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30 New Castle, IN Man


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I’m looking for

  • Men
  • Ages 19–40
  • Located anywhere
  • For new friends

My details

Last online
Yesterday – 7:11am
6′ 3″ (1.91m)
Body Type
Not at all
Working on university
Art / Music / Writing
Doesn’t have kids, and doesn’t want any
Likes dogs and likes cats
English (Fluently), Spanish (Poorly), C++ (Poorly)
My self-summary
Write a little about yourself. Just a paragraph will do.
Hello, people of the Internet.

There will be no "self-summary." There will only be my thoughts. That way, you can come to your own conclusion. There's too much emphasis on selling oneself like a slice of processed cheese. I much prefer to be the cow.

I'm not going to describe myself as a "laid-back person" because that's how all people describe themselves. I'm simply not that calm, because I have a human circulatory system.

I'm not an "open book" either. A little mystery goes a long way in keeping someone's interest. It's once there's nothing left to discover that people really become boring. Sure, it's a natural part of being human, but why speed up the process? I like keeping things to myself for a while. If you see the good aspects of someone first, it makes the bad aspects easier to digest.

There also seems to be this misconception among gay men that having flooded the internet with nudes of oneself and having "done porn" are positive attributes that a sane human being actively looks for in another person. Quite the opposite in most cases. Once again, mystery is a funny thing.

Why do people think that no one Googles them before the fist date? Who lives in the dark like that? "I'm going to go meet this stranger. If I get murdered, make sure my gravestone says YOLO."

I may be a millennial, but millennial slang makes me want to set things on fire.

My generation seems to have mistaken being ripped and well traveled with being interesting and worth knowing. MY ABS BRING ALL THE BOYS TO THE EIFFEL TOWER BITCHES.

Behold, the field in which I grow my fucks. See that it is barren. Hard pass.

Since everyone is all big on the Myers-Briggs test (which is apparently the new zodiac), I am an ENFP. Zodiac signs are out. I wonder if I ought to list my quiz results for what Disney princess I am. #relevant

I hate hashtags. Hashtags make me want to punch babies.

I avoid going to Pride because there's nothing there for me. I don't consider lower management at Macy's to be the ultimate job. I don't live my life according to the gospel of Gaga. I don't dance my life away and hope that tomorrow is better. I am actively trying to learn who I am, and while Macy's is pretty and Gaga is catchy and dancing is fun (when I'm alone; dancing in public is a real, recurring nightmare that I have), there is much more to life than simply being a gay stereotype.

I'm naturally blonde. Don't tell anyone. I'll have to kill you. A dolphin ate my soul, so I don't have the capacity to regret doing it. Just kidding. Or am I?

You might ask where I'm from. I'd like to say Mars or the bottom of the ocean or somewhere exotic like that, but in fact there is a terrible little town in northern Indiana called Portland. We had a Walmart and a Burger King. I fled it years ago. I've hardly been back since.

Walmart is a crazy place. Too many people get some kind of fap-grade joy out of walking around in SpongeBob pajama pants and t-shirts with some sassy Jerry Springer saying paired with a looney toons character. Classy shit. It's the one place where Portland is never far away. I like to frolic amongst the open bags of grapes and stolen shopping cards and think of turning the whole place into a parking lot.

Speaking of retail and parking lots, I hate watching people leave the cart by their car and drive away. The cart goes back in the cart return, three feet from your car, you lazy moron. Don't worry, I'll take it there for you, so your kids can see through the windshield that at least one of us has sense enough to keep the way clear for other cars, even if it's me rather than you. You are welcome.

I don't do transitions very well, so I'll just dive right into my next topic.

Don't talk politics to me. That shit's ugly. I only talk politics if I know we agree, because politics and religion are the two topics that turn everyone into red-faced, yelling douche monsters. I remember when it was rude to talk about party affiliation, and I really wish that was still a thing.

I wish I had a megaphone rigged up to my car that would let me say things like "the speed limit does not mean plus or minus 20mph" as I'm passing or being passed. The freeway is a scary place, causing most cars to shake themselves apart at some point. Let's all cooperate and try not to cause a pileup that will shorten the lives of innocent cars.

