For those not in the know, The term fisking is blogosphere slang that describes a point-by-point criticism that highlights perceived errors, or disputes the analysis in a statement, article, or essay.
My readers have been nicely generous with finding awful female online dating profiles and posting (via comments) on the appropriate page on my humble blog. Thanks guys! I’ve not been paying too much attention to those profiles and the subsequent comments that have been generated. I happened to glance at the comment count and it’s now over 180 total comments. Jeepers, how did that happen?
I urge everyone to check out that page (yes, it may be slow to load because of all the comments) and especially the profile and analysis by commenter Ian Ironwood. He’s got some amazingly funny commentary on the profiles he’s posted there. In fact, he’s so good, I present one of his female online dating profile fisks (her profile is italics, his comments are in bold):
Oh, this one was choice. 41 yo, 7 (age-adjusted)
This dating thing hasn’t gone so well for me.
READ: RED ALERT!!!
Yes, I’ve had long term relationships; I’ve been engaged a couple times, but never married – Just too many what ifs about more than which way the toilet paper should roll (for both of us).
READ: I wanted a four-bedroom McMansion in the suburbs, and he wanted anal.
I’d like to believe that being single isn’t terminal, so here I am still trying.
READ: Oh, dear god, I’m desperate to prove I’m still fuckable!
Here’s what you need to know about me: I am not Jessica Alba, Charlize Theron or whoever is the latest flavor of the week. If you’re looking for a Barbie doll, please move on. I’m not her physically, emotionally or intellectually, but best of luck if that’s what you want.
READ: I have tragically low self-esteem and I’m bitchy about my weight because my ex had the temerity to actually suggest I work out and sent me into a downward spiral of ice cream and soap operas. But I still have a vagina, so . . .
If you’re still reading, here’s some more information: I’m animal person and try to learn about wildlife and nature, but am partial to dogs. I am by no means a PETA member, but believe they need someone to give them a voice. I’m “Mom” to a 7 year old terrier and a 1 1/2 year old lab mix who are the center of my world.
READ: I’d like to be a PETA person, but I’m just too lazy and uncommitted for that. Besides, German Shepherds can’t give you babies. I looked into it.
I love to read. Give me a good story and temporarily there is no work that needs done, apartment that needs cleaned or dogs to walk.
READ: I am addicted to romance novels to fill my empty life, and that has given me vastly unrealistic expectations about how men are supposed to be. If you don’t fit within that range . . . well, I do have a vagina.
I choose to keep only a few people close to me that I consider “friends”. They are relationships of mutual respect and acceptance. They are my friends because they know me and accept my quirks.
READ: I’m such a moody train-wreck that there are only a few hyper-flaky girlfriends who still call me, because compared to me their lives look great.
My family is my family – just like everyone else’s I don’t always like or agree with them, but they are part of the package.
READ: I have a genetic history of mental disorders and a toxic childhood. Mom is now on like six different anti-depressants, and dad drinks a lot and doesn’t say anything. See what you have to look forward to
I seem to have gathered some spots on my body that are a bit more cushy than others. Fortunately, they don’t appear to be growing…
READ: I don’t work out, but this is probably as fat as I will get for a few more years. Probably.
I have no children, and I can honestly say I don’t feel like I’m missing anything. At this stage of the game I cannot see myself changing diapers, chasing a toddler or paying for college at 60.
READ: I realize that I have squandered my precious few years of being sexually attractive by selfishly indulging myself and driving away any decent alpha-type man because he didn’t “respect” me, and now that all I have on my plate are losers, I’ve resigned myself to the fact that I’m essentially a failure as a woman. But I’m not bitter. Really. I’M. NOT. BITTER.
I am a very upfront person, what you see is what you get. I am a confident and realistic person.
READ: I’m a bitch. There, it’s out.
I’m not an adrenaline junkie – you won’t catch me sky diving and I don’t like roller coasters.
READ: Get used to cable TV and watching my ass expand to fill the available room on the sofa. Good times.
I don’t care for over priced clubs with loud music and watered down drinks. Give me a hole in the wall where I can shoot pool and actually have a conversation without shouting or a backyard with my friends and I’m a happy girl.
READ: I suck in real bars because I’m competing with younger, prettier women who will blow you in the parking lot, so I hang out at poorly-lit dives where the dudes are usually beergoggling enough for me to show off my boobs and get some tiny modicum of validation of my womanhood. Occasionally I get drunk and fuck one in the bathroom, but I’d never admit it.
I’m a jeans and t-shirt kinda girl, but occasionally I like to get dressed up and go out to dinner or to the theater. But sitting at home, cuddling on the couch, watching a bad movie with a beer and pizza works just as well.
READ: Cheap date, but worth . . . oh, who am I kidding? Please, just someone . . . tell me I’m fuckable!
The older I get, the more I find that going places on the weekends where I have no cell reception are usually the best.
READ: I see a lot of “antiquing” in our future.
I am spiritual/religious, but not a Christian.
READ: I took a yoga class ten years ago but I like masturbation too much to be religious. Besides, going to church on Sunday really eats into my “me” time. And all the ladies there keep asking about my prospects, and it’s just too humiliating now.
Here’s what I need from you: You’re someone I can have fun with.
READ: Someone who will take me out and pick up the check.
Someone to share new experiences with as well as the same boring ones.
READ: 3rd date handjob, 6th date screw, and anything after that is purely twice-a-month missionary. Blowjob? What is this thing you call ‘blowjob’?
You should be just as comfortable at home with a six-pack, pizza and movie as you are at a Broadway show.
READ: I’ve given up on a wealthy Prince Charming. If you have a job with benefits, and don’t mind that I don’t cook, we might get along.
You must be able to make me laugh, but not in a juvenile boogers and farts kind of way.
READ: 3 Stooges, Benny Hill and Monty Python? Keep it with your porn collection.
You should know what a newspaper is and occasionally read one.
READ: If I catch you on-line, I’m going to assume it’s porn.
You must not be married (that includes separated), attached or looking for your 4th or 5th wife At the very least you should be a dog person; someone who does more with their pet than just expect them to sit in the corner waiting for you to have time for them.
READ: I’ll treat my dogs better than you, every time.
We should compliment each other – teach me things, make me want to learn and grow. Challenge me to be a better person.
READ: OK, at this stage in the game, I might consider anal if you get me drunk. But only if you pay my car payment and only expect it twice a year.
As an aside, Ian and I have disagreed on some things. No matter, he’s a funny son of a bitch. He’s also got his own blog, The Sex Nerd.