Anthony Weiner Reveals His Poor Taste On Twitter

I always scoff at public scandal stories, especially those as limp as the tale of Anthony Weiner’s Twitter exploits.

I know very little of the Weiner in question. Only that he’s a New York congressman who is presumably walking around, this very second, with his palms superglued to his face. But what I do find amusing is the magnitude of his fuck-up.

For those who haven’t heard the story, Weiner has managed to cover himself in poor taste by sending photos of his crotch – adorned in grey underpants – to a female user on Twitter. Instead of privately messaging the picture, he managed to send it publicly using the “@” tag.

By fucking up to this extent, anybody with such little enjoyment in his life that he would be browsing Weiner’s page miscellaneously, will have copped a flabbergasting view of the congressman’s junk.

I would pay many pesos to capture the moment in time when he realised his mistake, but realise it he did. A few moments later, the tweet was deleted and a false claim that the account had been hacked arrived in a late bid to save his bacon.

Obviously it didn’t work, as Weiner is now spilling beans about his exchanging of images with multiple women, and how very sorry he is for the sleaze.

To be honest, I couldn’t care less about the political implications. For one, I’m not from New York. And secondly, I personally think there are much greater sins to hold a politician accountable for than the accidental unveiling of his junk.

But I do see two very clear examples of poor taste in this whole charade.

1. Grey underpants? Seriously…grey underpants? What age do I have to turn before this kind of garment suddenly feels stylish? I’m definitely not feeling it yet.

2. Is Twitter really the best place to find woman to exchange photos with? The majority of female users on my Twitter account are robots disguised in marketable cleavage avatars. And even if you do stumble upon a real woman, how are you going to move from “Hello” to “Want to see my crotch?” in 140 characters or less?

Poor taste Weiner. Very poor taste indeed.

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Ebooks Do Not Get You Dates

If you try and you don’t succeed, write an ebook about it and pretend you did.

This is the motto of the notorious pick-up artist community. It’s difficult to pinpoint why exactly a fledgling Mr. Bean would place his romantic hopes and dreams in the power of an ebook. Maybe it’s the last resort? The final stop before permanent celibacy is all but confirmed.

However, many guys (and ladies) still believe that the answers to their loneliness are waiting to be found in the digital diarrhea otherwise referred to as “pickup-artist handbooks”. Because getting a date is as simple as practicing steps 1 to 4 until she consents, right?

Without crapping on an entire industry in three short paragraphs, I should confess that I do believe there is SOME good to be taken out of the pick-up artist scene. Many of the laws of attraction you hear preached are actually rooted to self-confidence and overcoming insecurity.

It would be difficult to argue with even the most seasoned pickup sleazeball when it comes to addressing that confidence = everything in the dating game.

But that’s rarely the reason behind these skyrocketing ebook sales. The big hook is the idea of “Attract anybody you desire, it doesn’t matter who! These methods know no bounds!”. Confidence can improve your love life. But there isn’t a secret trick in the world that can make you attractive to a specified individual. Attraction does not work on demand.

Time and time again, I see blog comments from skirt chasers who honestly believe they can win the heart of a girl by following a set formula of steps. It just doesn’t work like that. An ebook can teach you how to become more attractive, generally speaking, but it can never give you the power to change somebody’s will.

So I suppose the question remains, just how many of these pick-up artist followers are actually interested in attracting a single lover? I would not hesitate to guess very few. The appeal behind the industry is power and control. How to attract admiration, lust and attraction from a crowd, without having to give anything in return.

It shouldn’t take an ebook to teach you that the single greatest aid for finding romance is confidence in yourself. This is a state of mind that translates in to attraction through the eyes of others. If you can’t sleep with who you are as a person, don’t expect anybody else to. No matter how many ebooks you buy.

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The Legend of Bloodninja’s Cybersexing

“I put on my wizard hat and robe…”

Bloodninja has been an Internet cult hero for many years. Little is known about the man behind the screen name, but almost a decade on, we’ve been left with some very funny transcripts of his cyber sex exploits.

For those who aren’t aware of the Bloodninja story, his fame was created in the early 2000s after a series of chat transcripts were posted on the old V6Power forums. Most of us have shared some kind of experience with the shady world of online chat rooms. Bloodninja captured the hilarity of it all by carrying out a series of pranks on willing and unsuspecting female users.

