Friday, March 27, 2009

OK. This Is Fucked Up.

Kelly is one happy girl.

She has a fantastic job which allows her to travel, she has great friends, and she has a wonderful and close relationship with her family.

She's one of those women you see walking alone down the street after work with a huge smile on her face, and you can only mutter to yourself "What in the hell is that crazy woman smiling about?"

She's not crazy. She's that happy.

Her life is a 24-hour tampon commercial.

How could we screw this one up?

Cue Matthew.

Kelly has known Matthew for a long time through one of those friend-of-a-friend type things. They were just casual acquaintances, and nothing had ever transpired between them.


So Matthew lives in a another city. One day, Kelly discovers her employer needs to send her on a trip to the same far-off city where Matthew happens to live.

Kelly's days in the far-off city were dedicated to work, but she had no plans for the evenings, aside from smiling a lot, doing some skipping, and singing a few duets about friendship with the wide variety of cartoon birds that regularly landed on her shoulders.

So Kelly decided to meet with Matthew after work for a few drinks and some karaoke.

And let's just say Kelly got a little bit out of hand at karaoke.

In fact, it got so out-of-hand that the only thing not out-of-hand was Matthew's penis, which somehow ended up in her hand. And from there, it ended up somewhere else completely unrelated to her hand.

Oh, well. Shit happens, right? No harm, no foul.

Kelly went back to her city only to discover that her employer now wanted Kelly to permanently move to the city where Matthew lived. Says Kelly:

"In my young, carefree way, I took the opportunity!"

Yeah, I don't know what she snorts, but I need a fucking wheelbarrow full of it.

Anyway, Kelly moved to the big new city. Matthew finds out Kelly moved, and suddenly convinces himself that Kelly moved because she wants to be with Matthew.

Which she doesn't. She has no interest in him. At all.

Matthew starts texting Kelly all the time to see if she moved because of him. Kelly tells him "no".

Matthew doesn't like that answer, so he just repeats the question in another text. And many other questions related to the first question. Along with questions not related to the first question, such as re-kindling the relationship that never existed, and how he liked those certain places that had nothing to do with her hand.

In fact Matthew became an incredible nuisance, so much so that Kelly's unbreakable smile finally started to fade. And, surely somewhere, a tear rolled down a baby bunny's cheek.

Kelly finally got so fucking sick of Matthew's stalkerish texts and his ridiculous insinuations that Kelly moved there to be with him that she finally decided to put an end to the relationship that had never even been a relationship in the first place.

Ever bubbly Kelly finally snapped, and broke out some serious motherfucking haiku for Matthew's ass, telling him in no uncertain terms to ...

"Pull your head out of your fucking ass and go annoy someone else!"

Matthew finally got the picture.

Did I mention this was over the holidays?

It was over the holidays.

So Christmas morning rolls around, and one of Kelly's family members calls her in a complete and utter panic. "Are you OK? Is everything alright?"

Of course everything was alright. It was Christmas morning. Why wouldn't everything be alright?

Then another family member calls her in a panic with the same question. And then another.

Finally, Kelly figured out what was going on.

Turns out Matthew had a little Christmas present for Kelly's family.

On Christmas morning, Matthew sent the following completely fabricated email to Kelly's father:

I'm seriously worried about Kelly.

On the 22nd she sent me texts like:

'It's been fun. Take care. Love you.'

'My phone is almost dead, ironically.'

'Text from the other side! Phone out of battery, going to sleep, take care.'

Okay so naturally I was pretty confused and a little worried about this kinda shit. It kinda sounded like a bluff, you know almost a cry for attention sort of thing.

But I didnt hear from her for a while so I started to get worried again. I texted her the next day and she told me she'd tried to slit her wrists in the night but hadn't been successful...I'm really concerned.

I'm not sure how she is now, but seriously something is up, she needs help.

Matthew had been doing a little digging into Kelly's family during the holidays, and somehow found her father's email address.

And just to brighten the family mood on Christmas morning, Matthew decided to insinuate that Kelly had tried to kill herself.

Kelly assures me that the email is complete and total fabricated fucking bullshit. "I've never been depressed in my life," she says.

Are we done yet?

Of course not.

Kelly got another text from Matthew one month later.

"Hey, are you still mad at me? Do you want to get together and catch up?"



Tuesday, March 24, 2009

Cineplex Ohmygod

Kristin recently finished off another round of unsuccessful dates through, and had pretty much given up on the whole idea of online dating.

"I wanted chemistry, and I wasn't finding it through the computer. A guy may look good on the screen, and even in person, but when there's no chemistry, there's no chemistry. Period."

