Haven't done this in a while...
Best of craig's list
To the tranny that blew that guy on the 49 bus last night...
....in case you were wondering, yes, we all saw. And were horrified!
You might remember the incident, huh? About 9:45pm last night, heading north. Why would I know the time, well I had to look at my cell phone to keep my eyes from looking over as you pulled his cock through his jeans and into your mouth.
How could we all not notice you? You were so ugly and those boobs were so little it was just obvious. Then the guy you were with looked like Billy Bob Thorton in "Slingblade". Except even weirder looking. Quite a pair.
So thanks for hopping on that very crowded bus, sitting 2 feet from me and making out with the goofy looking guy. That was odd, but no big deal. But when I looked over and your head was in his lap I was like -- "Are you fucking kidding me, you are now going to blow him?".
I thought it was hilarious that all those Mexican guys sitting right next to you said and did nada. I almost moved away but could not stop looking over. I kept thinking that this is going to make a good Craigslist "missed connection" and maybe a "best of".
The weird part is that the guy was staring at me with this serial killer look the whole time you were servicing him which was a little creepy. Like the whole fucking thing wasn't totally creepy.
So much like a human in "Invasion of the Body Snatchers" I kept scanning around looking to see if anyone else was registering this. I kept locking eyes with the young punk rock girl across from me. Her boyfriend was being oblivious but she kept looking at me, rolling her eyes and giggling. As they reached that climactic moment she was uncontrollably laughing out loud and it really helped me keep my sanity. To pass the time I texted my sister in real time the blow by blows (no pun intended) and listened to my iPod.
Well, thankfully you two freaks got off somewhere near the Tenderloin after he came in your mouth.
When it was over I had to say something and just made eye contact with everyone and said "Did we all see what I think we just saw?" and everyone laughed out loud.
Learned something new last night. The 49 is a bit more rocking than the 47.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
TO THE SIX-FOOT FOUR TRANSVESTITE
I’ll file this under m4w as a compliment to your cross-dressing skills. Our paths crossed when you went to the voting center a few weeks back, presumably to vote.
You:
-Sporting a miniskirt. Heavy emphasis on "mini." I don't know what you had to do to fold your package in on itself but it was an epic feat (without venturing above the midriff, I might add). I can only imagine it involves a quarter-roll of packing tape and a gram of Vicodin every single day to pull off. Bravo, to you.
- Six-foot four. I can't imagine where one finds a miniskirt for a six-foot four man. Is there some WNBA clothing store I'm not aware of? Do you just tape two of them together and call it a day? Being about your height I know how hard it can be to find good-fitting clothes. For men. You found a miniskirt that you managed to contort into right after you taped your balls to your pelvis.
- The hair. I know, I know. It's hard enough to shave your face. And the fact that you were born a hairy male isn't helping your cause either. The face was shaved, sadly elsewhere was not. But you wore it proud. I'd classify your grooming as "tranny casual." I do think, though, that if you really want to sell people you're going to have to do something about that back hair. Your tank top, despite a heroic effort, was no match.
- The tank top. What’s a boygirl to wear when they go the miniskirt route? You answered definitively by sporting a tank top. Sure, your hair wasn’t deterred by a flimsy women’s garment, but most people probably stopped at the miniskirt, so who’s going to notice, right? I did, buddy. But I think with a good proper razor and some strong discipline, your broad shoulders will finally have the time in the spotlight they so rightfully deserve.
- The button. You had no intention of stopping at a miniskirt and tank top. Normal transvestites, dare I say the majority of them, would have ended it there. Not you, good sirmadam. The “ALPHA FEMALE” button was the icing on your cake. It wasn't a small button, either. Don't worry, if no one had noticed by then that you probably had your package vacuum-sealed to your lower stomach under the miniskirt, then you would’ve been just another tranny walking by. But I tell you that on Election Day, when every man woman and in-between was wearing a button, a thirty-something six-foot four oddly-broad-shouldered individual with a baritone voice wearing a large “ALPHA FEMALE” button really made a statement.
I was very impressed (and nothing more, mind you).
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
To My Missed Missed Connection
Are you a beautiful woman that has posted a Missed Connection on Craigslist? Did that guy you lusted after never get back to you? Well, I am sorry that I missed your missed connections post. I am way too busy to read every one of these posts so I am going to make this simple. I thought you were hot too. I cant remember where you saw me but I am sure that I noticed you too, so if you will just remind me where we saw each other and what exactly you looked like (a photo would be great for this) I am sure we can pick up right where we left off and you can take me home with you. I will be everything you dreamed of.
Waiting for you...
-- The Guy who missed your Missed Connections post.
* Whatever fantasy you have created in your head since you posted we can play out
** I may look like someone completely different
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Why I'll be the Best 'Psycho' Ex-Girlfriend You've Ever Had!
