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23 Lille, France Man


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I’m looking for

  • Everyone
  • Ages 18–99
  • Located anywhere
  • For new friends

My details

Last online
Aug 25
5′ 11″ (1.81m)
Body Type
Strictly other
Very often
Agnosticism, and very serious about it
Virgo, but it doesn’t matter
Dropped out of university
English (Okay), French (Fluently), German (Poorly)
My self-summary
Write a little about yourself. Just a paragraph will do.
My mother told me once that I had no balls and she'd rather have had a second daughter. Sick burn.

I studied philosophy three years because I wanted to do something that, while sounding prestigious, required basically zero work and a lot of bullshitting. I didn't get my degree since zero work wasn't enough and I couldn't be arsed.

I am a clueless bumbling fucktard on the best days, and that's my claim to normality.

I hated being a kid. I hated being adolescent. Now I hate being adult. Existence in general is a revolting thing.

I have long-ass hairs around the nipples and refuse to shave them. Sorry if this is a dealbreaker.

Being annoyed, stressed out, depressed or scared is how I have fun. I switch constantly between those states for maximum fun. I sometime mix them together to aquire ultrafun.

There's holes in nearly all of my underwears and socks, but they stop existing the moment I lose eye contact. This is also why I never intercoursed a woman.

I'd like to be able to soulfuck people. The impossibility of this ever happening makes me so mad.

I wish I was living in simpler times, I would just rob a bank. Money buys time and time is the only thing of value if you are well fed first worlder. I'd probably get shot, but still, that would save me some time.
What I’m doing with my life
Don’t overthink this one; tell us what you’re doing day-to-day.
Being unconsequential and shrugging about it.

Getting shit done. And by that I mean pooping.

I am trying desperately to retrieve the quota of motivation and the package goals & passions (tm) which are allocated to all newborn babies by the tough fairy (whos training seal team 6 as a side gig to make ends meet), because apparently someone down the line messed up. Now you know why your old labrador won't die and train everyday to become a ballerina.

Browsing that online supermarket, looking at what's selling, and how.

Life is a journey and oh god please let me die in my sleep already.

Strolling through the city seeking to figure out what made life so much better five minutes ago and why getting tire marks all over my face is such pleasing notion right now.

It's 4am a wednesday and I invented a new sport, vomit puddle and piss stream grand slalom.

An orange liquid is flowing down my nose, it's been three hours, I don't know if this is a good or a bad sign.

Everything is awful, I love it.
I’m really good at
Go on, brag a little (or a lot). We won’t judge.

Being a little bitch. There's metaphorical waterfalls of mascara flowing down my cheeks (something something reckless abandon) at all times.

Eating my words with a grain of salt.

Writing like a pompous and pedantic twat.

The unparalleled hypocrisy of a true socialite.

Slight exageration of everything I describe.

Edgy emo-whining

Ironing shirts. It's better than sex. Probably.

Seeking approbation from others. Like. A. Good. Dog.

Being half involved full time.
The first things people usually notice about me
I’m an empty essay… fill me out!
My ego.

Protruding from the center of my forehead, twelve inches long, pulsating green and yellow alternatively, seeping grey goo intermittently from its base, conic, deeply unsettling.
Favorite books, movies, shows, music, and food
Help your potential matches find common interests.

Crying children, a vengeful and injust god, everyone dying in hellfire, stars doing S&M stuff with holy spit, my average monday morning hangover.
The six things I could never do without
Think outside the box. Sometimes the little things can say a lot.
Forgetting that my cute cat would, if I suddently became five inches (for reasons), torture me for hours on end in my own garden before abandoning my dislocated, still living body, for black birds to pick my eyes out.

That wind making you feel like the world is actually there for you, loves you and is softly rubbing you all over in a totally non sexual manner. Keep calm and file a restraining order against the world itself under the judging glare of weirdly aroused policemen calling the nearest psych ward.

That whole idea of a world slowly dying by getting cooked to perfection in the general near-indifference.

Touching my penis through my pants to make sure its there and I didnt dream of that life where a semi-conscious parasitic entity takes control of my brain on the regular, telling me to fuck things.

The knowledge and feeling of my insignificance. I am what I think I am, and a convenient talking object to others. I don't believe that people can "connect" except in their delusion, by wanting to believe there's something more than two things trapped in themselves making soundwaves.
I spend a lot of time thinking about
Global warming, lunch, or your next vacation… it’s all fair game.
How we should have an international game show about people of different countries competing in eating contests, with the winner choosing a patch of land a 100 square miles to nuke into oblivion. The ratings would be insane. The sales of iGeiger too.
Thats marketing for you people, take something that already exists, make it thinner, make it easy to use, make it youthful, make it fuckable, sell it overpriced in repugnant barren absurdly white designish streamlined stores. Wait for people who wear simpsons shirts ironically to fester on it, above it, under it, near it, in front of it, that's it: YOU WON THE GAME OF LIFE.

That one conference from David Foster Wallace (you can skip to the middle).

Bush junior was elected. He was elected. Damn. What the fuck. Hitler too was elected, but let's be honest, he was one sexy little psychopathic minx, with that dang cute mustach clearly asking for it.
Unlike the uncharismatic oister, the most frighteningly accurate depiction of a really dumb baboon prancing around in a suit to ever disgrace the surface of the multiverse by its sheer, shameful, degrading, yuck yuck existence.

How hippies, gypsies, children, old people and animals mauled on the side of the road, (still faintly twitching from nerve induced mindfuckery) make me feel better about the slow burgeoning of a life of failure, bitterness, grudgingly conceded affections, missed opportunities, already wrinkled young regrets, deepened misunderstandings, obstructed communication channels, things done from fear, things done from anger, too few for love or the sake of human decency, too few for the priceless, the timeless, too few for what matters in the end (that's coming) and generally uncool lazyness, aimlessness, sloppyness, neckbeardness, masturbation in kleenexness, plus a fairly deliberate lack of swag.

Perception of ourselves and other people. How most of the importance we think we have we give ourselves by being self conscious and incurably self centered, while we are nothing more than a blip on the radar, if even that, for the people that cross our way. The self is a serpent noming relentlessly its own tail and cannot take in the notion of alter ego as it should, which is to say that we don't truly comprehend the concept of "other people" and are stuck in a loop of unvoluntary solipsism.
On a typical Friday night I am
Netflix and takeout, or getting your party on — how do you let loose?
Filled in equal measure by dismay and anguish.

Drunk, alone and giggling to the ways of my inebriated mind, like any other night of the week.

Using various medium to keep myself from reality. My man Pascal got it right:

'Nothing is so insufferable to man as to be completely at rest, without passions, without business, without diversion, without study. He then feels his nothingness, his forlornness, his insufficiency, his dependence, his weakness, his emptiness. There will immediately arise from the depth of his heart weariness, gloom, sadness, fretfulness, vexation, despair'.

Hating life passionately while gorging myself with bloodstream clogging fat food and moaning in sweet agony under my crumbs sprinkled neckbeard.
The most private thing I’m willing to admit
I’m an empty essay… fill me out!
I read my horoscope with superstitious expectations then complain it isn't accurate like I predicted it would be.

I think most women are boring as fuck, and am something of a casual misogynistic pig.

I bought a length of rope, seven meters and a half, and discovered I don't want to die enough to find in myself the motivation of learning to tie this fucking knot.

I am immature, selfish, impatient, pessimistic, unforgiving, cowardly, lazy, self-deprecating, absolutely adorable.
You should message me if
Offer a few tips to help matches win you over.
you don't think about it.