Category Archives: douche of the week

Also, “The Owl and the Pussycat” is FILLED WITH INNUENDO. Just letting you know.

Here we go! It’s the day I go back home. Plane leaves at 2, should be at the airport around 5, should be back in Albany around 8. I HAVE MISSED YOU ALBANY. Next vacation is at the end of July. You’re not going to like that one as much. It’s in the mountains and there’s no internet or phone service up there. You’ll hear from me about 3 times in a whole week. I KNOW. I’ll try to bank blog posts so you still have them, though. I love you just that much. I know, right? Aren’t I just the best? Sure I am.

This morning has been a nightmare of Dad running around like a crazy person packing and packing and freaking out and checking and then double-checking drawers to make sure nothing’s in them. I asked him, “Did you even put anything in the drawers?” and he said no, but he still keeps checking them like things might have sneakily hidden themselves in the drawers when his back was turned. This has been going on for two hours now. It’s utterly exhausting to watch. I’m hiding with my laptop behind my pile of luggage waiting for it to be time to go.

Now we are in the hotel! It is just a basic hotel. However, Dad is SO EXCITED ABOUT IT. It’s adorable to watch. He’s so excited about all the free things in here. Like the little shampoos and conditioner and, MOST EXCITING, the little coffeemaker with a little packet with sugar and creamer and a stirrer. Every five seconds he’s all, “AMY AMY LOOK LOOK LOOK” and it’s making me laugh the hardest. What’s funny is, I think probably in his life he’s stayed in a lot more hotels than I have. Yet he’s still five years old when it comes to staying in hotels. FREE LITTLE SOAPPPSSS!

Free! Free! FREEEEE!

Mostly I’m excited about the free wifi, which is better than the free wifi in the condo. The condo did not like me to use my phone or my laptop unless I was sitting in a certain place and facing a certain angle. Here, there’s a teeny desk! And I have all the bars! This is great. Yay, Comfort Suites, I highly approve! Free wifi and a teeny desk like I’m playing executive!

Also, Dad thinks we should go to Hooters for dinner, because “that’s a good family establishment.” I said I was on to him and didn’t want to go to the titty bar but he was welcome to go to the titty bar and I’d walk across the street to the Cracker Barrel and have some nice chicken fingers. Then he was all, “WHAT? The mascot of Hooters is an OWL. You like owls! Owls are for families. They’re ANIMALS! You LOVE ANIMALS!” Then I tried to explain that owl was a metaphor, or maybe a euphemism, on a couple of levels, and he wasn’t fooling ANYONE.

“What? That’s just a nice owl,” he said. So I attempted to explain that not ONLY were the owl’s eyes representative of boobs, but that hooters was also a word that MEANS boobs. I’m not 100% sure if he knows these things and he’s pretending he doesn’t in order to get me to go to Hooters, or he really, really thinks a restaurant where the waitress has boobs sticking all in your face and hotpants is an appropriate place to visit with your daughter when you’re on vacation. Either way, no thanks, buckaroo. We’re going to Cracker Barrel and Outback Steakhouse where the waitresses keep their personal business tucked away like they’re supposed to. Sheesh.

The Cracker Barrel was the loudest place I’ve ever eaten in my LIFE. SO MANY SCREAMING BABIES. And also old people who cackled like the toucans at the zoo. Dad was not impressed. He seems to have sensitive eardrums. I keep telling him he’s a delicate flower. He doesn’t like to be told he’s a delicate flower and thinks he should have worn earplugs to the Cracker Barrel. “THIS NEVER WOULD HAVE HAPPENED AT HOOTERS,” he said. I tried to impress upon him we were much less likely to get gonorrhea at the Cracker Barrel as a side with our lunches but he’s still sad about the no-Hooters situation.