I know that all your ex-girlfriends are 'psychos.' I've heard all about them since hardly a day goes by that you don't make some eye-rolling reference to 'that crazy bitch' who practically ruined your life and then went off and married some successful 'douchebag' leaving you to troll local college bars in search of no-strings-attached ass while she enjoys quiet weekends at home with her new in-laws in Connecticut. That selfish, cunt.
I know that you don't think I could ever be as good of a 'psycho ex' as she was. But, I assure you. I can. I'll be such a raving lunatic nutcase - you won't even remember her when I'm through with you. Try me.
For starters - I am great in bed. Isn't that how all the 'crazy' ones start out? You'll meet me at some party through some friend of a friend of a friend who knows I have 'whacko' potential but will fail to mention this to the chain of people through whom we are introduced because...quite frankly, our friends don't really care enough about either of us to keep our best interests in mind. Alternatively, they *do* have our best interests in mind but know that our dramatic personalities and overwhelming egos are forces too powerful for even the most friendly, logical advice. Thus, they abort all attempts to keep us apart and allow us to get drunk and grope each other publicly, shaking their heads all the while because..this shit is gonna' blow up big time.
Meantime, we'll already be upstairs, half undressed where you'll be too drunk to censor yourself so you'll make overly generous blubbering commentary about how 'sexy' I am (as I knock into a table lamp with swanlike grace). You'll also rave on and on about how I have the greatest tits you've ever seen and am 'fucking amazing' on all other fronts (as if I didn't know). Compared to the four other chicks you've banged, this will be the best sex of your life. And as soon as we're done, you'll start forming a mental list of which buddies you are going to text message first about this while at the same time wondering if you could possibly spend the rest of your life with me.
In the sobering light of morning, you'll forget that you wanted to spend the rest of your life with me and instead opt for a "two-night stand" but you'll quickly realize that I am having none of that and somehow weasle my way into staying over, cooking breakfast and reading your newspaper. I will also have conveniently brought my toothbrush and some sanitary products which I quickly store in your bathroom cabinets since 'I'm going to be spending a lot of time at your place.' Your Maxim magazines will go from the top of the toilet to the bottom of the wastebasket because I find them 'offensive' and 'immature.'
Later that day, you'll log onto Facebook and find out that I'm 'in a relationship'...with you. Yay! At first, you'll think it's creepy but then (due to your inferiority complex) you'll take it as a compliment and change your relationship status too.
Within an hour, you'll receive 57 new notifications which indicate that I've commented on every photo in your album in which you appear with an unidentified female. Your relationships with these family members, college friends and co-workers will quickly disintegrate as you mistake my obsession for passion and declare your undying commitment to me and stop returning other people's calls.
Friends will caution you but you'll be too blinded by my mind-blowing felatio technique to notice anything. Besides, I've explained that they're just jealous of our love. Together, our poor self images will have us each convinced that the other is cheating. We'll fight about it all the time. Non-stop.
On our 'good days' we'll shower each other with undeserved gifts and sexual favors and the accusatory banter will be minimal - though still prevalent.
Things will be going 'pretty well' for a while until one night your phone battery dies and you fall asleep early - forcing me into an incoherent panic. Six unreturned voicemails and text messages will lead me to believe only the worst - you ARE cheating on me! To confirm my suspicions, I will immediately log into all your personal accounts - since you are so technologically oblivious you left your passwords saved on my computer - and find a message to be mad about. It will likely be a harmless flirtation from a platonic friend who lives six states away that pushes me over the edge.
Unable to reach her or you - I will scramble into my car and drive barefoot to your apartment where I will ride up on the curb knocking over an unsuspecting potted plant. The commotion outside will rouse you from your slumber and you'll stumble bleary- eyed to the window just in time to see me throw the car in reverse and plow into your beloved Huyndai Elantra.
In short order, the police will come, I will cry, you will shout, your landlord will evict you and your insurance company will drop you.
On the bright side, our names will be forever emblazoned together onto a county police report.
Despite all this, it will take another several months for you to come to your senses and break-up with me. Knowing that I am a ticking bomb, you will execute this in the kindest, most reasonable way possible. You will make every effort to lift my spirits by explaning that "It's not you, it's me." and that "I deserve someone better."
All this, to no avail. The only way you can truly be rid of me is to change your phone number and move across the country where you'll make new friends and find a new insecure girlfriend to emotionally abuse for months until she finally reaches her psychological breaking point and throws a wine glass at you and storms out of a restaurant.
Everyone will be looking at you, dripping in Pinot Noir with an astonished look on your face. In your head you'll be thinking, "Ha. That was nothing. You should see my Huyndai Elantra."
And, that, is why I'll be the best psycho ex-girlfriend you've ever had.
