Me, a missed connection from MR. SPooocC. Me, a rotund man gracefully aging into his sixties. A trench coat with shorts with flames on them. You, an eighteen-year-old waitress with short hair. We talked for three hours about Star Trek. You were clearly captivated, as you kept saying, ‘Yes, that’s neat; that sounds so interesting.” But alas; you received a call, and your mind seemed elsewhere. I’ll be at that restaurant, dressed in my fedora and suit. Yours truly. Signed MR.SPooocC.
A missed connection from a friendly fellow. Me, dressed in the finest clothing straight from London, England. I was the one who was gaily laughing and skipping down the street when I saw you, a beautiful woman, covered in excitement and adventure. Your face was ashen white; your clothes were ashen white; and you were running screaming away from me. Oh, what stories you must have; I will be waiting at our spot at the corner of Third and Firth Street, dressed in all white with a lily yellow rose.
A personal ad from Dragon Taming 76.. Me. I was dressed in a blue that was so dark it was black, but trust me it was blue. Please don’t correct me on these things; I know them so much better than you; and if you give me lip on this, I can already tell this relationship ain’t gonna work. You could see me; I had a mustache and a sweet-ass tattoo of my ex-girlfriend, Rantop McHarley, who I’m over that she also took. You, some chick, super-hot, nice body, okay face – you were like, ‘Hey, get out of my way. Why aren’t you running? Why, are you crazy?’ And I was like, ‘Please, I ain't no coward. Also, I don’t got no legs no more; you know, that’s a little bit of a change. 'Cause I know you was probably looking at them because they were super hot.
A personal ad. From Hi there. Me, a beloved news anchor on KW6 for over 20 years. I was often told that my reporting on that day calmed a nation. As I was the first person on the scene, with impeccable hair. You, a woman on your cellphone, trying to call your boyfriend; if turns out he didn’t make it. Meet me tonight at the Memorial. You’ll recognize me; I’ll be the famous one there.
You, woman. Me, man with big mustache and no other hair, anywhere. 300 pounds and pure Russian muscle an. You, college student and fan of video games, will help me fend them off. I know, in Minsk, during war, I see many horrors – break many men, but never see viciousness like you. Feel we could join up together, for mercenary squad or some sort of thing. I’ll be at the Starbucks, right next to it. I’ll be wearing a burgundy coat, pants, and no shirt.
Just looking for friendship. Me. A prominent politician from America. You. Look mysteriously like me. One would think that you might even be a clone of me. You, who managed to defer the attack on that horrible night where we were all shown our true selves and came together as Americans. Where? 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. You can tell it because it’s the white one. I have some things. I have this medal you would probably like.