Oh, also, you know how there’s a huge gift shop attached to Cracker Barrel? This happened:

Dad: What the hell is this.
Me: What is it? Oh, it a box of Moon Pies.
Dad: What’s a Moon Pie? Is it astronaut food?
Me: No. It’s  dessert. It’s delicious. Wait, you’ve never tried a Moon Pie?
Dad: No. They sound stupid.
Dad: What’s a Moon Pie?
Me: It’s two cookies, with marshmallow inbetween, covered in chocolate.
Dad: What? Who would eat that?
Me: EVERYONE would! You love all the desserts! What’s wrong with you? You are being a total crankypants, they are delicious.
Dad: No one wants these. This gift shop is too loud, let’s go.

I think Dad is broken. He loves desserts. This guy can hoover a whole box of cookies, I’m not sure what’s going on here.

Let’s see. What’s happening in the world, anyway?

Well, we’ve got some piece of shit homophobe pastor in North Carolina wanting parents to punch their children if they notice them acting “too gay:”

 “So your little son starts to act a little girlish when he is four years old and instead of squashing that like a cockroach and saying, ‘Man up, son, get that dress off you and get outside and dig a ditch, because that is what boys do,’ you get out the camera and you start taking pictures of Johnny acting like a female and then you upload it to YouTube and everybody laughs about it and the next thing you know, this dude, this kid is acting out childhood fantasies that should have been squashed.

Dads, the second you see your son dropping the limp wrist, you walk over there and crack that wrist. Man up. Give him a good punch. Ok? You are not going to act like that. You were made by God to be a male and you are going to be a male. And when your daughter starts acting too butch, you reign [sic] her in. And you say, ‘Oh, no, sweetheart. You can play sports. Play them to the glory of God. But sometimes you are going to act like a girl and walk like a girl and talk like a girl and smell like a girl and that means you are going to be beautiful. You are going to be attractive. You are going to dress yourself up.'”

There are so many things wrong with this I don’t even know where to begin. OK, first, I’m confused about the YouTube scenario. Is he saying that you should put videos of your kid on YouTube and mock them? Or someone did and everyone laughed and that was bad because it made someone want to be more effeminate? It’s oddly worded.

And the gender roles. THE GENDER ROLES. You’ve got boys, who should be digging ditches and acting male, whatever that is (but whatever it is, we know what it is not – it is NOT “dropping the limp wrist.”) And you’ve got girls. Listen, girls, Pastor Sean Harris is cool with you playing sports – “to the glory of God,” even, whatever the eff that means. Maybe Tebowing after you score, I don’t know. But you ALSO need to act, walk, talk, and SMELL like a girl. (Smell like a girl? What exactly does a girl smell like? Perfume? Body wash? Apples? Coconut? Sex? I need further clarification, here.) How do you do these things? Oh, it’s easy enough, I’ll tell you how. By being BEAUTIFUL. And ATTRACTIVE. And DRESSING YOURSELF UP. Because – guess what? Lesbians aren’t any of those things. OH WAIT. Lesbians ARE beautiful, attractive, and capable of dressing themselves up! Just as much as straight women are! WHAT? AMY NO! It’s true. I’ve known some gorgeous lesbians who killed in a dress. And I’ve known some heinously ugly straight women who looked like shit in pajama pants and a t-shirt. HOW WILL WE KNOW THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN THE STRAIGHTS AND GAYS? Oh, this is bad, this is total anarchy, lock up your CHILDREN, the gays are on the LOOSE, they look just like US, Z!O!M!G!!1!!!

Oh, and don’t forget that you should “man up” and punch your son if he drops that limp wrist. That’ll teach him. That won’t make him any more apt to hate himself enough to commit suicide and contribute to the staggeringly high statistic of suicidal gay teens, no no not that.

