This a.m. I got the following Facebook message which left me reeling with I-don't-know-what: distaste, revulsion, even a tinge of fear?
Hello pretty, My name is (xxx), 57years old single man, l am living here in Toronto Ontario, I work as an Architect and i have been in this profession for over 32 years. I have traveled to so many countries and to every major cities of the United States and Canada, including some part of Asia. I live alone since i lost my wife about 6year, and i have a 19 years daughter in nurse school. I like music, sunset and rise, walk at the beach, hiking, swimming, camping etc. I would like to meet a gentle soul that wants a gentleman as a best friend and love. I came across your wonderful profile and it caught my attention and I viewed your charming, lovely and beautiful picture i became astonished that is why i decide to write to you,i like your hair style and out looks. I will like to meet a very nice lady like you,maybe we can have a date and get to know each other, I have a lot to say but i will wait till i hear from you, are you single and ready to start relationship that will lead to marriage. Please feel free to tell me little about you.
I felt a little queasy about being a target for some creep looking for a "nice lady" to get married to. But what really amazed me is that my friend Matt Paust got exactly the same message!
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We all know Matt's a hunk, that goes without saying, but "pretty" does not seem to do him justice. "Gentle soul", well - sometimes - maybe he meant "Gentile". The "charming, lovely and beautiful picture" that made him so "astonished" is only part of the deal: he also likes his hair style (which is, admittedly, pretty cool) and "out looks". Sounds like something that might work in a pride parade.
So what's this all about? If it's just some robot, why can't they get a robot that can spell? Is this a way of getting vulnerable women in their 50s (maybe widowed) to part with their money by praising their pictures in the most awkward and ridiculous manner possible?
Maybe I should answer this guy, string him along for a while. Tell him I'm well-endowed in the chest department and throbbing with anticipation. Might be fun. I'll arrange a meeting with him in some trendy bar, wearing a wire of course. As his hand furtively sneaks thighward and his dog breath melts the ice in my Monkey's Dick cocktail, a coiled figure will suddenly pop out from under my chair and proclaim: "I'm Chris Hansen from Dateline NBC. You are SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO busted!"