To the tranny that blew that guy on the 49 bus last night...
....in case you were wondering, yes, we all saw. And were horrified!
You might remember the incident, huh? About 9:45pm last night, heading north. Why would I know the time, well I had to look at my cell phone to keep my eyes from looking over as you pulled his cock through his jeans and into your mouth.
How could we all not notice you? You were so ugly and those boobs were so little it was just obvious. Then the guy you were with looked like Billy Bob Thorton in "Slingblade". Except even weirder looking. Quite a pair.
So thanks for hopping on that very crowded bus, sitting 2 feet from me and making out with the goofy looking guy. That was odd, but no big deal. But when I looked over and your head was in his lap I was like -- "Are you fucking kidding me, you are now going to blow him?".
I thought it was hilarious that all those Mexican guys sitting right next to you said and did nada. I almost moved away but could not stop looking over. I kept thinking that this is going to make a good Craigslist "missed connection" and maybe a "best of".
The weird part is that the guy was staring at me with this serial killer look the whole time you were servicing him which was a little creepy. Like the whole fucking thing wasn't totally creepy.
So much like a human in "Invasion of the Body Snatchers" I kept scanning around looking to see if anyone else was registering this. I kept locking eyes with the young punk rock girl across from me. Her boyfriend was being oblivious but she kept looking at me, rolling her eyes and giggling. As they reached that climactic moment she was uncontrollably laughing out loud and it really helped me keep my sanity. To pass the time I texted my sister in real time the blow by blows (no pun intended) and listened to my iPod.
Well, thankfully you two freaks got off somewhere near the Tenderloin after he came in your mouth.
When it was over I had to say something and just made eye contact with everyone and said "Did we all see what I think we just saw?" and everyone laughed out loud.
Learned something new last night. The 49 is a bit more rocking than the 47.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
TO THE SIX-FOOT FOUR TRANSVESTITE
I’ll file this under m4w as a compliment to your cross-dressing skills. Our paths crossed when you went to the voting center a few weeks back, presumably to vote.
You:
-Sporting a miniskirt. Heavy emphasis on "mini." I don't know what you had to do to fold your package in on itself but it was an epic feat (without venturing above the midriff, I might add). I can only imagine it involves a quarter-roll of packing tape and a gram of Vicodin every single day to pull off. Bravo, to you.
- Six-foot four. I can't imagine where one finds a miniskirt for a six-foot four man. Is there some WNBA clothing store I'm not aware of? Do you just tape two of them together and call it a day? Being about your height I know how hard it can be to find good-fitting clothes. For men. You found a miniskirt that you managed to contort into right after you taped your balls to your pelvis.
- The hair. I know, I know. It's hard enough to shave your face. And the fact that you were born a hairy male isn't helping your cause either. The face was shaved, sadly elsewhere was not. But you wore it proud. I'd classify your grooming as "tranny casual." I do think, though, that if you really want to sell people you're going to have to do something about that back hair. Your tank top, despite a heroic effort, was no match.
- The tank top. What’s a boygirl to wear when they go the miniskirt route? You answered definitively by sporting a tank top. Sure, your hair wasn’t deterred by a flimsy women’s garment, but most people probably stopped at the miniskirt, so who’s going to notice, right? I did, buddy. But I think with a good proper razor and some strong discipline, your broad shoulders will finally have the time in the spotlight they so rightfully deserve.
- The button. You had no intention of stopping at a miniskirt and tank top. Normal transvestites, dare I say the majority of them, would have ended it there. Not you, good sirmadam. The “ALPHA FEMALE” button was the icing on your cake. It wasn't a small button, either. Don't worry, if no one had noticed by then that you probably had your package vacuum-sealed to your lower stomach under the miniskirt, then you would’ve been just another tranny walking by. But I tell you that on Election Day, when every man woman and in-between was wearing a button, a thirty-something six-foot four oddly-broad-shouldered individual with a baritone voice wearing a large “ALPHA FEMALE” button really made a statement.
I was very impressed (and nothing more, mind you).
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
To My Missed Missed Connection
Are you a beautiful woman that has posted a Missed Connection on Craigslist? Did that guy you lusted after never get back to you? Well, I am sorry that I missed your missed connections post. I am way too busy to read every one of these posts so I am going to make this simple. I thought you were hot too. I cant remember where you saw me but I am sure that I noticed you too, so if you will just remind me where we saw each other and what exactly you looked like (a photo would be great for this) I am sure we can pick up right where we left off and you can take me home with you. I will be everything you dreamed of.
Waiting for you...
-- The Guy who missed your Missed Connections post.
* Whatever fantasy you have created in your head since you posted we can play out
** I may look like someone completely different
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Why I'll be the Best 'Psycho' Ex-Girlfriend You've Ever Had!