Good old Pastor Harris says he was KIDDING, come ON, you guys, how could you THINK he was advocating CHILD ABUSE, but he 100% stands behind gender roles. OK, you know what? Screw you, and screw your gender roles, and screw your we-know-you-weren’t-kidding about punching your son. People like you are the reason kids are committing suicide and the reason there’s so much hatred in the world. And you’re supposed to be a good person, you prick. You’re supposed to be a model for what’s right, as you’re a religious figure. Just take a flying leap, you waste of breath. You’re unnecessary. No one needs you to exist. No one. And, gay kids? You’re perfect just the way you are. Suffer through what you have to, because when you’re free and you’re living your own life and are able to love who you want, you’ll be happy you stuck it out. People like Harris aren’t the real world. The real world’s a lot more forgiving, if you make it to the right place. I promise.

And of course, you remember what we learned not too long ago about raging homophobes, right? Right.

For your totally awesome, God-loving ways, YOU, Sean Harris, get the Lucy’s Football coveted DOUCHE OF THE WEEK AWARD! You can totally frame this, it’s something everyone wishes they had.

OK, you guys, the next time you read my blog, I’ll be home safely (let’s hope, anyway.) Florida vacation over! Real world, let’s do this!


The entire country’s overrun with sluts, seriously. It’s an EPIDEMIC.

Dear Mr. Limbaugh:

May I call you Mr. Limbaugh? I mean, I wouldn’t want to be presumptuous. I am a woman. With woman-parts. Should I call you Daddy? Sir? BIG Daddy? Pops? I mean, it’s all about you. I really just want you to be comfortable, here.

Oh, stick with Mr. Limbaugh? Sure. Sure thing. I know MY place. In the KITCHEN. Barefoot & pregnant. Am I right?

Well! Here we are, Mr. Limbaugh: you, with your fancy penis, me with my far-less-superior vagina, just hanging out. This is nice, right? Isn’t this just the best thing?

Oh, I should probably introduce myself. I’m sorry. How rude! I’m one of the approximately 12-15 million sluts of America. It’s so nice to have this chance to chat, isn’t it? I know, it’s weird, I’m representing, like, a LOT of women. Here, let me put it to you this way. The number of women I represent is 12-15 million, minus one, more than the number of women who would willingly, currently, let you sleep with them. And that one is debatable. I still don’t 100% understand the situtation going on there with your wife. I can’t imagine anyone sleeping with you on purpose. Maybe you roofie her, I don’t know. She’s wife #4. Maybe she’s just waiting for you to die? Patiently, PAAAAATIENTLY just lying there, waiting, waiting, waaaaaiting for you to die, you ignoring that bored look in her eyes as you huff and puff away? (“Hey, I always notice that bored look in their eyes, alright?” Name that quote, sir, I’ll give you a shiny quarter.) I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT GOES ON I AM THANKFULLY NOT IN YOUR BEDROOM BECAUSE IF I WERE I THINK IT WOULD GIVE ME PTSD. But, what do I know, anyway, just a stupid slut, am I right, Mr. Limbaugh?

Now, can I just first say, thank you so much for letting me know what a complete and total whorebag I am? I mean, I always kind of wondered? Am I? Am I a jezebel? And you let me know this week I was. Thank you. Thank you for that. Because if there’s one thing I hate, it’s uncertainty. And then you let me know I was a “feminazi.” I assume this is a little word salad you made of “feminist” and “nazi?” Aw! Aren’t you just the cutest thing? Aren’t you just a vocab champion? I mean, I don’t really see how me being on birth control, and being a feminist, also makes me a nazi. To me, it’s like you took two completely unrelated words and smooshed them together into a s’more and then stuffed it into your huge gaping piehole. Like if you took “pirate” and “automobile” and proudly presented the world with “piratomobile” and expected us to ooh and ahh. I mean, I do applaud your command of letters, I suppose. My toddler nephew also uses words, sometimes incorrectly? When he does, we gently correct him. WITH LOVE. Would you like me to correct you? With love? I bet you would! You’ve got the look of a man who’s drooled over a good slut in his lifetime about him, Mr. Limbaugh.

