My name is Dilys. I
am 33 years old. I weigh 300
pounds. My weight has increased on
average 100 pounds every 10 years. I was
abandoned as a child, and consequently I’ve never been sure whether Dilys is/was
intended as a boy’s or girl’s name. And no
one else knows, or could care less.
Today, I am seated on my special chair, in front of my
computer. I am trying to write a dating
profile. But all I can think of is how
much I hate my computer. It’s slow. When I key in a command, using my big, creamy
fingers, at best a red/green LED will flicker for a few seconds, then nothing. My computer makes me feel impotent – hardly how
you want to feel when writing a dating profile!
I also feel anger welling up inside me, and have to swallow
hard. My computer makes me want to cut
my dick off some days – what’s the point of having reproductive organs if you
can’t use the bleedin’ things anyway? My
computer makes me feel like my pork and beans would be better off served up as genital
cassoulet. Ho hum!
Still, it is important to remember that my computer is
manufactured by people like me, therefore, it is understandable that it takes
on alarmingly human characteristics.
Sadly though, I get no satisfaction from violence, as a large proportion
of the rest of my species seem to do, and see no point in lobbing my computer
out of the window, slow or otherwise. If
I did so, I might as well follow.
Anyhow, I did love a girl once upon a time. She even consented to have sexual intercourse
with me. Was she mad? Quite possibly. Again, like most of my species, she had never
been certified sane. Nonetheless, I weighed
only 220 pounds back then – I was 22.
Her name was Fearne. She had a
complicated relationship with alcohol.
Nevermind.
And eventually, the pop-up window where I can enter my
dating profile-data loads. It has taken
nearly 25 minutes, during which time I’ve consumed two corn dogs, and a half a
litre of cola. Life is stressful.
Once I have entered the basic data, including my name –
although this is not elementary in itself as I’ve already explained – I come to
the box marked ‘hobbies/interests’. I
want to enter computer games, but decide against it, and as everyone else does
in this situation I write Dostoyevsky, hate myself for it, and then follow up
with Russian literature.
Hell, what kind of date am I looking for? Someone/thing from
an intelligent species? Of course not, or I’d be chatting online to a
bottlenose dolphin – in morse code. What
I am really after is someone/thing who’ll put Crime and Punishment in the toaster or the bin as soon as the
alternative of sex is offered.
… Yet, I continue.
The next box asks if I want kids.
The one after that asks if I like dogs or cats, puppies or
kittens.
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