I say female users, but gender is a moot point for those who place their faith in online chat rooms.

To repeat one of the truest statements ever published online; “On the Internet, all girls are men… and all kids are undercover FBI agents.” You can read the full Bloodninja transcripts here, and I’ve pasted one of my favourites below.

Wellhung: Hello, Sweetheart. What do you look like?
Sweetheart: I am wearing a red silk blouse, a miniskirt and high heels. I work out every day, I’m toned and perfect. My measurements are 36-24-36. What do you look like?
Wellhung: I’m 6’3″ and about 280 pounds.I wear glasses and I have on a pair of blue sweat pants I just bought from Walmart.I’m also wearing a T-shirt with a few spots of barbecue sauce on it from dinner…it smells funny.
Sweetheart: I want you.Would you like to screw me?
Wellhung: OK
Sweetheart: We’re in my bedroom.There’s soft music playing on the stereo and candles on my dresser and night table.I’m looking up into your eyes, smiling. My hand works its way down to your crotch and begins to fondle your huge, swelling bulge.
Wellhung: I’m gulping, I’m beginning to sweat.
Sweetheart: I’m pulling up your shirt and kissing your chest.
Wellhung: Now I’m unbuttoning your blouse.My hands are trembling.
Sweetheart: I’m moaning softly.
Wellhung: I’m taking hold of your blouse and sliding it off slowly.
Sweetheart: I’m throwing my head back in pleasure.The cool silk slides off my warm skin.I’m rubbing your bulge faster, pulling and rubbing.
Wellhung: My hand suddenly jerks spastically and accidentally rips a hole in your blouse.I’m sorry.
Sweetheart: That’s OK, it wasn’t really too expensive.
Wellhung: I’ll pay for it.
Sweetheart: Don’t worry about it.I’m wearing a lacy black bra.My soft breasts are rising and falling, as I breath harder and harder.
Wellhung: I’m fumbling with the clasp on your bra.I think it’s stuck. Do you have any scissors?
Sweetheart: I take your hand and kiss it softly.I’m reaching back undoing the clasp. The bra slides off my body. The air caresses my breasts. My nipples are erect for you.
Wellhung: How did you do that? I’m picking up the bra and inspecting the clasp.
Sweetheart: I’m arching my back. Oh baby. I just want to feel your tongue all over me.
Wellhung: I’m dropping the bra. Now I’m licking your, you know, breasts. They’re neat!
Sweetheart: I’m running my fingers through your hair. Now I’m nibbling your ear.
Wellhung: I suddenly sneeze. Your breasts are covered with spit and phlegm.
Sweetheart: What?
Wellhung: I’m so sorry. Really.
Sweetheart: I’m wiping your phlegm off my breasts with the remains of my blouse.
Wellhung: I’m taking the sopping wet blouse from you. I drop it with a plop.
Sweetheart: OK. I’m pulling your sweat pants down and rubbing your hard tool.
Wellhung: I’m screaming like a woman. Your hands are cold! Yeeee!
Sweetheart: I’m pulling up my miniskirt. Take off my panties.
Wellhung: I’m pulling off your panties. My tongue is going all over, in and out nibbling on you…umm… wait a minute.
Sweetheart: What’s the matter?
Wellhung: I’ve got a pubic hair caught in my throat. I’m choking.
Sweetheart: Are you OK?
Wellhung: I’m having a coughing fit. I’m turning all red.
Sweetheart: Can I help?
Wellhung: I’m running to the kitchen, choking wildly. I’m fumbling through the cabinets, looking for a cup. Where do you keep your cups?
Sweetheart: In the cabinet to the right of the sink.
Wellhung: I’m drinking a cup of water. There, that’s better.
Sweetheart: Come back to me, lover.
Wellhung: I’m washing the cup now.
Sweetheart: I’m on the bed arching for you.
Wellhung: I’m drying the cup. Now I’m putting it back in the cabinet. And now I’m walking back to the bedroom. Wait, it’s dark, I’m lost. Where’s the bedroom?
Sweetheart: Last door on the left at the end of the hall.
Wellhung: I found it.
Sweetheart: I’m tuggin’ off your pants. I’m moaning. I want you so badly.
Wellhung: Me too.
Sweetheart: Your pants are off. I kiss you passionately-our naked bodies pressing each other.
Wellhung: Your face is pushing my glasses into my face. It hurts.
Sweetheart: Why don’t you take off your glasses?
Wellhung: OK, but I can’t see very well without them. I place the glasses on the night table.
Sweetheart: I’m bending over the bed. Give it to me, baby!
Wellhung: I have to pee. I’m fumbling my way blindly across the room and toward the bathroom.
Sweetheart: Hurry back, lover.
Wellhung: I find the bathroom and it’s dark. I’m feeling around for the toilet. I lift the lid.
Sweetheart: I’m waiting eagerly for your return.
Wellhung: I’m done going. I’m feeling around for the flush handle, but I can’t find it. Uh-oh!
Sweetheart: What’s the matter now?
Wellhung: I’ve realized that I’ve peed into your laundry hamper. Sorry again. I’m walking back to the bedroom now, blindly feeling my way.
Sweetheart: Mmm, yes. Come on.
Wellhung: OK, now I’m going to put my…you know …thing…in your…you know…woman’s thing.
Sweetheart: Yes! Do it, baby! Do it!
Wellhung: I’m touching your smooth butt. It feels so nice. I kiss your neck. Umm, I’m having a little trouble here.
Sweetheart: I’m moving my ass back and forth, moaning. I can’t stand it another second! Slide in! Screw me now!
Wellhung: I’m flaccid.
Sweetheart: What?
Wellhung: I’m limp. I can’t sustain an erection.
Sweetheart: I’m standing up and turning around; an incredulous look on my face.
Wellhung: I’m shrugging with a sad look on my face, my weiner all floppy. I’m going to get my glasses and see what’s wrong.
Sweetheart: No, never mind. I’m getting dressed. I’m putting on my underwear. Now I’m putting on my wet nasty blouse.
Wellhung: No wait! Now I’m squinting, trying to find the night table. I’m feeling along the dresser, knocking over cans of hair spray, picture frames and your candles.
Sweetheart: I’m buttoning my blouse. Now I’m putting on my shoes.
Wellhung: I’ve found my glasses. I’m putting them on. My God! One of our candles fell on the curtain. The curtain is on fire! I’m pointing at it, a shocked look on my face.
Sweetheart: Go to hell. I’m logging off, you loser!
Wellhung: Now the carpet is on fire! Oh noooo!