Well, let’s talk about your week, shall we? It’s been a busy one for you! First, you called a Georgetown law student a slut for publicly advocating that birth control should be covered under health care, not just for birth control purposes, but for health care reasons. Not only did you call this young lady a slut, you said you wanted her to post a sex tape of her sexual activities online; you said she was having so much sex she couldn’t pay for enough birth control for herself; and you said her parents would be ashamed of her. Among other things. Because if you’re anything, it’s verbose. Oh, wait, sorry, I should have told you: I’m a slut with a vocabulary, a brain, and a blog. Sorry. Probably should have spoiler-alerted you.

Then, when you realized you were losing advertisers, and advertisers pay for your Cheetos, HoHos, and Viagra, you apologized. But let’s be honest, here, Mr. Limbaugh. I’ve seen apologies, both good and bad, in my lifetime. And this was more of a “mom said I had to apologize, so I’m SORRY you were OFFENDED by my TOTALLY FUNNY JOKE, as if it’s MY FAULT you GREEDY WHORES don’t have a SENSE OF HUMOR” than it was a truly abject apology. Mr. Limbaugh, people are backing away from you as if you’re the loser in a he-who-smelt-it-dealt-it contest, honestly. And you’re the Emperor, all nakey-naked, “whee, lookit me! LOOKIT ME! I GOTS ME A DING DONG!”

Now, I did a little research, to see how many American women I’m representing. The twelve million is low. That’s just the number that take oral contraceptives. So let’s say that an additional 3 million use alternate methods – the patch, an IUD, the sponge, the…oh, Mr. Limbaugh, ARE YOU OK? I’m sorry, you looked a little queasy, there. Was it the talk of women’s contraceptive options? Oh, it was the idea that money for these is coming right out of your pocket? Here, sit back. Put your feet up. NO, don’t take your shoes off. I didn’t buy any Airwick spray this week. Just rest up. I’ll keep talking, though. You had your say earlier in the week. My turn now, Big Poppa.

Now, according to another website I found, there are 58% of those women who take their chosen form of contraceptive for reasons OTHER than just birth control. Regulation of menstrual flow. Control of severe cramping. Amelioration of migraine headache symptoms related to menstruation. Things of that nature. I’m sorry, you’re fading out on me again. Oh, it’s the talk of lady-business this time? You’d rather I didn’t use the term “menstruation?” What would you rather I…”monthlies?” You want me to call them “monthlies?” I bet you make your wife go into a tent in the yard once a month, because she’s unclean, don’t you, and because she might draw bears. Don’t you even josh with me, you big kidder, you. From one gasbag to another, I see right through you.

So that’s over half of us sluts who are using contraceptives for medical reasons OTHER than birth control. But we’re still sluts, right? I just want to make that perfectly clear. Because I’m liking this an awful damn lot, being a slut. I mean, I’m not even currently sexually active but BAM I AM A SLUT. That’s nice! And is my daddy not proud of me? I’ll have to ask him that, the next time we talk. Oh, wait, I’ve avoided bringing this topic even up with him, because you, sir, you and your misogynistic ways are the main cause of friction between my beloved father and myself. I’m pretty sure if we got going on my sluthood and such, he’d disown me. HE LOVES YOU JUST THAT MUCH. And I’m a little jealous, honestly. But what did I expect? I mean, I’m just a slut. Who ever loves the slut? The slut never gets to be the belle of the ball, am I right?

Also, to clear up some misconceptions you seem to be laboring under:

