Hit and Run
Ever since the dawn of the America's Most Wanted Show, I've always felt like there should be a sister show for women called America's Least Wanted Date Choices with photos and bios of loser men they need to avoid at all costs. Any men with restraining orders against them, abusers, alcoholics, religious fanatics, married cheaters, men who don't go down and those with body odor should all be included in the cast lineup. After a recent experience, I have a new addition to the cast, The Hit and Run Artist.
The Hit and Run bloodsucking scum have a very complex and confusing agenda that leaves most women feeling they have just been tossed in a spiral plunge from a hundred stories high. They come on strong, not like a smarmy player, but in an
"I never meet anyone I am interested in and now, here you are, my dream girl" sort of way. They pour on all the pink paint their pouty mouths can contain without drowning to make sure they achieve their ultimate goal of, yes, you guessed it, pussy.
My particular encounter with an H&R cretin began a couple of months ago and ended the following week. I won't mention his name, but his initials are P-E-T-E-R and he is supposedly in the sports agent business. I say supposedly because everything else he said to me turned out to be a lie. Here is an example of what he sent me in his twice daily emails....
"I know that I am going to see you in less than 24 hours but I was writing some e-mail's and I had to write to you again. You are so unbelievable, I still cannot believe that I have met someone as wonderful as you. I can't help but think that someone is watching out for me." *
And there's more....
"I miss you. I miss looking into those beautiful eyes and wondering what you think of me, kissing those lips like I could do for hours and feeling your body pushed up against mine wondering what is going to happen. I feel like I am back in high school and I am courting the head cheerleader. I can't wait to talk to you." *
Cheesy spewings like this in the first week should have done more than send me reaching for the nearest barf-bag, these should have come as a serious warning that Mr. Sports Agent, Ralph Finnes look alike is full of shit. We had two very hot dates and then the "Sports Business" took him to San Diego where he sent me a weeks worth of Harlequinesque sap, full of amazing promises of our next, breathtaking date. As shocking as this may sound, the next date never happened. In fact, for all I know he could be lying in a ditch, somewhere between here and California moaning my name. Yeah right.
Being the analytical investigators my friends and I are, we delved deeply into the nuances of his H&R like behavior and tried to find a reasonable explanation for his disappearance. Perhaps it was his intellectual inferiority that scared him away. Maybe he got hit in the head really hard and somehow forgot that he was supposedly spending every waking moment thinking of only me. But, most likely, he was not only a Hit and Run Artist, but also a married cheater, giving him top billing in our future, reality t.v. show.
I suppose I should have seen this accident waiting to happen and read the warning signs. DANGER AHEAD, DEAD END and STOP are a few that come to mind. And speaking of signs, here are a few signs that P-E-T-E-R will never see again, at least not from me. Those are CURVES AHEAD, SLIPPERY WHEN WET and PULL OUT SLOWLY.
*Example quotes from above liar scumbag have not been changed or elaborated in any way, except for 9 corrections in spelling errors.
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