Kristin ignored her profile for a couple weeks, but checked in on a whim one day to find a message from a guy named Mark.

"Hi! I saw you as I was looking through some profiles. I think you sound interesting, would you like to meet me after work for a drink sometime? If not, I understand and good luck out there in the dating world!"

Kristin checked his profile, and was surprised to discover that he was quite good-looking and apparently successful to boot. Kristin wrote him back a note and asked him a few questions, which he answered within the hour. He seemed pleasant, funny and genuinely excited to meet her.

Mark invited Kristin to dinner that Friday, and they had a great time together. No awkward moments of silence, no lull in the conversation, and he even buttered her rolls. And I mean that literally, not figuratively.

Mark and Kristin spent nearly six hours together that night.

"We had a great time. He was really funny and seemed really interested in me, plus he was polite like men used to be, he pulled out my chair before I sat and he put my coat on me before we went outside."

At the end of the night, Mark walked Kristin to her door. Mark had mentioned earlier that he had hoped to catch Gran Torino the next night, and asked if Kristin would like to join him. Kristin said yes, but according to Kristin, it came out more like "HELL YES!!!!"

Mark pecked her on the lips, got in his car, and drove away.

Kristin says she was floored. The guy was hot as hell, successful, and funny, and had just taken her on one of the better dates of her life. "I had butterflies after the first date. Good thing!"

Good thing indeed, Kristin.

We can't wait to hear about the second date.

Or... can we?

Cue the Jaws theme once again please.

Prince Charming came by the next evening and parked directly in front of her house. Kristin was still getting ready when she heard a car horn, so she looked outside to see Mark waiting in the car with the engine running. Perplexed, she called Mark on her cell.

"Hey, I'll be ready in just a second," she said, and then laughingly added "Why didn't you just call me and tell me you were outside instead of honking the horn?"

His charming response?

"Does it really matter?"

Turn up that ominous music a notch.

Kristin got into the car to find the Mark from the previous evening had been replaced with a surlier, less-talkative version. Kristin's initial excitement to see him wore off rather quickly. He wasn't talking much, didn't smile, and was getting angry with the traffic.

When they arrived at the theater, Mark and Kristin found a seat together and waited for the movie to start. Kristin heard someone call her name behind her, and turned around to see her high school boyfriend sitting a few rows back with his new boyfriend. They had remained friendly over the years after he came out of the closet, and she hadn't seen him in a while, so she excused herself to go say hello.

"I was gone all of five minutes," Kristin insists.

She returned to her seat, and Mark scowled at her.

"Who's that?" he asked.

"That was just a guy I knew from high school," she answered.

"OK, whatever. Did you sleep with him?"

Kristin, at 27, found that question a little perplexing. And rude. "Is that really any of your business?"

Mark didn't respond right away, but rather found it more appropriate to respond mid-way through the movie. "Yes, I do. I'm on a date with you, and leave me sitting here alone to go talk to a guy you obviously fucked."

Kristin's blood began to boil, but she remained quiet. After the movie, Mark and Kristin got up to leave the theater. Mark was ahead of Kristin as they shuffled out, and Kristin had to use the restroom before they left.

"He was so far ahead of me at that point that I practically had to yell out to him that I was going to use the restroom. He turned around and looked at me and just stood in place as if he was going to wait for me. Which he didn't. The fucking asshole left me at the theater with no ride home."

That's right folks, Kristin finished up in the theater restroom and Mark was gone. She called and got no answer. She texted him and got no response. In a fit of rage, she texted "FUCK YOU ASSHOLE!"

Kristin got a ride home from her ex-boyfriend, and found an email waiting for her when she walked in the door.

From Mark.

Take it away, Prince Charming.

1. First of all, what gives you the fucking rights to tell me to call you instead of honking my horn. WHAT IS THE DIFFERENCE? You were supposeed to be READY and you weren't ready and it was late and I told you how much I wanted to see Gran torino. The funniest part is for all the time you must have taken to get ready you didn't even look that good. Seriously I usually date 8's and above. You do not meet that qualifications tonight.

2. I suggest that you never tell a person you are on a date with to calm down when they are driving as it just provides more of a distraction and makes a driver angrier.

3. You left me sitting for 15 minutes in a theater all by myself, do you not understand how inconsiderate that is especially when you go to talk to a guy that you obviously fucked or are fucking lmao? We were on a date and on a date that means you should be paying attention to me, not all the other guys you fucked before you met me. I was embarrassed that I sat there alone while other people looked at me and thought I was some loser that goes to movies by himself. Thanks for that, very nice of you.