  1. You said that the women that wanted their birth control covered by health insurance were “having so much sex they were going broke.” I think you might be under the impression we have to take birth control pills like Tic Tacs, whenever we’re getting ready to get the hot beef injection. Not really how it works.
  2. The money for birth control wouldn’t directly come out of your pocket. I mean, I suppose, if you drill way, way, WAY down, pennies might come out of your sizeable income. But if you think about it, our tax dollars go for all kinds of wacky shit. Did you know that there’s an unrated version of Team America at my library? True. I totally put it on reserve so I can watch puppet sex next weekend because my internet people told me it was the best thing. Things at my library are paid for with tax dollars. So, in theory, if you think about it, fractions of pennies of your salary probably paid for me to watch puppet sex. But if you think about every little thing like this, you’re just going to get a massive heart attack and die. AND WHO WOULD WANT THAT SURELY NOT ME.
  3. Sandra Fluke, the student you attacked so heinously, is a LAW STUDENT. Let’s just wrap our minds around that, just for a minute. A LAW STUDENT. At GEORGETOWN. I don’t know if you know any law students. I’ve run across a few. THEY ARE BUSY AS HELL. There are classes, and there is a LOT of studying. I’m sure they have time for SOME of all the sex. But not all. Not all the sex. Because they’re too busy studying to BECOME LAWYERS. It’s not like they’re in correspondence school to become air conditioner repairmen. It’s LAW SCHOOL. You have to pass the damn BAR EXAM. Also, Georgetown’s not a school that gets advertised on the back of a matchbook cover, Mr. Limbaugh. It’s one of our fanciest of the fancy. I mean, it’s a given she’s a slut – what with the birth control, and how she can’t control her slutty, slutty mouth, am I right? – but she’s a SMART slut. I know, I was as confused as you undoubtedly are, that these two things aren’t mutually exclusive. It’s a mystery for the ages.
  4. You don’t get a say in everything that is paid for with your tax dollars. You want a sex tape to be put on the internet if your tax dollars pay for birth control. Tit for tat, right? So your tax dollars pay for homeless shelters, do you want a homeless man to come over and spoon you tonight? Your tax dollars also pay for soup kitchens, do you want to eat tomato soup until you explode? I’ll sign up for force-feeding you, I mean, if there’s a sign-up sheet. It’s the saddest when there’s a signup sheet but no one’s signed up yet. You feel like such a FOOL.
  5. No one calls someone slutty “roundheels” anymore. That made you sound like Grandpa Simpson.
  6. Are you aware of pharmacological markups? Like, if you figure it out, you pay, say, $10 for your co-pay, but your insurance agency is billed $40 so those pills cost $50 altogether but in all actuality the whole bottle of pills, including the amber plastic bottle with all the warning labels, cost probably $.0002 cents? Yeah, maybe we’re attacking the wrong people. How about birth control pill manufacturers make it more affordable for us to get it ourselves? Or make it affordable and available over the counter? That way we don’t even have to INVOLVE you, sir. Not even a LITTLE bit. Unless we run into you leaving the drug store on new porno mag day.
  7. Not all birth control, as my statistics show you above, is for all the sex. YES, any DAY now, I’m pretty sure I’m going to start having all the sex. My doctor says I can. And it’s ALL FOR YOU MR. LIMBAUGH. But it’s also for those of us who’ve been on it since we were about 19 because our uteruses are trying to kill us. And hypothetically? Those people have never, ever, not even one little teeny-tiny time, used it for birth control purposes. Because that’s why God made condoms. YES GOD MADE CONDOMS. What? Where in the Bible does it say that? I’m pretty sure “sheep” are mentioned a few times, and those sheep have skin, and I think there are sheepskin condoms. I JUST BLEW YOUR MIND. So the sluts among us, one of whom is writing this blog, who need birth control or they will be murdered in their sleep by their evil, evil uteruses – what exactly do you want US to put a video of on the internet? Heavy menstrual flow? Bending over groaning in pain from severe cramping? Sleeping 8-10 hours in climate-controlled rooms because of severe migraines? Adult cystic acne? No, pray tell, I need to know so I can start getting ready for my close-up, Mr. DeMille. Because – NEWS FLASH PILGRIM – you totally bought my birth control recently. You’ve been buying that shit for ALMOST TWENTY YEARS. I KNOW DIRTY DIRTY SLUT. Whoo!