So what happened to Bloodninja? Where is the pioneer of alternative cybersexing as I write this today?

Nobody knows for sure. There have been many Bloodninja imposters, and we barely even know the origin of the first chat transcripts – although they are believed to be from the late 90s. Rumour has it his name was Loren.

It doesn’t matter who Bloodninja is or was. For anybody who has experienced the warped world of Internet chat rooms, his legend will live on through the bumbling nature of tomorrow’s cybersex clowns. The next time somebody asks you “ASL?”, just make sure he’s not wearing a wizard hat.

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Could You Fall In Love With A Prisoner?

Let’s be honest, the web is certainly not short of dating services. We’re never more than a Google search away from a haven for every eclectic taste that love could muster. But every now and then, a dating service comes along that is either so ridiculous or so out there that I simply have to write about it.

Today is that day for the “Date An Inmate” crowd.

If there’s one niche I’ll never understand, it’s the market for matchmaking behind bars. Who in their right mind would actively seek out a romance with somebody who is incarcerated and unlikely to be available for a first date for many years?

Clearly, somebody would. Because these sites exist and surprisingly, there’s quite a few of them.

Take one look over Meet An Inmate and you’ll see what I mean. I can see why a prisoner would use it. I mean, how else are they going to meet new people? Match.com?

But who are the people that decide to be recipients of the mail? It strikes me as a power crusade, not too different from the urge a guy feels when he registers on Dream Marriage and gets happily bombarded by a few dozen Russian runaways looking to snatch a passport.

Who would be so desperate as to resort to a jailbird matchmaking service for the love and friendship in their lives? Do they not realise that these things are ALL around them? If you have to befriend murderers, rapists and god knows what else to feel like you have a connection in the world, there’s clearly something wrong.

Now, I know, it’s not all about love. Criminals are still people. There are good reformed characters behind bars that would love to have a penpal.

But Christ, if you’re using these Date An Inmate services as a last resort for companionship, do yourself a favour. There’s a big world out there. In the search to find somebody who “truly gets you”, you’re digging a mountain out of a mole hill. And probably making a million excuses for yourself.

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Plentyoffish Inbox Empty? Tips For Males!