4. I DID waited for you for 5 minutes and when you did not come out I figured you left me there so I just left, so no FUCK YOU ASSHOLE.

You are really one classy lady you know that. Does your whole family speak that way? Maybe you need to take a class on manners Kristen, that is not how civilized people speak with each other.

I have given this some consideration and I will be willing to go out with you again under the following rules.

1. No talking to other guys you FUCKED.
2. Especially no talking to GAY GUYS YOU FUCKED.
3. I drive again and honk my horn at you.

Just kidding I wouldn't go out with you again. I don't like to date women that have sex with gay guys.

Well good luck dating to you you're going to need it, and lose my number NOW I don't want you getting drunk again and calling me. By the way on your next date maybe you shouldn't get so drunk? just something for you to think about.


Way to show your maturity level Mark.

"I don't even know what the drunk reference is," says Kristin, "I didn't even have four drinks the first night we went out. For me, that's certainly not drunk. Never in my life have I met such a jekyll and hyde asshole!"

We agree, Kristin.

We agree.

Thursday, March 19, 2009

But You're The One That's Pregnant

Sometimes we fall into relationships of lust.

Based solely on animal sexual attraction, we don't mince words when we call each other. We're not looking for a Scrabble partner, or a date to the freestyle goat herding exhibition.

While we enjoy these relationships from time to time, we have to realize that fucking for sport is still fucking, and with fucking comes problems.

Emotions boil up.

STD's abound.

Hotel towels become crispy.

But worst of all... ... we occasionally mix our caustic ingredients to form infants.

That wasn't supposed to happen, was it? We were just having a good time. We used protection. Shit, we barely even like each other.

Now what?

Samantha and Tom had been doing the nasty for quite a few months. The relationship wasn't serious, and neither had formed an emotional connection with the other. They pretty much had it down to a science. Exchange some pleasantries about the seasons, share a beverage and perhaps some high-calorie snack items, then tear each other's clothes off and fuck like steroid-fueled meerkats.

Samantha and Tom liked to call their fornification excursions "dirty weekends." After a particularly torrid dirty weekend, Samantha returned home to find something missing.

Namely, her period.

Samantha was pregnant.

Samantha immediately attempted to contact Tom to give him the news, but Tom wasn't answering his phone. "Anything you need to tell me, you can just tell me by email," he said.

So she emailed him. "I'm pregnant."

Tom didn't say much. In fact, Samantha says "he was pretty quiet about the whole thing." Which, of course, left Samantha to do all the talking. Tom may have just wanted to avoid the subject, but Samantha's the one walking around with some bread in the oven.

"I told him I'd take responsibility, be an adult, and didn't believe in abortion, but the rest was up to him."

So Tom stepped up to the plate and did the responsible thing.

He started by blaming Samantha's other lovers. Then he said it was impossible because he always used condoms. Then he attempted to convince Samantha that she had been on her period the last time they were together, so there was no way it was his. Then Tom stepped his game up from responsible to classy.

The devout Catholic began sending Samantha incessant emails about the joys of abortion, followed by additional emails expressing his desire to get laid immediately. He didn't want this stupid little "pregnancy" issue to get in the way of their torrid, hot and baby-forming relationship.

So he completely ignored the fact that she was pregnant. Completely. She asked him over and over to deal with it, and he responded each time by expressing his need to get laid. Finally, Samantha put her foot down.

"I tried to explain to him that since he wasn't willing to discuss or consider any pregnancy related issues then he was free to walk away and I'd cope alone - HOWEVER..we couldn't keep sleeping together. If he wanted to sleep together and continue to see me he'd have to deal with baby questions."

Forced into a corner, Tom responded in a manner which Samantha accurately describes as "wanting his cake and eating it too."

Tom's response?


I wasn't expecting an email like that!

Anyway... it is up to you to do what ever you want if you are pregnant.

With regard to your questions, I don't think it is my involvement still as I am pretty sure my sperm can't fertilize anymore. It has happened before. Docs have said that there is a very slim chance to get fertilized with my sperm due to number of reasons.

Do you want anything to do with the pregnancy?

I don't want anyone to get pregnant. If you want to terminate, sure you can.

Do you want any involvement in the kid's life?

No I don't.

Do you want to be on the birth certificate?

No I don't.


No. As it is I have lot of commitments and do not want to be involved in anything.

Hope you are not angry. If you don't want to come to the coast [for the planned dirty weekend] it's OK. I'll leave it up to you. The invitation is there however.