Mr. Limbaugh: I’m so sorry you’re petrified of women. I really am. It must be so scary, considering there are 143.4 million, as of the 2000 census, humans with lady-parts walking around America. There are 5.3 million more of us than there are men. I mean, that’s got to be SO EFFING SCARY for someone who is so utterly horrified at the thought of women being equal to men that he has to make them feel less than, put-upon, and inferior, every single chance he gets. I mean, we’ve got you, comparing our reproductive rights to sneakers in gym class (because the two are so similar, I’m sure I don’t have to explain the similarities to my amazingly brilliant readers) and we’ve got your pal Santorum telling us that if he had his druthers, we’d all be forced to have God’s lemonade rape-babies. I can’t even imagine the nightmares that must swirl through your sweaty head at night: women WORKING ALONGSIDE MEN. Women IN POSITIONS OF POWER. Women POINTING AT YOUR DICK AND LAUGHING AS IF THEY WERE WATCHING AN ARRESTED DEVELOPMENT RERUN. Women who, if they got their shit together, COULD OUTVOTE THE MEN BECAUSE THERE ARE MORE OF US THAN THERE ARE YOU.

It has been so nice to have this chat, hasn’t it? Slut to moron? Whore to douchecanoe? Harlot to insecure gasbag with mommy issues?

Let’s do this again, shall we? You bring a pie. I’ll bring my command of the English language, my college-educated brain, and my vagina. Mr. Limbaugh. MR. LIMBAUGH. You’re looking pale again. I think you might need some smelling salts. Or maybe a sharp slap in the face.

All my best,

Amy, the biggest slut in all of Slutsville

(For two more takes on the insanity of the week, please check out Green Geek Girl and Books and Bowel Movements. *Smooches* to my ladies!)


I have a couple minutes where I’m not getting pulled in a million different directions, so I just have to (HAVE to, you guys! HAVE to! Like, I would probably DIE if I didn’t!) address this OK Cupid/Gizmodo/Magic: The Gathering thing that’s going on.
I know 99% of the people reading this already know, to the point of oversaturation, about this. Because the people who relate to this story are MY people. Which, obviously, is why I have to say something about it.
First, here. If you’re one of my readers who hasn’t read the article, please do – this isn’t going to make a lot of sense without some background.
If you’re just being obstinate, or whatever, here’s the article in a nutshell. (But why you didn’t just listen to me and read the article I have no idea. It’s too good not to, you goofball. Of course by good I mean awful.)
Alyssa Bereznak, a drunk girl (she said this, not me, CALM DOWN) who writes for the tech blog Gizmodo, signs up for OK Cupid, which is a free dating site. She is HORRIFED OMGWTFBBQ by the people who contact her. They are GROSS, y’all. And they CANNOT SPELL. Then a sort-of-normal guy contacts her! So they go out! And he looks normal! So she forgets to Google him. And then he tells her HE IS THE WORLD CHAMPION OF MAGIC: THE GATHERING. (Also he takes her to a play about Jeffrey Dahmer. More on this later.) She is SO UPSET BY THIS HIDDEN NERDERY that she GOES OUT WITH HIM AGAIN to find out MORE. Then she of course does NOT go out with him again (gross ew ew ew gross NERD GERMS), but writes an article on her tech blog calling him out for MISLEADING HER and WASTING HER TIME and NOT DISCLOSING HIS NERDERY UP FRONT. She also uses his real name.
Outcome: the geek and nerd community is UP IN ARMS.
I read the article last night from the back row of my theater, trying not to fall asleep during a very long tech night. I was just kind of confused about the whole thing, honestly. I probably should be more upset? I know she’s really a total douchebag? But really I’m just kind of confused about the entire situation.
A lot of people have addressed this (and much better than I’m about to) today, so if you’re smart, you’ll probably read one or more of these and not continue on here. I’m really, really tired. And this isn’t going to be all that well-thought-out. Because I am LESS ANGRY than I am CONFUSED.
Writers who did this first and some would say much better (I would be one of those “some”:)
Did she think the commercials about online dating were true and it was easy?  If you were serious about online dating, would you really use OK Cupid? They advertise that on my radio at 2am. That’s not a ringing endorsement as they also advertise Horny Goat Weed then.
Listen, I’m not just talking out of my ass, here. I DATED ONLINE. I did not have luck in doing so. I know people who have – two of my favorite people of all time, actually, met the people they are a. married to, and b. living with, via online dating. So yes! It works. Sometimes. I met, in real life, three people via online dating. I spoke to countless others in email conversations. Some brief stories:
  • One guy brought me to the comic book section of Borders and shushed me while he browsed. That was the whole date.
  • One guy was an abusive scary monster with rage issues and I was seriously afraid I was going to be raped.
  • One guy was so, so nice, and I’ve mentioned him before, and I was the asshole who wasn’t attracted to him. But I wasn’t MEAN about it. It wasn’t HIS fault. I’d fix him up with a friend in a minute. HE WAS SO NICE. I’M THE ASSHOLE.
  • One guy seemed like a keeper until he dropped off the face of the earth and I never heard from him again and I’m not really sure what happened there.
  • One guy got angry I wouldn’t sext him and buy and mail him books because he didn’t understand how a library card worked and kept sending me emails full of question marks and frowny-faces until I blocked him.

