Ms. Amanda

Amanda, I hope this letter finds you well. When I came across your profile, so moved was I that I decided to forego my usual email that simply says, “Sup, girl?” In fact, I might even throw in some fancy-pants vocabulary words to impress you.

You ever been hit on by a guy who uses the word “indubitably”? Well, stick around, Amanda; today may be your lucky day!

Your photos show a lot of personality. I would have to say on my part, the last festival food I had was in the month of June when I had my first fried Oreo. You ever have a fried Oreo, Amanda? It’s a flavor I never experienced before, and as I felt a sharp, unforgiving pain radiate down my left arm as I took my last bite, I wondered, “Who is the culinary genius who came up with this?”

I also like the photos of you holding random children that aren’t yours. Don’t get me wrong, Amanda, I can and have lifted any number of my friends’ small children (I do pushups!), but there is a severe lack of photographic evidence in my circle of friends to corroborate my claim. And to be honest, I don’t hold them for too long, as I have a slight aversion to tears and urine.

I do apologize for a lack of questions to you on my part, but I wanted to show that this isn’t some form letter. I figured this format would be better than a bullet list of typical date questions like, “What do you do for a living,” or “How come you never see a homeless person drinking Gatorade?”

Oh, I do have a leading question for you though: which comedians are your favorites? I too enjoy stand-up comedy, although I don’t think I could ever stomach a cruise ship comedian who is always so close to bombing epically.

Thanks for reading, Amanda, and take care. Would I like to hear back from you? Indubitably!

Cordially,

Mike

Ms. Shell

Hello, Shell!
My name is Mike. I came across your profile and thought I would write you a letter. I am impressed that you have a horse. Isn’t that every girl’s dream, to have a horse? I can understand if you omitted in your profile that you are also a princess, as it might be a bit intimidating for us guys.

I also like to think that I am drama-free and have no baggage. I’m thinking about it now and the only baggage I have is my fear of heights, I suppose. Like, if you were to drag me into a hot air balloon or something similar, I will probably scream and smack myself in the head until I pass out, but other than that, no, I don’t think I have any drama, although that scene is pretty dramatic, to be sure.

I am an animal lover as well. I have a Golden Chow mix named Goober who turned 16 years old this year. Despite her age, she is still a happy-go-lucky dog, although she may smell like she’s 20 or 21. Do dogs live over the age of 20? I figure that with Goober by the time she turns 25, she will have reached the tipping point where she will be more machine than dog.

It’s a shame you’re reading the book American Sniper after seeing the movie. It takes away that snobby pleasure one gets when walking out of a theater and you get to say with your nose held high, “The book was soooooo much better.” Isn’t that a great feeling?
Have a great day, Shell! Thanks for reading and I hope to hear from you.

Respectfully,
Mike.

Ms. Rockout13

Hello, Ms. Rockout13, I’m Mike2614231. I live in Glenside now, but I used to live in Green Lane. It’s true! I lived there for about 5 years, in a tiny apartment on the corner of 63 and route 29, by the Sunoco gas station. Have you ever been? It’s a nice gas station; they sell ice cream for kids as well as minnows for fishermen. And they also sell pornographic magazines sealed in plastic bags, which… well, look, I just know that they SELL them. That’s all I know about it, honest.

Honest.

At any rate, the apartment I lived in was an old house from the early 1900’s that was converted into 5 small apartments. Everything was slanted: the floor, the windows, the door frame… Hey, you remember in the movie Beetlejuice when Beetlejuice was going to marry Lydia and he created that crooked door in the wall for that old priest to come out and wed them in marital bliss? My door frame looked like that. When people came over I told them to enter on the right side of the door frame, lest they hit their heads on the short side.

Are the door frames where you dwell crooked as well? I didn’t know if I was living in some kind of architectural oddity or if that’s just the way things are up there. I am sorry to say that I don’t have a single piece of plaid in my whole wardrobe; not a stitch. You probably read that sentence and wondered how I get by, but somehow I do. Somehow.

I am envious of your wide array of photos. I especially like the professional photographer’s shots of you in the felled cornfield. I guess you could say the photographer was…”stalk”ing you? Ha, you’re welcome; feel free to use that and take it as your own, I won’t mind.

Have yourself a wonderful day!