I am also an atheist, as my profile states, but I'm not an asshole atheist. I don't go around disproving the religious beliefs of others for fun. I merely have my own beliefs, and they may differ from yours. We don't have to discuss anything about it, you and I. Life is too short to hold one's religious convictions or lack thereof against them.

I know atheism is scary from the outside, but we don't eat babies. At least I don't. Babies are really too chewy for my taste. I prefer the cows and chickens and soybeans that everyone else eats.

A note about my photos on here: The reason I chose grainy, awful arty photos of myself rather than the face-and-abs combos known to sites like this is simply because I feel that as an artist, it's my duty to represent myself in a truer light than others might represent themselves. I'm supposed to be more aware, after all. Right?

So one day, when I was ill with what I can only assume was the plague, I decided to liven up my photos and make myself look a bit more like a relevant dead guy.

I recite poetry on city buses. You may ask me why, and that's a good question. I bet my therapist would know the answer to that one.

I love everyone who has a picture of them visiting some awesome expensive destination. You aren't better than me, poopmouth! I just spend my money on making sure my car runs and my rent gets paid.

So there.

Oreo cookies denied. You don't get any.

I'm here for friends. I said it. Relationships are nonsense. How do relationships happen for my generation? Quickly, like a car crash, and just as traumatic when it's over. People move four states away and abandon careers for strangers, only to return spat out like a wad of gum.

Who needs a career either when you have love? You'll be with this guy forever, and by forever you really mean a month. Cut some parts off yourself to fit inside their life.

It's always a surprise when you're stuck trying to glue yourself back together later. After a while you realize you've known forever so many times you must be immortal.

All the people who remain teenagers and are terrified to be alone make me sad. The people who go from meeting to dating in 24 hours. The ones who just can't be bothered to know the person before proposing marriage.

Those are the ones who suffer. It's like drug addiction. You either stop because you die.

In the mean time, you learn to live life as a frantic game of spin the bottle. You create whole new people in your mind to paint over the strangers you find and date. When the paint chips away, reality is uglier for it, and reality becomes a deal breaker.

Also, if you came here because I rated you on here... well, I don't take it too seriously. It's like a very terrible game where I can rate strangers. If you know me in real life... I am sorry. I promise I am not trying to be creepy and rub myself all over your walls and invade your underwear drawer. I was just feeling judgmental and you were judged highly! I have no genitals anymore, after all. I lost them in the wars. All the wars. Mostly the war of 1812. That shit was brutal.

Luckily, the world is suddenly filled to spillover with saxophones!

Saxophones: suddenly popular again thanks to dirty, bearded, skanky hipsters with cartoon network ninja hair buns. I want to be happy for Saxophones, but I can't help feeling like they're the Carrie of instruments in pop music. Hipsters playing them to be ironic, with the other instruments like "they're all gonna laugh at you!"

Side note: the best modern playing of a saxophone is in M83's Midnight City. That song makes me believe that not everyone plays them to be "ironic" and "edgy" Up yours, bearded skankasaurs!

Who watches Grace Helbig?

Water was invented by Paula Deen in 1997.

I made Grace's funfetti brownies and had to be rolled end over end around my apartment for days and all the doorways lubricated with cooking oil. I ate ALL OF THE DAMN BROWNIES. SAVE YOURSELF. DON'T MAKE FOOD!
What I’m doing with my life
Don’t overthink this one; tell us what you’re doing day-to-day.
Writing and blogging.

My blog:

I'm also a mildly successful indie author. I know, I know, that's fancy talk for "eye rite bad" in most cases. I'd like to think that's not me, but here's the link. See for yourself:


I was going to try to become a professor of English, but then two things happened. I shall share.

1) I read my profiles on social networking sites, and realized I do not have the grammar chops for it.

2) I realized that there would be a big pile of dead bodies in the corner of my classroom.

So, I have decided to pursue a Masters in Creative Writing, which has literally no practical application in the real world unless you have a career before your first year of school (check.)

I am also going for computer technology, because tech students get hellagrants, and I am poor.

