Ask A Hot Chick - Two

Respect is probably a little too much to ask considering we live in the real world and everything.

Anyone with a more balanced Hotness Measuring System
is welcome to defend this more than I care to.
Oh, wait, you already did...
right here.
Fucks given about anyone's approval: ZERO.
It's paramount to my hotness.

Entirely unrelated to this twat's thinly veiled attempt to get a picture out of me, presumably based on the fundamental, however erroneous, conclusion that, I so need to be validated that this kind of passive-aggressive shit will work, today's entry is all about the oldest and lamest trick in the play book: Pretending to be into an artist's work in an attempt to get into their pants...

All I have to say is that it doesn't make you clever, you're certainly not the first person to try the easiest route, nor will you succeed in anything but wasting time for both of us. Simply put, time that I'd rather be spending writing, not to you. You've fucked it up for everyone who clicked in here looking for a boner, too... double rude.

I'm sure you are a special little flower but my dear, you are the rule, not the exception, and if I'm ever "available", I won't be using my blog to "hook up". I don't even speak the same relationship language that you do so I don't even know what to do with your lame attempts at coitus acquisitions but if it ever happens, I'll build a real dating profile and if you're able to find it, you'll have to cope with the reality that you will need to make a better impression than the 300 other messages and flirts and waves and kinky emoticons in my inbox, that lead to 227 other profiles... Oh right, I actually have been there and done that, it's what this blog is all about. 

Sorry, did I say 300 other messages?
That was a fucking understatement if there ever was one.
On this profile, if I keep on top of it, I can keep it around 1500.
If I leave it for a few days, it's fucking out of control... as if 1500 isn't out of control.
That's only one forum... this is how it is for chicks on the Internet.

Damn, if you'd only read a few words, we could all be entertained by my musings right now, rather than wondering which twat finally crossed that threshold of stupidity with such an egregiously and selfishly callous disregard for the "full time human being" part of my resume that it effectively broke the camel's back, resulting in these tremendously long sentences spewing all that honest, real life shit your uninformed opinion offered as a suggestion for "better" material... than a little Tuesday afternoon smut.

Anyone wanting to complain that this entry is what it is, rather than more of this, you're welcome to direct your complaints at Lord WasteClock. I will forward your vitriolic displays of dissatisfaction for having wasted my precious time so that you ended up with a rant instead of a boner... though he probably won't read this either.

The honest to God, and all of the un/holy minions, truth is that every time I open an inbox another piece of my heterosexuality is chipped away. That is the truth.

The thing I'll say about this guy is that he doesn't fuck around,
let's a girl know immediately that he is a shaved monkey,
no faking out, or pretending otherwise.
Despite those three cheers for honesty,
my professional advice: Hire a camgirl, like a normal pervert.

So, here's some more truth. The cost to buy 1% of the company is the same as the cost to "rent me" as your dinner companion for a couple of hours. The investment in a business may yield a return on the dollar. Dinner will yield dinner. The demand for guest appearances is so high that it might be most fair, for all of us, to auction off the limited time I have to entertain people interested in unknown celebrities. I'm not a fucking volunteer dinner companion.

Currently, if I gave three minutes to each request I've received, it would take three weeks to meet each of you, if I didn't stop to sleep. Do the math on that... there aren't that many dinners in 27 years. Add another 9 if I did stop to sleep. 3 minutes each is the only way to do it before some of you die... 

Lucky are the ones that get their three minutes while I shower, not so lucky are the ones that get to talk to me while I take a crap, unless that's your thing, but it's a three minute lottery, you don't get a say when, and no rescheduling... and fucking guaranteed, there's going to a good dose of PMS within those three weeks, potentially affecting a few thousand of you sorry fuckers.

As for that dinner companion auction, you'll need to arrange to get your bid to me, in cash, before I'll close the bidding for each dinner session. No, I don't accept Amex, unless you're giving me my own, on the corporate account... I probably won't shave my legs. I will eat two desserts and order takeout for my roommates and then leave immediately so that I can get it to them while it's still hot. Chances are I will wear a clean shirt but no guarantees. If I'm really tired from work that day, I may nod off during your stories. 

I don't usually snore but if I do, just tell them I have narcolepsy so you don't have to face the shame that your assclown tales about your bitch ex-wife and miserable loin fruit put me the fuck to sleep. I will pose it all more eloquently when I write about it here.

The bidding for tomorrow's dinner starts at $3000. I'll have my people call your people if yours is the winning bid. But you shouldn't be surprised when I tell you to go fuck yourself... it's what the erotica is there for.