No. I don't want to date you.
I just took that MBTI test. Results: INTP
I've been described as a sociopath with a heart of gold. That sums me up pretty well.
DISCLAIMER: I keep getting hate mail, which the reason for it is unbeknown to me, but let me clarify things. Most of my profile is not who I am. It's there for laughs. If you cannot form even the slightest chuckle, then move on. I should probably change it, but I have things to do rather than make a proper internet dating profile.
The Keith Thompson Experience
You will drive to my house for two days of sightseeing, partying, and drinking with me, Keith Thompson
—We’ll set a mutually convenient weekend for you to come up to my house.
—I will call at least once to reschedule because something better came along and I traded up. So make sure to keep at least three weekends free.
—We will talk a few times before you come to my house. If I haven’t met you yet, I will demand pictures of you, taken from multiple angles. This is not so I can more easily identify whether or not you are capable of being seen with me in public. It is to determine if you are hot enough to hear from me prior to your arrival.
—You will come over on a Saturday morning, and since I was out drinking the night before.
—I will answer the door in a white T-shirt with at least one hot sauce stain on it, gym shorts, messy hair, unshaven, reeking of pit sweat, stale alcohol, and fresh sex.
—Depending on how early you get to my place, there may be a girl still there. She should be getting dressed to leave by that point. If not, just ignore her. She’ll be gone soon—this is YOUR special day, not hers.
—I will ask you what you want to do. If it’s something I don’t feel like doing, I will pretend you didn’t say anything and then ask you again what you want to do. I will repeat this until your suggestion is something that sounds good to me, or until you get frustrated and ask me what I want to do. (FYI, if your suggestion includes anything that pleasures me while requiring no work on my part—e.g., fellatio—I can guarantee I will like it.)
—If there is anything about you that annoys me, I will tell you so. You will leave my presence knowing everything that is wrong with you. If you try to defend yourself by criticizing me back, I will quickly find your deepest insecurity and viciously attack it for a solid 45 minutes. I call this “foreplay.”
—I constantly have my hands in my pants. I’m not jacking off or even playing with myself; sometimes I just get afraid I’ve lost my penis somewhere, and I like to make sure it’s still there. Just a heads-up.
—After I ignore your suggestions on what to do for a few hours, I’ll be hungry for lunch. I will ask you what you want, but regardless of what you say, we will go to my favorite place in Spokane : Chicken and Mo.
—Being that you’re the type of person who goes to charity balls, you might be shocked by the “urban” location and decor of Chicken 'n Mo.
—I will snort and grunt as I shovel the food into my mouth with my bare hands. I’ll get grease and hot sauce all over my face and my already stained shirt. I will offer you a chicken bone I’ve picked clean, “Want some?” The look on your face will be funny to me. I will repeat this for as many times as I find it funny.
—After this glorious ghetto feast, I will take a two-hour nap on the sofa. Be careful, I fart a lot after I eat fried foods.
—I don’t care what you do during that time, but no, I am not going to cuddle with you. Unless it is postcoital cuddling.
—After I wake up, I’ll feel bad that you drove all this way and didn’t even get to see any of the famous Spokane sights, so I’ll ask you what you want to do.
—I’ll pretend to pay attention to what you are saying, while I go to the fridge. I’ll get a few beers, pound them, then ask you again what you want to do.
—Depending on how many beers I’ve had, I may repeatedly point to my crotch and nod approvingly. This is what I call “a hint.”
—If you haven’t given up at this point and just surrendered to my will, bravo. I’ll remind you that this is your special day, and we’re going to do what you want to do.
—Regardless of your request, we will head to an early all-you-can-drink with my friends. You may ask if I am going to change or shower before we go out. I’ll tell you that I will, but just walk straight out the door. I’m so funny!
—When we get to the bar, I will “forget” my money and you will have to pay for both of us. Fair warning: Unless I am already drunk and I really like you, don’t expect me to thank you for it. My presence should be thanks enough.
—At the bar, I’ll introduce you to my friends and I might get your first drink for you (to make sure the drinks actually are on your tab), but after that I will wander around talking to other girls to see if I can trade up.
—Some of my friends will be nice to you and try to help you forget that I am ignoring you in favor of other women. At least a few of my friends will try to hook up with you (the hotter you are, the more they will hit on you, so if none do, that means you’re ugly). Don’t believe the awful lies they tell you. You know the REAL me.
—A dozen or so vodka clubs into the night, and after I’ve already pissed off most of the other girls in the bar, if there are no better prospects, I will come back and talk to you to see if you want to hook up with me.
—If not, we’ll go to another place, with more and different girls.
—On to the next, rinse and repeat.
—And the next.
—By the time we get to the fourth or fifth bar, I will be completely shit-housed, will have stains on top of stains on my shirt, there may or may not be several whores trailing us, vying for my attention, and at least one of my friends will have told you that you are too good for me and should love him, because he is such a wonderful person. (FYI: He’s a hater and a liar.)
—Hopefully by this point I’ve succeeded in breaking you down to the point where you just give in—exasperated surrender sex is the best! I’ll give you a night so memorable, it’ll help you reach a place addiction specialists refer to as “the bottom.”
—If you think you love me, then I’m sorry your dad was so mean to you. I’ll show you that I care by shooting my compassion juice into you and then cuddling with you as it leaks out onto my sheets, because after all, it is YOUR night.
—If you hate me so much that it’s obvious you aren’t going to fuck me, I will do something to cause you either to storm off in anger or go home with one of my friends. Then I can go fuck one of the various sluts orbiting me without feeling bad about ruining YOUR day. You get angry revenge sex, and my friend gets laid. Everybody wins!
—We will wake up the next morning just in time for you to rush to the front door. Since you already know the way, I won’t bother getting out of bed.
—When you get home, you will regret ever meeting me. If we had sex, you will rush to the free clinic to get tested. The results will come back negative, and you’ll think to yourself, “At least the fact that he passed out a minute into sex has some benefit.”
—Any and/or all of this is changeable, revocable, etc., at my will or discretion. (Insert legalese where I waive all responsibility for my actions despite what I do.)
—If you made it to this point, you probably think I am a funny writer. I am. And you’re probably also thinking I have to be kidding. I’m not.
Can’t wait to meet you!