Is your Plentyoffish inbox empty? Are you getting the serial cold shoulder treatment?

Plentyoffish seems to be the free dating site of choice for singletons these days. With millions of members and no user restrictions, the site is growing at a rapid pace. And it’s easy to see why.

We looked at some sites like Plentyoffish last week, but there’s no doubt that POF is still the kingpin. The problem for many male members is that it also happens to be an incredibly lop-sided community.

The deciding factor in whether your Plentyoffish inbox is buzzing or bare can be pinned on one hopeless question:

Are you a man or a woman?

If the answer is male, prepare to do a whole lot of chasing for little or no replies. It sucks to have a penis online. This is the bare truth.

But if you’re a woman? Get your trigger finger ready on the “Block” button. Dating sites are lop-sided by their very nature. Plentyoffish takes the cake, though.

Some demographics serve up as many as 15 messages to a female’s inbox for every single message that a male receives.

While I have no interest in using Plentyoffish personally, the sweet science of online dating is something that intrigues me greatly. I just read this post over on the Plentyoffish dating blog and if you’re a male, there are a number of good pointers you can take away. I’m going to summarize for the benefit of all those empty POF inboxes.

If I had to apply some common sense, I would say the easiest way to fix Plentyoffish is a two step formula:

a) Men to send better messages.
b) Women to actually reply to some of them.

But, of course, love is a game without logic.

Perhaps the best advice for guys on Plentyoffish is to strip away any over-powering masculinity and write like a woman. This evidence is firmly supported not only by the case study above, but by OkCupid’s statistical analysis.

Women are suspicious, skeptical, cynical and just downright hard to draw out of their shells on dating sites. It’s an instinctive quality, probably born through the sheer abundance of “creepers” they’ve been messaged by over time.

I’m going to copy and paste one of the most successful profiles from the Plentyoffish dating blog, so you can see how this lack of masculinity pans out. The dude below has been listed as a “favourite” by an abnormally high number of women. But why?

His profile:

“Who am I? . . . I’m Spider-Man. Wait, no, that was a movie! . . . . . I would describe myself as stable in my career and goal-oriented. I enjoy making people laugh. I am intelligent and can carry on meaningful conversations. I care about other people’s feelings. . . . . . When I’m with someone special I like being spontaneous, adventurous, romantic, surprising them with little gestures, sensual, playful, and basically having that type of fun you see two people who just met in the movies having! Someone to laugh with, hang out with, be spontaneous with, and have fun with! I’m looking for someone who has similar qualities and desires someone who they can connect with . . . . . . I feel there has to be mutual physical attraction for there to be good chemistry between two people. So being fit and having good looks are important, as well as sensuality and affection. . . . . . Having some similar interests helps–some things I enjoy are fine dining, walking at the beach at night, going dancing, watching movies including foreign films, travelling, going snowboarding, going on day trips to local attractions, having romantic nights at home, cuddling, and basically having a blast together. . . . . .”

It reads like a woman wrote it. Christ, I’ve seen enough of the PUA industry to have no doubt that one probably did. The language is soft, passive and distinctly nonthreatening.

Just look at those interests! Fine dining, dancing, walking on the bloody beach at night. Are you kidding me? No man in his right mind recites these interests to his mates at the pub.

As for “going on day trips to local attractions”, this is blatant lady-friendly terminology for saying “I like to get rat-arsed and watch the game on Sunday afternoons“. More to the point, it doesn’t matter what you mean. What matters is how you say it. Women will always respond more positively to language that appeals to them and doesn’t scream this man is out to terrorize my life.

It’s important to write your profile in such a way that, despite giving up whatever masculinity you have, a woman can read your shit and have boxes ticking in her head.

So if that empty Plentyoffish inbox is beginning to bother you, maybe it’s time to send less messages and spend more time portraying yourself in a light that women can easily gravitate towards.

Rewrite your profile, or get a female friend to word it for you. I know many guys who’ve done this and seen a big improvement in their response rates.

Of course, the alternative is to abandon Plentyoffish altogether and join a dating site where the playing field is more even. Other dating sites can offer much better ratios of active female to male members. If you join a dating site where the users are more serious about actually dating, well who knows? You might actually get a date out of this whole ordeal. And as many guys would attest, it would be a fine achievement indeed.

