G’day mates, it’s February (wild, I know), which means that Valentine’s Day is around the corner and we are well and truly in the season of love.
And to make matters worse, Valentine’s Day falls on a weekend this year, which means you’ll be forced to watch all of your friends go on cute picnics and romantic dates and all the other bullshit that makes you want to dry-retch, and you can’t even distract yourself by working hard in the office for once.
It’s a tragedy, honestly.
Recently, we’ve been through a pandemic, been the weird single cousin at family Christmas, celebrated a New Year sans-kiss, and now it’s Valentine’s Day. It has been tough, and, at this point, even a cold-hearted bitch like myself is feeling a little lonely.
So, as a little Valentine’s Day treat, I thought I’d share some of the most cursed dating app messages I – and my dear coworkers – have received. You know, to remind you that dating is fucking awful and maybe dying alone isn’t all that bad, actually.
We’ll kick it off with one that isn’t like “I want to skin you and turn your flesh into a lampshade” cooked, but is just like… incredibly inaccurate. I’m still unsure if this was a ploy to sound like they were well versed in US politics, but I simply cannot stress enough just how much I do not look like Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez at all.
And then we’ve got this guy, who was so certain I’d want to write about him that he wouldn’t date me. I mean, it takes a fair bit of audacity to believe you’re that interesting, but in his defence, I am now sitting here… writing about him.
My dude, this one goes out to you. Congratulations, you made a PEDESTRIAN.TV article.
Oh, and then we’ve got this man, who not only went for the gross pickup line, but doubled down by blaming it on *checks notes* kids at the skate park. This man in 28-years-old. Why is he hanging out with children at a skate park? I have so many questions.
I was blessed with this submission from my dear coworker and I simply have no words to describe it. I love a good dick as much as the next guy, but would I give up my beloved eggs benedict bagel for a root? Fat chance, my dude.
Speaking of brunch, pour one out for my friend who copped this bad boy on ~the apps~.
“I’d like to paint you green and smack you like a naughty avocado.”
Yes. Smack. You. Like. A. Naughty. Avocado.
Another dear coworker, who is now happily loved up with somebody who *isn’t* this guy, is still haunted by this message to this day. So much so, that she could quote it from memory.
“I would walk across a cold dark plain in a blizzard storm in nothing but ragged cut-off shorts and no shoes, only to run into a pack of rabid wolves which I fight to the death with a log I managed to find along the way which I, in turn, use as a crutch after having my hamstring ripped out just to take you out for a bowl of spaghetti.”
I’m not even going to give commentary here. Make of that what you will.
I’m not quite sure exactly what about this gives off such “I’m going to murder you and use your blood in a satanic ritual” energy, but this DM is literally my sleep paralysis demon at this point.
Think COVID is putting a bit of a dampener on your love life? Hun, you’re simply not innovative enough. Take a gander at this smooth one-liner:
“You’re giving me a bonervirus.”
The pickup lines may be cringey as all hell, but you simply must applaud the dedication to COVID safety.
But interestingly, the audacity to DM slide spans far greater than the realms of dating apps. According to my research (annoying all of my coworkers on Slack while they’re trying to do their jobs), the Twitter DMs are almost equally thirsty.
The 5:22am timestamp on this one really says it all.
And obviously, it wouldn’t be a DM slide if there wasn’t a feet pic request, right?
And finally, the real creme de la creme of this cursed list, this bad boy, which spanned two whole weeks before “boom chica wa wa!!!” turned into “Australian women are stuck up.” *chef’s kiss*
So there you have it, folks. Dating is awful. It’s not worth your energy and you are probably better off adopting a cat.