Signed,

Mike (The guy with the Beetlejuice door frames and puns about corn, which are a-MAIZE-ing!)

Ms. EBEB

Dear EBEB,
Hello, my name is Mike. I came across your profile and was intrigued to write you. As far as Drunk History goes, I personally had no idea Al Capone lived the rest of his life as a syphilitic moron, casting a fishing rod into a pool, did you? I’m sad they didn’t cover that part of Capone’s life with Robert DeNiro in The Untouchables.

And hey, speaking of museums, have you ever visited the Mutter Museum? I went there a few years ago to check out all the weird medical abnormalities. It really is quite a place and really gets you to thinking. For instance, as I tried to relate to an 18th century French woman who had 9-inch horn drooping down her face, wondering how she lived day to day, I couldn’t help but come to the conclusion that The Mutter Museum itself should smell a lot worse than it does. Don’t get me wrong, EBEB, it does smell a little off, but it should smell like formaldehyde and nightmares, only it doesn’t! I was very surprised by that aspect of the museum, more than the giant colon, even.

Well, how’s that for an introductory email? Syphilitic morons and genetic deformities that are surprisingly not offensive to the nose. Would you get an email like this on Tinder? It is doubtful. At any rate, I should probably wrap this up before I say something that one might find gross or tactless. Have a great day, EBEB! I hope to hear from you.

Respectfully,

Mike.

Ms. Matchme

Dear Matchme,

My name is Mike. I came across your profile and found it very refreshing. I too do not take life too seriously and think that an ideal evening is not about the activity itself, but about the company you keep. Sure, I could sit in a fancy, stuffy restaurant, tug on my chin and say incredibly insightful things like, “Yes, things are quite tumultuous in the Middle East,” but I think you and I both know that it’s more fun to do anything except that. And if it involves puns, well, we’ll puntificate until the sun comes up.

Don’t let this overwhelming confidence of mine intimidate you, Ms. Matchme. I also have modesty in spades. If I don’t know something, I’m not going to sit on a high horse and pretend that I do. For instance, the moon: I just don’t get it. I don’t know how it works, I don’t why the whole world only sees one side of it… it baffles me. Maybe it’s shaped like a banana and we only see the bottom of it, I don’t know.

I went to Temple University, by the way.

Sorry to…space out on you like that. Have yourself a wonderful day, Ms. Matchme! I hope to hear from you.

Respectfully,
Mike J

Ms. LoriMichelle

Dear LoriMichelle,

My name is Mike. I came across your profile and thought I would write you a letter. I too am sick of the creeepers at the bar scene. I know it’s more common for women to be the victim creeping, but it also happens to guys at the bar. Female creepers tend not to blink and have a Cheshire Cat-type smile about them. They are quite easy to spot and avoid, but sometimes they can ninja-up behind you and ask in that way too excited tone of theirs, “You wanna go on a picnic??”

You ever picnic at 10:30 at night, Lori? It’s unsettling, I’m not going to lie.

So, that’s how women creep. What exactly do men do as creepers? For their opening line do they ask for your blood type or something? I imagine if they did, there is probably no wrong answer. It’s not like you would say, “B positive,” and he’d go, “Oh, yuck! Nevermind!”

Thanks for taking the time to read this, Lori. Also, on a side note, I play softball as well. In fact, I just played yesterday and got me a handful of singles. I also hurt my back; like a boss!

Signed,
Mike.

Ms. ZibbyB

ZibbyB, hi!

My name is Mike. I came across your profile and thought I would write you a letter on here. I am also a fan of WXPN. There’s a whole lot of bands and artists that I’ve discovered that other radio stations would never think of playing and that’s why I call them every time they do a fund drive.

I love it when they do a fund drive. Most people make a pledge online, but not me, Zibby. I like to make a phone call because I get such a rush when I hear the phone ring on the radio and people start to clap and praise me. It’s really quite exhilarating!

And they pick up the phone and go, “Thank you for supporting XPN! How much would you like to pledge?”
And I say, “Oh, there won’t be any money today. But I fully support your radio station emotionally.”

This sometimes throws them off-guard so I really have to sell them on this idea. “I don’t say this half-heartedly. I mean I am giving you all of my support; every morsel. In fact, if you would like to announce on the air that I am willing to match any caller’s emotional pledge for the next two hours, we can double the amount—‘’

It’s at that point where they hang up on me, but they do it politely, because they’re nice folks over there at XPN. What bands did you discover and like on there? I’m a Dawes fan myself, as well as the Alabama Shakes.