If you would like to have to have some "fun" I am available tomorrow afternoon as I am going to my Mums place tonight. She has baked a cake for us.

As you can see, Samantha's pregnancy weighs heavily on Tom.

But he sure needs some more of that great sex!

Adds Samantha:

1) He has TWINS already to another woman that he does claim. Sounds like his sperm works to me - and what is the "It has happened before" line - are there others out there with kids to him besides the twins?

2) His offer to fly me to the coast for a dirty weekend would mean he's spend close to $500 at least on me in one week - yet he can't think of contributing any money to a child.

3) He still thinks I'd go and sleep with him after telling me to terminate and that he wants no involvement.

4) What the FUCK is that cake reference?

Feel free to leave your anonymous pregnancy stories in the comments.

Sunday, March 15, 2009

MySpace Stalker

Here's another helpful hint from the PLFM staff at WWHM World Headquarters:

Never, ever give out your phone number to random people you meet on the internet.

Yeah, I know it's not rocket science, but I'm no rocket scientist. Believe me, I can barely figure out pants.

Some people, unfortunately, have to learn the hard way.

Kelly has a MySpace account, and a few months ago a 23 year-old guy named Ryan sent her a friend request along with a message.

"Hi Kelly. How are you? My name is Ryan. I am a student at XXXX XXXXX and I am going for my bachelors in criminal justice... ... blah blah blah redrum blah blah."

Basically, it was one of those things where someone you don't know feels inclined to contact you and tell you everything about their life because, well, they have nothing better to do. Kind of like the homeless person sitting next to you on the bus, minus the muted yet scintillating aroma of recently expelled urine.

Kelly first assumed Ryan must be a friend of a friend, and responded to a couple of his messages. Then Ryan stepped it up a notch, and the increasing frequency of his correspondence began to creep her out a little. When he began trying to figure out where she boarded her horses, it began to creep her out a lot. She didn't know this guy for shit, and sure as hell wasn't going to tell him anything about the whereabouts of her horses, or herself for that matter.

Kelly ignored his repeated messaging.

A couple months later, Kelly made plans to go out to a party. Kelly and all her friends were underage, and desperately needed someone to hook them up with some beers. Having exhausted all her options, Kelly remembered one more option ... ... Ryan, the 23 year-old guy from MySpace. She grabbed his number, called him up, and asked him if he could arrange to buy them some beers for the night. He agrees.

Says Kelly, "This is my entire encounter with him in person: I roll down car window, tell him what we would like, hand him money, roll up window, he comes out and I roll window down again, take bag and thank him, drive away. The end."

Or so she thought.

Kelly thought she'd be nice and send him a text the next day to thank him for stepping up to the plate and making the long drive. He responded:

"So I want to learn more about you. When is your birthday? What is your favorite type of flowers/ food/ movies? What is your favorite place to shop?"

And Kelly, unfortunately, told him. Would you like a moment to cringe by yourself, or are you comfortable cringing as a group?

Now, before you go and start bagging on Kelly for her lapse in judgment, she realizes it was a mistake. She questioned her own sanity as she did it. But she did it. She's a very nice girl.

In the least shocking news since Clay Aiken admitted he was gay, Ryan then began harassing Kelly over the telephone. Ryan wanted an opportunity to date Kelly, and Kelly wanted absolutely no part of it. Ryan called numerous times every day to see if Kelly would go out to dinner with him. Kelly had daily excuses lined up until she ran out of excuses, and then started borrowing excuses from her friends. Then those excuses ran out, so Kelly finally had to tell Ryan the truth.*

(*If "the truth" meant "the exact opposite of things that are true.")

Kelly basically told Ryan that her parents would feed her to the chickens if she ever went out on a date with him, and it was just never going to happen. Never. Ever. Not in a thousand fucking years. Just knock it the fuck off already, alright?

Then the texting started. All hours of the day and night, Ryan began sending texts to Kelly. "Good morning beautiful! How did you sleep?" every morning, and "Goodnight beautiful, sleep tight!" every single night. And in between, he'd barrage her with a bunch of meaningless texts about his feelings for her and his daily activities.

She responded to none of them. At all. Ever. And he just kept coming harder.

Says Kelly, "See, I figured the average person would take a hint and realize that if someone is not responding to a single text you send for over a week (and you know they are not dead because you can see they have been online everyday) that probably means they do not want to talk to you. But, unlike a normal person, Ryan took this as a hint to pursue me even more."

The texting only increased, now interspersed with cheesy love notes to her. "All that I am, all that I do, and all that I see is brighter and more beautiful because of my feelings for you."