ONLINE DATING IS HARD. People seem really, really good in emails, over Twitter, on Facebook, etc. In person, you can’t think over what you’re going to say, and also you’re face to face, where interaction is scary. If you think online dating is going to be like the commercials, where the two pretty people meet and the guy’s all, “I only have one more question WHEN CAN I SEE YOU AGAIN” and the girl just roars with laughter because THEY ARE MEANT TO BE ZOMG – you are DELUSIONAL.

Also, no one can spell. ESPECIALLY not on a free dating site. You’re lucky if they use capital letters. The guy I wasn’t attracted to KNEW HOW TO USE A SEMI-COLON. Seriously, it was painful that I didn’t find the poor guy attractive.
Why did she think it was a good idea to write this article ON A TECH BLOG?  Didn’t she realize that she was going to be vilified by the geek community at large?
I don’t understand people that write these kind of articles in places that a lot of people will see them. Either when they write them they think everyone’s going to agree with them and they’ll get a lot of positive publicity out of it, or they just don’t care. If it’s the latter, great. If it’s the former, WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU. If she had written this in Good Housekeeping or something, she might have gotten some sympathy, but lady! A tech blog? THOSE ARE READ BY GEEKS. Geeks get angry. REALLY REALLY FAST. And they are literate, so they write about it, Tweet about it, comment on your article calling you creative variations on female anatomy, etc. I don’t get it. Was this a trolly post just to get traffic to the site?

