Thank you, Nikki Glaser, for this fun reminder of how dick-driven men are. In case you haven’t seen her show (get out from under that rock), this involves setting up a fake Tinder profile with hot girl photos. Then, men are sought out for chatting. Once connected, ladies begin taking turns responding to the man-fish, using ridiculous claims to get him to “tap out” and leave the conversation.
Spoiler Alert: If she’s sufficiently hot, he will avoid tapping out at all costs. I hope this wasn’t actually a spoiler. You knew this, right?
Most attempts at getting the guy to tap out involve some combination of the following:
- Horrible Grammar
- Mentioning the L-word (Love, not lesbian.)
- Dangerous Spouse
As a man, I can tell you why we can get past any combination of the above, should the target be sufficiently attractive.
No matter what disease she has, there’s a way around it. Condoms, BJs, and heck, even a handjob will do.
Let me be clear about grammar. As an author, who should be highly skilled at such, and demand the same from those in his company, I can tell you how much I care is inversely proportional to how hot she it. Fat, snooty, entitled beasts will feel the wrath of my red pen for tiny infractions, such as ending a sentence with a proposition (intended misuse, my love). Hot girls can abbreviate “you,” use the wrong “there,” and bury me in emojis (can’t fucking see them anyway), and it’s as if a tree didn’t fall in the forest.
Love does not scare me. It’s a word—like, pomegranate. I’ve told women on first dates I love them, just to get that out of the way. Their reactions tell me if there’s a second date. (Note: The proper reaction is laughter followed by an “I love you, too.”) OK, maybe there’s one exception: “I love wearing pointy heels and stomping on my man’s balls.” Yep, I’m out.
The dangerous spouse thing I encounter way too often. Usually, after a few dates, as I’m fetching the sex puddle mop, I’ll hear something like this:
“So, did I mention that I’m technically married, but we’re splitting up?”
“No, you didn’t mention that.”
“Oh, sorry. Yeah, I’m moving out. He’s giving me a hard time. Sucks, too, because he’s a cop and can make my life pretty miserable. Ya know?”
“Would it be safe for me to assume this man-with-a-gun knows nothing of me and the fact that I routinely feel you from the inside?”
Yeah, I’m out again.
What might it take for a man to get his Tinder target to tap out? Very little. Doesn’t matter if I’m fan-your-face sexy. I can lose the poor thing on the other end in three messages or less … of course, unless she happens to be as desperate as the average single man. Nah, even then.
Messages I might use to tap her out:
- “Can I shit on you while I sing the spam song by Monty Python?”
- “Hey, my dad says you must be a desperate cum dumpster to be looking for cock on Tinder.”
- “I’m voting for Trump.”
Oh, and I should warn you that if you pull this prank on me and try to get me to tap out, I will unleash the unholy beast within me. I’ll find you and your girlfriends, then interrupt your little party. Shame on you, sitting around that wine bar fire pit, making fun of a somewhat decent man who happens to be searching for love. Shame, I say! I will show up wearing horizontal stripes, leather sandals, and a pinky ring. I’ll be carrying a Budweiser. Oh, yes I will. Then, I will pull up a stool and ask, “Whatcha doin’?” Uh huh. I’ll order the hottest wings they serve, and eat them with my bare fingers. My face will be covered in orange goo and ranch dressing. Muah, ha ha ha! Then, after lighting a fart, I will demand the homeliest one of you drives me back to my parents’ house. Yes, I will try to shove my Tabasco-laden fingers down her jeans during the ride. Ooh! I warned you. Don’t you do it. Don’t swipe me, fucker.