So not only was Ryan a stalker, but apparently he worked at Mable's Gift and Card Shoppe. Sure stalking is bad, but copyright infringement? Fucking inexcusable!

Kelly continues.

"It was only mid-January and my birthday was not for another month, and he randomly sent me one text that said, "Hey Kelly. I am going to the store. Is there anything I can get you for your birthday?" My friend tried to convince me to milk him for all he was worth, but I knew that leading on an extreme creepo is probably the worst idea ever. Once again, I ignored it. I even blocked him on Myspace to give him even more of a hint."

Then came her birthday.

As usual Kelly got a text from Ryan that morning, but today it was something new.

"I have a surprise for you today!"

Kelly thought it was just another ruse to get her to respond, so she ignored the text. When she got home from school, there was a note on her door from a local florist. They had attempted to deliver some flowers to her home address.

From Ryan.

Now Kelly was scared. Really fucking scared.

This guy, who had bought her beer one time, and to whom she hadn't responded to despite over a month of texts and phone calls, had finally figured out her home address.

Her phone rang every five minutes throughout the night, interspersed with text messages. Kelly wanted to confront him, but was too terrified to acknowledge his existence.

The next day, her home phone rang and she answered it because Ryan didn't have her home phone number. But, of course, it was Ryan. She hung up and called her brother. Her brother called Ryan back and warned him in no uncertain terms to never ever fucking contact his sister again. And surprisingly, it actually worked. The non-stop onslaught of calls and texts stopped.

But the story doesn't.

Kelly mentioned the next week on her Facebook page that she had gotten rid of her stalker. One of her friends responded "Is your stalker named Ryan?" Yes it was.

Ryan had been contacting all Kelly's friends, telling them he was her new boyfriend and trying to mine information about her. They all smelled a rat (no offense to rats) and refused to tell him anything.

Then Kelly got a message and a new friend request from a strange girl named "Summer" on MySpace. "I'm new to Idaho. Looking for friends!"

Kelly checked out the new account profile, and discovered only one picture and a profile written almost exactly like Ryan's profile. She denied the friend request, only to find a new message the next morning. From "Summer."

"Hello, my name is Summer.

I gota talk to you bout something. My bestie guy friend is Ryan, the same dude the sent you flowers. I was with him that day, when he bought them, that’s how I know this. I’m curious to know why you thought he was a stalker, or creeper, or whatever you thought of him. Whatever you say stay between us. The only reason I’m sending this to you, because I care about my friends, as I’m sure you do also. Whatever wrong impressions you have of him, please don’t take at face value, he’s a good guy once you understand him the way I do. Hopefully No hard feeling towards me for sending this."

Kelly adds, "I knew 100% it was him, but just to be certain I went on "her" profile and looked to see if they were friends on Myspace. her profile claimed she has JUST moved here from Oregon and didnt know anyone. Mmmkkk but your best friends with him..uuhh huhh sure."

Kelly had had enough, and was so enraged she finally decided to write him a little love note of her own.



Ryan hasn't contacted her since.

It took a gallon of goddamn bitch to stop the motherfucker, but it stopped him.

And PLFM would like to add... ... be careful Kelly.

Thursday, March 12, 2009

OK Putrid

Can PLFM just make an open request right now?

Cancel your OK Cupid accounts.


Seriously, every time I open a "Letters From Men" email and it starts out with "I have a profile on OK Cupid, and ... ....", I just know it's going to be trouble.

It's never that the OK Cupid guy ended up "quirky" or a just a little too possessive on a date, it's usually something more like the guy routinely snacked on congealed squares of kitty litter stored in his sock, spent the entire date conversing with imaginary birds of prey, or insisted that you smell his infected hangnail over appetizers.

Liz has been on OK Cupid for so long that she actually collects the bizarre responses she receives from the amalgamation of chronic masturbators, earwax addicts and dentally challenged suitors vying for her affections. She recently received an email from Chris on OK Cupid, who found Liz particularly attractive and felt they were well-suited for each other.

Unfortunately, Liz didn't respond promptly, as she had already accepted a date request from another gentleman, and had gone on three dates with him.

One week later, Chris wrote again.

"I wrote to you a week ago. Did you get my message? Why didn't you write back?"

Liz didn't want to be a total bitch and completely ignore the guy, so she wrote him back a kind email explaining that she had met another gentleman and had already gone on three dates with him, and was interested in seeing where the relationship might go.

That was her very first correspondence with him.

Can you guess how he responded?