I do not necessarily want to work with computers. I do that right now, and my goodness people are silly. "It won't turn on." "Is it plugged into a wall outlet?" *silence* "I thought this thing was wireless."

@_@ NO. Never again.

I want to be a writer, and a professor. I want to reach that level of pomposity. I do not want to die working in a call center for a soulless computer company, a withered shell of a writer. I don't want to ever have to tell anyone that I tried to be a writer. I want to tell them that I was an author.

I want to reach the end of my life the way Bradbury did, a portfolio stuffed with hundreds of stories and novels, some destined to be part of literary canon for at least a century.

I want to leave this world a wonderfully tortured old man in a creaky old house with all my stories behind me, and having been made better for telling them.

I want to be part of high school English anthologies, so that the only people who read my work are teenagers forced to do so by teachers. The stories you read in high school and hate are the ones you re-read later in life and love. I want to be so loved that I rot away on the shelves of antique malls and book stores decades after I'm gone, waiting for that one person to pick me up and read me again.

What an afterlife :3

Ignore my faces, I make them against my better education, because text alone on websites is largely emotionless. Besides, no one looks at the text when there are pictures to be seen. Even if the person you're looking at resembles some kind of super constipated water buffalo, you go right for the pictures.
I’m really good at
Go on, brag a little (or a lot). We won’t judge.
Fixing computers. I have become the computer guy of my family. All my crinkly old relatives call me when pogo and AOL go down. I have godlike powers and can restore servers from my home, it seems. This likely warrants a medal of some sort.

I'm about to ride the ego train all over your ass. Get ready. I'm sorry, it can't be helped in this case. I am good at writing. Don't judge me by this profile, because I wrote it at a fourth grade level.

I'm great at sleeping, too. Getting to sleep, I'm not great at. I lay down on the bed (aka: mattress on the floor. Don't judge me) and look at the door and I'm like "did I lock the door?" So I get up and check, and I lay down and my brain is all "it's unlocked" and I'm like "no, brain, I just checked" and its all "how do you now? Is anything real? DID YOU EAT LASAGNA??" And then I have to get up about a thousand times to check the lock. I wear ruts in the carpet. Fuck you, OCD.
The first things people usually notice about me
I’m an empty essay… fill me out!
My eyes and my sense of humor. I mean who really knows? Who knows? Maybe it's my hump. Or my frozen dairy beverage, which attracts the males of the species to the garden. I may be inclined to instruct you, but there would be a fee.

Let's make another section called "Last things people notice about me."

My body, because I wear clothes. I don't shower with people unless they are me, so that excludes everyone. Kidding, I think.

No I'm not.

I'm naturally blonde. We're talking platinum. Don't even try to imagine it, just know that it has been filed away through the miracles of hair color and cosmetics. You think guys can't wear makeup? That's unfortunate. I disagree.
Favorite books, movies, shows, music, and food
Help your potential matches find common interests.
Favorites are overrated and allow people to think things like "ohhh no no, no Shirley Jackson fans." Nevertheless, there they are. Judge me at will. I am the one with the Oreo cookies, and you may find yourself lacking in that department should you think unsavory things in my direction.

Books: Mostly mid-century or victorian. Kate Chopin is a god, as is Ray Bradbury and William S. Burroughs. I am currently having a love affair with The Catcher in the Rye, and I don't care what you think of that.

You know, modern fiction just doesn't do it for me anymore. I know that's really old people-ish and hipster-ish to say, but I am not going to put myself through the trauma of reading 50 Shades of Gray just to find the sex scenes. I'm sorry that so many people find it necessary to do so. It's a 500 page newspaper with characters. It is difficult to find modern fiction that isn't clunky and unreadable from adjective abuse and a vague misunderstanding of language use. No thank you. It's still on the shelf for a reason.

You can look at me however you like as I buy yet another Shirley Jackson novel. You are not me, and if you want to go fap to Twilight, that is your damage. I can't stop you, but I will inform you that there was another novel called Twilight before that one came out. It was about life inside a concentration camp, and it was beautifully written. I've always thought it was unfair that sparkly pedophilic vampires stole that book's thunder. If you want something that doesn't read like a novelized pop-up book, you should check it out.