Have yourself a Funky Friday, Zibby!

Sincerely,

—Mike J

Ms. Rockout13

Hello, Ms. Rockout13, I’m Mike2614231. I live in Glenside now, but I used to live in Green Lane. It’s true! I lived there for about 5 years, in a tiny apartment on the corner of 63 and route 29, by the Sunoco gas station. Have you ever been? It’s a nice gas station; they sell ice cream for kids as well as minnows for fishermen. And they also sell pornographic magazines sealed in plastic bags, which… well, look, I just know that they SELL them. That’s all I know about it, honest.

Honest.

At any rate, the apartment I lived in was an old house from the early 1900’s that was converted into 5 small apartments. Everything was slanted: the floor, the windows, the door frame… Hey, you remember in the movie Beetlejuice when Beetlejuice was going to marry Lydia and he created that crooked door in the wall for that old priest to come out and wed them in marital bliss? My door frame looked like that. When people came over I told them to enter on the right side of the door frame, lest they hit their heads on the short side.

Are the door frames where you dwell crooked as well? I didn’t know if I was living in some kind of architectural oddity or if that’s just the way things are up there. I am sorry to say that I don’t have a single piece of plaid in my whole wardrobe; not a stitch. You probably read that sentence and wondered how I get by, but somehow I do. Somehow.

I am envious of your wide array of photos. I especially like the professional photographer’s shots of you in the felled cornfield. I guess you could say the photographer was…”stalk”ing you? Ha, you’re welcome; feel free to use that and take it as your own, I won’t mind.

Have yourself a wonderful day!

Signed,

Mike (The guy with the Beetlejuice door frames and puns about corn, which are a-MAIZE-ing!)

Hi. I Live Out by the Airport

 

Why, hello there. I couldn’t help but notice your fine selection of goods in your grocery basket. I see a lot of Healthy Choice products as well as a copious amount of sugar-free munchies. What is that? Snackwells? I didn’t know they were still around. Crazy!

Watching your weight, are ya? Heavens, I don’t know why! You’re quite striking, if I may say so. If you were to take a gander at my hand-held basket here you would see the exact opposite. Nothing but Steak-Umms and Manwiches in here. I’ll let you in on a little secret: (whispers) I haven’t had a carrot medallion or a leaf of lettuce since the Reagan Administration. What can I say, I guess I just crave canned flesh.

I don’t think we have met, no. I’m sure you would remember. Manwich diet, army fatigue pants, penny loafer shoes, Hawaiian shirt. You see, this isn’t my usual Shop-Rite. I live, uh….further out. Out by the airport, to be exact.

I didn’t want to come out and give you that personal information so early in our encounter. I wanted to develop a good rapport with you first, because when I tell women that I live out by the airport, they get this look on their face—like what you’re doing right now! It’s like an apprehensive sneer. A fear-sneer.

Your fear-sneer looks quite becoming on you. Of course, if I were wearing it, I’d be cu…no, wait. Nevermind.

I don’t know what the stigma is behind the people who live out by the airport. Are we presumed to be insane because of the constant noise pollution of jet engines soaring over our heads and shaking our flimsy habitats like dead leaves on a tree? Or is it because if I were to commit a heinous crime I could easily board a plane to a neutral country before they found your body? Well, there’s no reason to be so concerned with that; I am a very trustworthy guy. In fact, if you come on over, I can make you a Manwich or two as well as show you my wingless butterfly collection. And as a show of trust, I will leave my door wide open, giving you every opportunity to escape.

Oh, jeez. Did I really just say that? Escape? My, what a poor choice of words! Flee. I meant flee.

Hey, you want to hear some airport puns? No, just hold on. It won’t take long. I have places to be as well, but I’m making an effort here. It’s hard to meet women at the airport, ya know. They can be so flighty sometimes. Nyuk nyuk!

So listen…what are your plans for tonight? I was going to pick at some scabs, but I could easily resche…

Hey, don’t get snooty with me, Ms. High and Mighty with your Snackwells! A simple ‘no’ would have been fine, you didn’t have to hurt my feelings. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I gotta jet.



Still nothing, eh? OK. Bye.