Chris immediately stopped snacking on dried earwigs, took the olives off his typing fingers, and fired off this congenial response.*

*(Somewhat edited for those of us that enjoy the activity of reading without the assistance of a Rosetta Stone.)

Take it away, Chris....


I dont give up easily!!!

If your on your 3rd date and he is very nice? NICE.

Nice is not good. A third date should be "hey he is great he is everything im looking for in a man."

NOT NICE!! You said it not me.

One more thing, if your not really looking too hard you wouldnt be on here you would be thinking and planning to be with him.

My opinion is your not THAT interested in him.

Call me jealous yes, but this is an outsiders view.

You wouldnt be on here if you were really in love with him. Your looking for something better dont lie. You dont even realize it. I know its tough not to check the site when your getting a ton of messages according to you. I would keep checking to if i was you.

Who knows, Richard Gere from pretty woman might message you.

In closing you know im right. Who else is going to be this honest with you!


Considering he's posted on OK Cupid, I think he took it pretty well.

Though I wouldn't exactly want to be an "eye of newt" in his apartment after this exchange.

The scary thing is, someone might eventually agree to go out with this guy.

Tuesday, March 10, 2009

Laura is a single gal looking for love. She recently posted an ad on a popular dating site, and soon began conversing with a man named Keith.

Keith told Laura he was "mesmerized" by her smile, and she was exactly the type of woman he had been looking for. Although Laura found him a bit socially "off" and needy at first, she enjoyed his intellect and began to converse with him briefly over the next couple of nights.

Deep into the relationship (which would be the third night they IM'ed each other), Keith began to intrusively probe Laura about her past relationships. Laura hesitated in responding because she really didn't know Keith that well, or really at all for that matter. She was sensing an overwhelming neediness from Keith already, and felt pretty cautious about revealing anything about herself to him.

She told him a little information- her ex had left her and returned to his ex-girlfriend. He wanted to know if Laura would ever take her ex back, and she said no. Keith then began badgering Laura to meet him for coffee so he could start being clingy with her in person. Laura wasn't comfortable meeting Keith yet, and began dropping excuses like M&M's in a forest.

"I am willing to meet you with zero notice at any time this week," Keith told her before she signed off, revealing not only his obsessive personality, but also his apparent lack of hobbies, friends, and employment opportunities.

Their three-day online relationship, Laura decided, was over. In a matter of three days, Keith had transformed from a charming intellectual to a pathological and clingy little boy.

And the next morning, Laura had an email sitting in her inbox.

From Keith.

You decide.

A little overanxious after three nights of instant messages, perhaps?


I'm not sure that it would be very good for me at all if we started to get to know each other, and he returned and wanted to be with you; there has been enough terrible disappointment in my life in the last years already, and I would be disappointed, beyond words, because you are the kind of woman that excites me like no other, and I long for it more than I could ever say. I would love for you to see my bungalow, to show you my books, my signed Auden, make you a wonderful dinner.

More than that, though, is the almost unbearable silence and loneliness I live with. Please understand that I need to be with someone, to spend time together....I've had a few encounters that have remained completely online, and it ended up being quite painful, and it was better to withdraw from that...a prolonged hope of meeting someone, being together, is much worse, I've discovered, than simply dealing with being alone. (I know all there is to know about the crying game.) It sounds like the next month or two will make things hard for you - I understand that. It's OK -- we're just in different places. I hope you will understand how much I need, want, long for connection, for unruly Teslian arcs of mind-body discharge.

You're fantastic; if you would still like to talk and meet, I would love to hear from you. Someone wants to get together tomorrow afternoon for coffee, so I've decided to ahead with that -- no sign at all that she will be anywhere near as fun to talk with as you are, but then you're light years away from anyone I've talked with.

Thanks for understanding, When you typed LOL at my jokes -- I can't tell you how wonderful that felt; the Pompeiian ash broke off in chunks and it seemed I could move again.


"I believe I just dodged a bullet," Laura adds.

And PLFM agrees wholeheartedly.

The Graduate

Today we've got a re-post classic from our horrifyingly offensive sister site over at Why Women Hate Men- The Blog. It's your typical dating site response from a complete idiot, one of millions we've been receiving at PLFM as of late. If you find a relentless river of idiots responding to your personal ad, feel free to pass them along to us. We'll take care of them.


Reader SC recently wrote to WWHM to share something odd that occurred while trying her hand at the online dating world.

You see, SC is an exceptionally brilliant and driven woman. So much so that she has earned her PhD, and, like most people would, she briefly mentioned in her personal ad that she had earned a PhD.

