. I thanked him, and then became engaged in a half hour-long conversation about the Beastie Boys, monster trucks, and the Yiddish language...overall a completely non-flirtatious and wholesome exchange.

As I was readying myself for a graceful exit, Jim mentioned that he was going to sell his LPs, including some Beastie Boys albums, but if I was interested, we could meet again at the coffee shop, and he would bring his unwanted records for my perusal. Since he seemed harmless enough, coupled with the fact that I find it nearly impossible to pass up free shit, I gave him my number and left quietly.

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Open Post: FIPS 2011 Polar Bear Hottie Contest

courtesy of Reclaimed Home

I didn't go to the New Year's Day Coney Island Polar Bear Swim. I didn't even know to go until the pictures started appearing on Facebook.

But, you people are HAWT! Especially you, ass man. Nothing gets the juices flowing like cold, clammy be-thonged butt cheeks.

So, tell us. How was it? Did you hang with this dude?

Or this beauteous MYLF? Me too if I went that way. 

 Okay, go to it. Open season on polar bears and baristas.

MILF, I Wanna Be Your Baby - M4W

I saw you at Tea Lounge Saturday afternoon. I was sitting on the brown recliner near the coffee bar with my laptop, secretly masturbating to pixelated photos of Tina Yothers from "Family Ties". You were the tall blonde MILF, chatting with some dumpy brunette. Your kid was parading around the cafe, mashing chocolate frosting into clean tables and tossing half-eaten chunks of food at nearby patrons.

Your child's stroller was parked in the middle of a busy aisle, blocking my view of your bod. Thankfully, an old man tripped over one of its wheels and it rolled forward as he flailed to the ground. Then like a dream, I saw the hot pink glow of your Crocs, illuminating the bulging varicose veins in your husky, unshaven legs. It was like a Lite Brite toy, beckoning me to plug my bulbs into your peg board.

It was obvious that you were checking me out, since you failed to notice that your daughter ate a tube of lipstick and started drinking an enema bag she fished from your purse, thinking it was a Capri Sun. I saw you writing something on a piece of newspaper before you left, so I got up to check the table once you walked away. Unfortunately, amongst the massive pile of dirty napkins, crumbs, broken plates, and a puddle of spilled coffee, all I could find was a crumpled note that said, "Here's a tip for the mess", along with two quarters.

MILF, I wanna be your baby! Call me!