(ETA – YES. Yes, it was actually a trolly post just to get traffic. Gizmodo = Gawker = the authors get paid per click, so the author was actually “nerdbaiting” to get clicks. What a twatwaffle.)
Does she realize that this is going to get Jon Finkel a ton of positive publicity and offers of dates?
I started following Jon Finkel on Twitter today? And he’s really handling this whole thing like a pro. He’s being really classy about it. I approve. Also, he’s kind of cute. FINE HE’S TOTALLY CUTE SHUT UP. So you go, Jon Finkel. I think you’ll have no problems finding a date for a while. There are like a kabillion hot geek girls who would totally go out with you today. You probably couldn’t roll a multi-sided die without hitting one. (I’m sorry. I don’t think there are dice used in Magic: The Gathering. I KNOW NOTHING ABOUT MAGIC: THE GATHERING. Am I fired from writing this article? I TOLD YOU TO READ ONE OF THE OTHER ONES.)
Why does she seem to think it’s “lying” not to mention something you’re into in your dating profile?
How is that lying? If anything, it’s a sin of omission, but it’s not really even that, is it? Do you write EVERYTHING YOU’VE EVER DONE EVER in your dating profile? I quit online dating after frowny-face question-mark guy, because I just did NOT have the emotional fortitude to deal with it anymore, but if I remember correctly, those profiles weren’t very long. I don’t think there’s room to write in everything you have ever done, are currently doing, and plan on doing, for the rest of your life forever and ever Amen. Or am I completely off-base and they have an unlimited character count now? I’m being facetious, of course. Listen, we all have stuff. I like crocheting, cats, chocolate, pork products, television, geekery, and nail polish. I LOVE theater. I pretty much LIVE at my theater, when I’m not home. And yes, I would probably put that in my profile. But I don’t know that I would put exactly how many hours a week I spend there. I’d just kind of ease that on into a conversation. Because it makes me look like a kook, a little. And you have to gauge your audience, right? Lying? Really? First, he was worried it would make him look nerdy, and as nerds, we’re all a little shy/touchy about our nerdery. And second, he admitted himself on Twitter today that it was tough to come right out with his status as World Champion without looking like a tool. He was being HUMBLE, Alyssa Bereznak. Also he was worried he’d get the very reaction you gave, so way to deliver!
How exactly did Jon “infiltrate” his way into other dates? Was it ninja-style?
This woman uses very apocalyptical words. “Lying.” “Infiltrate.” I think less over-the-top words would work just fine. I assume what’s meant here is that two of her friends also had an issue with the Magic: The Gathering playing? “Infiltrating” doesn’t really work, though. If you use this word, I imagine him rappelling down the wall of restaurant in ninja pajamas and sneaking in while your friend’s real date is in the bathroom. I don’t think it means what you think it means.
Why is she so upset about the totally awesome idea of taking someone to a Jeffrey Dahmer play?
I love live theater. I am always up for serial killers. WHY IS THIS AN ISSUE. If someone told me, “We’re going to dinner and then I got us tickets to a one-man show about Jeffrey Dahmer” my response would be “You’ve TOTALLY BEEN PAYING ATTENTION and YOU GET ME. Let’s get married now.” OMG THIS IS IT AND IT IS A MUSICAL THAT MAKES IT IMMEDATELY MY FAVORITE THING SINCE CARRIE THE MUSICAL.  Jon Finkel, seriously? Add a margarita or two to that and you have MY PERFECT DATE. I would be riding my OK Cupid match like a MERRY-GO-ROUND-PONY if he brought me to a Jeffrey Dahmer musical. What the hell.
Why in the name of Bill Gates WOULDN’T you Google someone before going out with them for the first time? Were you angling to be murdered and eaten?
This is just stupid. You don’t FORGET to wear pants when you go out; you don’t FORGET to put toothpaste on the brush before you brush your teeth; and you don’t FORGET to Google the hell out of someone you’re meeting for the first time that you met online. That’s Safety 101. That’s just utter stupidity. MURDERED AND EATEN, Alyssa. IT PUTS THE LOTION ON ITS SKIN, Alyssa. Come ON.
Why the hellllll did you go out with him again? Just to get more information for this article?
This was my first question upon reading the article and is still a major one. This made her go from “kind of a bitca” in my mind to “gigantic douchecanoe.” You KNEW you didn’t like him. Because you are icked out by nerdy things like card games ew ew get ‘em off get ‘em off.  But you went out with him again – TO GET MORE INFORMATION FOR THIS ARTICLE. That’s just cold. Cold and heartless. Just for that one reason? You deserve all of this backlash. Seriously. If you know you don’t like someone, don’t string them along. That’s just a shit move. An unnecessary shit move.
This really did nothing for anyone other than show you the state of my mind this week, which is “hamster on a wheel.” I’m really, really tired.
Also, being nerdy about something is sexy, because it shows you have emotions, intelligence, and heart. There’s nothing wrong with not being attracted to someone; there IS something wrong with calling them names (and using their real name) in a public forum. So for that, Alyssa (and I’m only using YOUR real name because it’s on the article and you started it!) – you get the Megadouche of the Week award! Congrats. Now go get drunk and make a Plenty of Fish profile or something.
Also? Jon Finkel? Although I know NOTHING about Magic: The Gathering, I have NOTHING AGAINST IT. You can totally call me. Three words, Jon. JEFFREY DAHMER MUSICAL. I can’t even. So awesome.

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