Who wouldn't? Hell, if I had passed the third grade or had the ability to change my own pants, I'd probably include that in my own personal ad.

Anyway, SC didn't require respondents to have their own PhD, didn't mention what line of work they should be in, she simply mentioned it in passing.

Now surely most men would be secure enough with themselves to view SC's accomplishment with high regard, wouldn't they? Let's look at the response she received from a gentleman:

You should not state that you have a PhD on your profile. This could intimidate men. And if you choose to keep it on your profile, you may otherwise attract pretentious, egomaniacs who can quote you every line from Shakespeare.

Admitting that you have a PhD is not wise when searching for love. In fact, you shouldn't even mention it unless they ask. Such admission can steer good men away from you; believing that they may never be able to relate to you intellectually. When searching for love, one needs to be open minded. Be completely receptive.

Let's look at that last line again, shall we? Just for shits and fucking giggles.

When searching for love, one needs to be open minded. Be completely receptive.

I guess we don't need to ask him if he has a PhD, do we? Unless of course he has a PhD in the formulation of contradictory statements. Now, not to let a snivelling little insecure pansy-boy get a free slap at her, SC wrote back an appropriate response:

I don't want to date someone who barely made it out of high school, and I definitely wouldn't want someone in my life who didn't support or encourage me in my career.

Also, something for you to consider, you should probably not tell women what to do with their profiles. This pisses women off. Women do not like men who tell them what to do. The idea that a woman has to lie about who she is to attract a man is incredibly insulting, and the only kind of woman who would go for that would be a doormat, and I am not that kind of woman.

Touche! Next serve? Back to the idiot:

I though emotional love was primary to you--second to intellectual love. I'm sorry. I wasn't telling you what to do with your profile. (Ed note: Um, yeah that's exactly you did.) I simply gave my suggestion. I thought this was something you would understand since you're a professor; with a PhD that is. After all, a PhD means, Doctor of Philosophy.

If my constructive criticism comes off as "insulting" or "pisses you off", then I fear you may have to sit down a bit and find out why you've acquired this degree. Is your PhD degree a display or do you really know its meanings and purposes? Is it something you went to school for because you believe it would impress people or do you truly wish to put it into practice?

The number of academic degrees one possesses is irrelevant when it comes to finding a mate. You're a young professor so keep your mind open. You may become wise. I can tell by your response that your mind is not fully opened as need to be as a professor. It will happen.

Wow, he serves a heaping of condescension with his small, atrophied penis. Final serve back to SC:

You have no idea what you're talking about.

Well said SC, well said.

On a side note folks, we're going to be stepping up Psychotic Letters From Men in the near future. We're going to erase the "Men", and we're going to try and push everybody to out their psychotic stalkers, bizarre creepers, and pathetic exes. We've already got the domain up and going, and we'll let you know when the new site comes up.

In the meantime, keep those letters coming, we're getting some great stuff.

Guys, that includes you, gay and straight. We know women (and men) can stalk with the best of the men, and we'd love to hear about it. In detail. We like it, we post it. For everyone to see. Fun!
Spread the word readers, and send us your letters, texts and emails!

-The Weasel

Monday, March 9, 2009

The Rebound

Lynn had just gone through a horrible break-up with a man she loved dearly.

Destitute and depressed, Lynn realized she eventually had to uncurl from the fetal position, crawl out of the clothes hamper, and try to maintain somewhat of a normal life despite losing the man of her dreams.

Coated with a thick sheen of ice cream cartons and wrappers flung from high-calorie snack items, Lynn headed for the shower, cleaned herself up, and found herself a party to go to.

Now, a lot of us, myself included, make the mistake of running out after a break-up in an attempt to find someone to replace the person we have just lost. We commonly call this unsuspecting mark a "rebound."

And oh, what a fucking terrible job they have.

We use the rebound to make us feel better about ourselves, we use the rebound to listen to us complain about our recent break-up, and in some cases, if they're lucky, we'll even use a rebound to get laid. While the rebound might enjoy the sex, for us it's more like trying to figure out how to drive someone else's car.

So anyway Lynn's heading out to this party determined to have a good time. After a couple glasses of wine and a few whacks at the pinata, in walks Ron, a man she had met recently in passing. Now, Ron is completely not Lynn's type, but we must remember the equation we are working with at this point:

Lynn + Large Quantities of Wine + Recent Break-up = Ahhhh, Who Gives a Flying Fuck?