Alternatives to Plentyoffish:

If you’re looking for a slightly more ‘liberal’ dating site aimed at casual dating demographics, check out the controversially sexy Just Hookup dating website. Free registrations for users in the UK, USA, Canada, Australia and New Zealand.

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Obama Caught Staring At Titty

Is Pressa Obama in the dog house?

Looks like the big man has some explaining to do!

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First Message Dating Howlers To Avoid

The first dating message is quite often the only chance you’ll get to make an impact on sites like Plentyoffish and Match. For guys, sending the right first message isn’t the only hurdle you’ll face. But it’s definitely an instant eliminator if you get it wrong.

So what makes the perfect first message? How do you peak somebody’s interest without treating your introduction like the scientific equation it was never supposed to be? And finally, how can you draw attention to yourself without, you know…drawing bad attention to yourself?

I’m a huge fan of the OKCupid blog, and once again, they’ve come up trumps with a fantastic statistical analysis of what is most likely to get you a reply on dating sites.

Did you know that one single letter is likely to lower your chances of receiving a reply to a measly 7%?

It makes a little more sense when you realise that the letter in question is “u”. Yes, net speak is a definite no-no. Have you ever sent a message with what you THOUGHT was casual friendly slang?

“Hey stranger, think u look very pretty. How was ur weekend?”

Besides being painfully bland with the Eric Generic conversation skills, you’ve actually shot yourself in the foot and almost guaranteed a future marked “Read & Deleted”. Because in reality, she’s probably taken “u” and “ur” as a sign of your terrible ability to express yourself.

I know, it sounds like a ridiculous assessment of such trivial wordplay. And I know many couples who occasionally – and often annoyingly – splatter their other halves’ Facebook pages with slang affection. But the stats don’t lie. OKCupid has a metric shit ton of them at their disposal, and it’s plain to see that using slang instantly decreases your chance of a reply.

Unless you’re conversing with a similarly challenged buffoon. But alas…

Most online daters are savvy to slang already. It’s not so much the grammar, or technical ability, but the failure to engage in their first messages that lets them down.

Another notable trend shows that if you’re a guy, it’s probably a good idea to tuck that Alpha Male streak back in to your pants and learn to laugh at yourself. Self-deprecating words like “sorry” and less aggressive portrayals of your interests are likely to win the day.

“I’m madly passionate about football. I play twice a week and love to watch the game.”

Becomes…

“Well, I kinda like playing football. I train pretty often and don’t like missing a game, so sorry if I’ve disappeared by the time you get this!”

On the surface, these are both quite bland and uninspiring tidbits to include in your first message.

Hey, you probably shouldn’t attach your life story in the first place. Or any scientific breakdown of your interests for that matter. You’re not submitting some romantic manifesto for “How I’m Going To Change Your Life In 2011/12″. You’re sending a frigging first message that’s probably, by the law of averages, going to end up deleted.

Back to what I was saying. The difference between these two examples is that the latter quote conveys your interests using much more self-deprecating language. It’s almost apologetic. For many people, this may break from their real life personalities. But as a proven way of getting replies, it’s simple and effective.

If I could recommend the single biggest reply-booster for first message online dating, I would tell you this. Read the bloody profile of the person you’re messaging!

The ultimate turn-off, particularly for women, is to receive a message that screams “copy and pasted”. If you don’t read the user’s profile and establish some aspects of their life that you can draw in to conversation, you’re destined for an empty inbox from the outset.

If you’re reading this and can think of some first message dating howlers you’ve received, feel free to share them!

I do love me some laughing at the expense of others.

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Hooking Up With Girls At Festivals Is Oh So Wrong

Another summer is over, and with it the festival season has disappeared almost as fast as it arrived.

I’ve heard some truly outrageous stories from my friends about festival experiences with the fairer sex and it’s left me wondering. Do guys actually go to festivals anticipating a chance to score? Really?

I’m a guy, fairly red blooded, and hardly one to turn a blind eye to an attractive flock of scantily clad felines in the summer sun. But there’s just something about trying to pull at a festival which seems wrong to me. So very wrong.

For a start, you have a 24 hour time window. I went to Glastonbury this year and for those of you who don’t know, the Glastonbury experiences lasts a total of five days. It would be rude to take a shower at Glasto. If you’re there, you have to embrace the sweat pit of mud and perspiration. That’s just the way it works.