Movies: I love Fight Club, mostly because Brad Pitt never ages. Fight Club is vintage Brad Pitt in a little segment of 1999, like a cube of time-space cut out at then end of the last millennium. Absolutely. Require.

I love Gravity. That movie is so full of my fear of heights. I adore it.

I also love Identity Thief. No, I do not need your approval. If you like this movie, we should watch it together and talk about how awesome Melissa McCarthy is. I typed this paragraph with one finger. It literally took hours. Whole worlds were formed while I typed it. I grew a beard and died.

TV Shows: See, this one is hard. I don't hate shows with huge fandoms, I just fear their cocaine qualities. Get Doctor Who away from me. Everyone likes that show. EVERYONE. EVERY SINGLE PERSON ON THIS PLANET. Except me. Hate me if you like.

I like the X-files, Absolutely Fabulous, Saunders and French, Robot Chicken to some degree, South Park, and The Golden Girls. If you like these, we are instantly best friends.

Music: It varies. Right now I like retro mid-2000s bands. I rotate Franz Ferdinand, The Arctic Monkeys, The Hives and Kaiser Chiefs with Marilyn Manson. I have no fucks to give.

Food: I like pizza. I like it a lot, because I am trashy. I eat like trailer trash. Someone bring me a can opener! I locked myself out of my house!

Click away! Avert your eyes! @_@
The six things I could never do without
Think outside the box. Sometimes the little things can say a lot.
My car is a pretty badass sheet metal lesbian. I'd put her at number one, because she takes me places.

I think science is also pretty badass. I think that one needs no explanation.

The sims. Because I am addicted and I talk in fragments.

The writing of dead authors. Cannot get enough of those dead people.

The ability to write. I hope I never lose it, because the world would actually be terrifying to me if I could no longer describe it. It would be hostile and alien. It would be cold as the stars rotating over the hookers down the street. True story.

My friends! Those awesome people that my brain alternately wants to have around me all the time and then cannot wait for them to leave. Fuck you, brain!
I spend a lot of time thinking about
Global warming, lunch, or your next vacation… it’s all fair game.
Exploding buildings. Iced coffee. Buying my hometown and turning it into a parking lot. Not that I'm bitter.

I think about plot lines as well. I think about little people living lives and interacting, and eventually I have to drag my sleep-deprived ass out of bed and get my computer so I can write it all down, lest I forget. And I WILL forget.
On a typical Friday night I am
Netflix and takeout, or getting your party on — how do you let loose?
Lying on my bed or floor realizing that I hate ladybugs with more intensity that I can describe.
The most private thing I’m willing to admit
I’m an empty essay… fill me out!
You ready for this? I have a secret to tell you. Lean closer to your computer/phone/dog's asshole.

No one cares what the fox says. No one gives one single fuck. But you know what? It's probably something similar to a dog's chuffing, since they're related. Stop watching that ridiculous video and telling me to watch it. Take off the damn T-shirts before I set them on fire while you're wearing them. When the trend trickles down to valley girl barbies in my college classes, it is over.


Restrain that pop culture zombie! Slap some cuffs on her! Citizen's arrest for stupidity!

I am very selective about Internet memes. I retract my beak in horror at the Harlem Shake, What Does The Fox Say, anything Doctor Who related, planking, and anything that goes along the lines of "long cat is long." No. No no nonononononONONONONONON. I refer to them as meme cancer.

I adore Pusheen, Meme Bon, Doge, Grumpy Cat, Lil Bub and a few others that I cannot remember because I suck at life. Animal memes basically. Anything cute that licks itself.

If you don't like Pusheen, Pusheen doesn't like you.
You should message me if
Offer a few tips to help matches win you over.
You want a new friend. Just message me. Of course, you might read my about me and think "oh boy, this dude just flipped his table" and move on to someone shiny and thin and who opens with "OMG I NUVUR NO WUT 2 SAY IN THEES THINGZ" and message him. Those guys tend to be less threatening, and you don't have to feed them as often, because they only eat really expensive food purchased by rich old men.