I know that all your ex-girlfriends are 'psychos.' I've heard all about them since hardly a day goes by that you don't make some eye-rolling reference to 'that crazy bitch' who practically ruined your life and then went off and married some successful 'douchebag' leaving you to troll local college bars in search of no-strings-attached ass while she enjoys quiet weekends at home with her new in-laws in Connecticut. That selfish, cunt.
I know that you don't think I could ever be as good of a 'psycho ex' as she was. But, I assure you. I can. I'll be such a raving lunatic nutcase - you won't even remember her when I'm through with you. Try me.
For starters - I am great in bed. Isn't that how all the 'crazy' ones start out? You'll meet me at some party through some friend of a friend of a friend who knows I have 'whacko' potential but will fail to mention this to the chain of people through whom we are introduced because...quite frankly, our friends don't really care enough about either of us to keep our best interests in mind. Alternatively, they *do* have our best interests in mind but know that our dramatic personalities and overwhelming egos are forces too powerful for even the most friendly, logical advice. Thus, they abort all attempts to keep us apart and allow us to get drunk and grope each other publicly, shaking their heads all the while because..this shit is gonna' blow up big time.
Meantime, we'll already be upstairs, half undressed where you'll be too drunk to censor yourself so you'll make overly generous blubbering commentary about how 'sexy' I am (as I knock into a table lamp with swanlike grace). You'll also rave on and on about how I have the greatest tits you've ever seen and am 'fucking amazing' on all other fronts (as if I didn't know). Compared to the four other chicks you've banged, this will be the best sex of your life. And as soon as we're done, you'll start forming a mental list of which buddies you are going to text message first about this while at the same time wondering if you could possibly spend the rest of your life with me.
In the sobering light of morning, you'll forget that you wanted to spend the rest of your life with me and instead opt for a "two-night stand" but you'll quickly realize that I am having none of that and somehow weasle my way into staying over, cooking breakfast and reading your newspaper. I will also have conveniently brought my toothbrush and some sanitary products which I quickly store in your bathroom cabinets since 'I'm going to be spending a lot of time at your place.' Your Maxim magazines will go from the top of the toilet to the bottom of the wastebasket because I find them 'offensive' and 'immature.'
Later that day, you'll log onto Facebook and find out that I'm 'in a relationship'...with you. Yay! At first, you'll think it's creepy but then (due to your inferiority complex) you'll take it as a compliment and change your relationship status too.
Within an hour, you'll receive 57 new notifications which indicate that I've commented on every photo in your album in which you appear with an unidentified female. Your relationships with these family members, college friends and co-workers will quickly disintegrate as you mistake my obsession for passion and declare your undying commitment to me and stop returning other people's calls.
Friends will caution you but you'll be too blinded by my mind-blowing felatio technique to notice anything. Besides, I've explained that they're just jealous of our love. Together, our poor self images will have us each convinced that the other is cheating. We'll fight about it all the time. Non-stop.
On our 'good days' we'll shower each other with undeserved gifts and sexual favors and the accusatory banter will be minimal - though still prevalent.
Things will be going 'pretty well' for a while until one night your phone battery dies and you fall asleep early - forcing me into an incoherent panic. Six unreturned voicemails and text messages will lead me to believe only the worst - you ARE cheating on me! To confirm my suspicions, I will immediately log into all your personal accounts - since you are so technologically oblivious you left your passwords saved on my computer - and find a message to be mad about. It will likely be a harmless flirtation from a platonic friend who lives six states away that pushes me over the edge.
Unable to reach her or you - I will scramble into my car and drive barefoot to your apartment where I will ride up on the curb knocking over an unsuspecting potted plant. The commotion outside will rouse you from your slumber and you'll stumble bleary- eyed to the window just in time to see me throw the car in reverse and plow into your beloved Huyndai Elantra.
In short order, the police will come, I will cry, you will shout, your landlord will evict you and your insurance company will drop you.
On the bright side, our names will be forever emblazoned together onto a county police report.
Despite all this, it will take another several months for you to come to your senses and break-up with me. Knowing that I am a ticking bomb, you will execute this in the kindest, most reasonable way possible. You will make every effort to lift my spirits by explaning that "It's not you, it's me." and that "I deserve someone better."
All this, to no avail. The only way you can truly be rid of me is to change your phone number and move across the country where you'll make new friends and find a new insecure girlfriend to emotionally abuse for months until she finally reaches her psychological breaking point and throws a wine glass at you and storms out of a restaurant.
Everyone will be looking at you, dripping in Pinot Noir with an astonished look on your face. In your head you'll be thinking, "Ha. That was nothing. You should see my Huyndai Elantra."
And, that, is why I'll be the best psycho ex-girlfriend you've ever had.