So if you’re going to Glastonbury and planning on hooking up with a girl, you pretty much have to get on the chase from the get go. It’s hard to resist the temptation to reach for the sunnies and have a bloody good stare on the first day. Swarms of attractive females, all happy and optimistic for the week ahead, and all up for a good time.

But understand that if you don’t shack up on the first night, it ain’t worth shacking up at all.

A couple of days in to the festival and I found myself stumbling out of my tent looking more and more like a bedraggled caveman than a potential lover. Not even a supersize 500 pack of babywipes is going to make you smell good at a festival. I was lucky enough to have a tent to myself. The idea of waking up next to a girl with the sun baking me alive and the taste of hangover and regret in my mouth, ugh, it’s enough to make me forget sex completely.

And yet, one of my friends chose to forgo hygiene logic completely on the third day. He didn’t just hook up with a girl. He hooked up with a girl for ORAL SEX. I’m sorry but that’s just bloody disgusting. If you’re going to get dirty at a music festival, you don’t get dirty in the mouth!

I’d imagine it’s the equivalent of kneeling down in a portaloo and licking the seat. Needless to say, he gained the most manpoints for his achievement. But we all felt a little bit sick around the campsite long in to Ralf Harris’s opening set.

Festivals are a great place to meet new people. But they can also engulf a man in scandal if he chooses to peruse the camping site with his cock for brains. By the final morning of Glastonbury, I felt so agitated through the filth and sweat that I would have positively slapped any girl who dared to wink at me with a glimpse of intent. Not that it happens, of course. All jokes aside, Glasto was one of the greatest experiences of my life and maybe my lack of a wandering eye was one of the contributing factors.

Have you tried to skirmish romantically or sexually at a festival? It seems most of my friends have. But personally, I only have eyes for the shower and the next beer. Get her number if you’re that much of a keen bean!

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Cockblock Heartbreak On The Dancefloor

The art of cockblocking hasn’t been lost on the majority of London clubs. There’s nothing that gets on my tits like some other joker trying to get, quite literally, on my tits.

For those of you who aren’t quite down with the kids, allow Wikipedia to explain:

To cockblock is to prevent another person, intentionally or inadvertently, from having sexual intercourse with a third party. A cockblock or cockblocker is a person who engages in such obstruction or intervention. According to an article by a freelance writer, Joshua Bernstein, in the New York Press, cockblocking is a “foul act in which someone interferes with another’s attempt at finding happiness inside someone’s pants.”

We all have our methods of bounty hunting on the dancefloor, right? My tactic usually involves physically shifting myself to within ten feet of the target and briefly catching her eye mid-gyration. If this doesn’t work, I’ll jab her in the kidney when she walks past me. You can snigger, but nothing says “he’s interested” like a poke and a Cheshire cat grin.

The trouble with London dancefloors is that they’re inevitably infested with the same vermin such as myself, all looking to impress with the same high school charming techniques. And much to my despair, there are other guys who care about getting noticed much more than I do.

As the night progresses, the cockblocking escalates to the point where there’s an hour left until last orders and every man is throwing himself at whatever will dare to waggle it’s hips in his direction.

There comes a realization that your hopes of playing the disinterested James Bond, man of nonchalance, are contributing to your own downfall. I’ll usually earmark a girl I like and catch her eye a few times throughout the night, but no more than that. An hour between stares, maybe that’s where I’m going wrong? I’ll shoot her this occasional smoldering gaze, attempt to sip suavely from my…err…Vodka Red Bull, and then fuck off to the toilets after I’ve spilled it all down my shirt. Which is usually gaping open with four buttons ripped off their hinges at this point.

So there I am staring at my own sweaty reflection in the bathroom mirror. Not for too long, of course, what with some penny pinching prick and his bag of fragrances mocking “No spray, no lay” in my left ear lobe. I mouth to my own badly swaying mirror image that it’s time to get serious, it’s time to home in for the kill.

By the time I’ve exited the toilets, you can probably guess what awaits me. A rival wanker has hijacked my dancefloor territory and parked himself, and a group of his Ben Sherman adorned tossers, in the way of the love of my life. My shapes are flailing unnoticed in the darkness and he’s only gone and bought her a drink. Wait, is that his hand on her hip? I poked it first, bitch.

Another night, another heartbreaking cockblock on the dancefloor.

I’ve learned my lesson though. Synchronized toilet breaks are the way forward, London. You heard it here first.

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