So Ron starts flirting with Lynn, and Lynn somewhat accepts the overtures despite the fact that she finds Ron a bit preposterous. She describes him as an overly pretentious musician- the type who takes himself way too seriously, and constantly refers to himself as a "musical composer" rather than a musician.

Because apparently, there's a difference.

Lynn sums up his musical talent as follows: "It sucks."

Anyway, Ron asks Lynn out for coffee, and in her drunken state Lynn was momentarily flattered by his proposition. She accepted, and later that week they met for coffee. Surprisingly, Lynn ended up having a fantastic time. So fantastic, in fact, that she decided to see him again!

We have ourselves a rebound folks. Book it.

And then... ... .. well. Here we go.

This is why rebounds never last.

Ron the superior intellectual musician who knows way more totally obscure bands than you do, began to talk to Lynn in a really condescending tone all the time. And the sex was horrible.

Not only did he constantly ask her if he was the best she had ever had in bed, but he asked it during the sexual act itself. The fact that she actually heard him ask the question might point us to the correct answer of that question, no?

Adds Lynn: "Note to guys: never ask a woman if it's the best they've ever had. If you have to ask, it isn't. If you're asking during the act itself, it really isn't. If the "Uhhhh..." response is the first noise she's made the whole time, then it really REALLY isn't."

Well put, Lynn. You're the best explanation I've ever had.

Bad sex aside, Lynn found him tolerable for a couple more weeks until Ron started throwing out the premature "I love you's," followed closely by an absolutely serious marriage proposal after three weeks of less-than-casual dating.

"Like any reasonable woman, I bounded into the night like a frightened deer," Lynn says.

But was Ron done with Lynn?

Would this be "Psychotic Letters From Men" if he was?

Of course not.

So tortured was Ron after three weeks of a lukewarm, semi-casual, completely unserious relationship, Ron immediately fired off a missive to Lynn.

Take it away, Ron.


I sit here writing this completely at a loss. Was I not good to you? Did I not worship you? I thought that you were different from whores past, but my heart is truly broken that I may have been wrong. All I wanted was to give you the world, to watch you bear my children, to die together. I thought that you felt the same. Those nights listening to you breathe next to me gave me singular joy like none I’ve ever known on this earth. And now it’s all gone.

You have broken my heart. And all because you “don’t feel it”. You felt it enough to go out with me. You felt it enough to lead me on. You felt it enough to add me to your collection of men you’ve shared a bed with. You used me and threw me away, and for what? For some dick who doesn’t see who you really are?

I thought you were the one, the woman I was meant to share my life with. I thought you understood me. And now I understand that I should have seen right through you from the beginning.

Know this: Every song I write from now on, every note my guitar screams, will be for you. One day you’ll see me on-stage, pouring my heart into the music, and you’ll know that every tortured note is all because of the lies and deception of a whore.

I will think of you fondly, and I will always be here if you need me. I don’t feel we have anything further to talk about.



"I will think of you fondly?"

Is that before, during or after you call her a whore three times?

Anyway, so goes the plight of the rebound. They never know they're the rebound until it's too late. But Ron, seriously, you can't help but blame yourself. You honestly sound like a complete jackass, and next time you fall in love (next week or so), you may want to hold off on the marriage proposals until the fourth or fifth week at the earliest.

We've all been the rebound and used the rebound, so feel free to share a rebound story in the comments.

Thursday, March 5, 2009


Due to an obligation, Mary spent a couple days a month in a different city. Not really thrilled about the idea of paying for hotels each time she made the trip, Mary decided to post an ad on a "roommates" website in an attempt to find someplace to stay while she was in town. Bed, couch, pile of milk crates, Mary didn't really care- she's hard as nails, and just wanted a goddamn roof over her head.

In a shocking turn of events, a man responded to her ad. Who would have thunk it?

Rob said he worked very long hours and was rarely home, but Mary was welcome to use the couch during her visits, and if his roommate wasn't home, she could even use the bed. He didn't have much of a social life (Ed. note: HINT! HINT! HINT!) and he would "enjoy the company."

Mary didn't need the room for a while, so she and Rob communicated briefly in an attempt to set up a meeting face to face to make sure that they were somewhat compatible with each other. He seemed normal enough, so Mary thought she'd give it a shot.

After a couple of missed opportunities, they both finally found a free day where they could get together for a meeting. They decided he would meet her after a class she was taking, and they'd go grab some sushi on his motorcycle.

The morning of the meeting, Rob called Mary with a strange suggestion.

"Hey," Rob says, "I thought I'd just get us a room at a local bed and breakfast so we can just eat, chill and watch some movies."


Well, Mary had a hotel room, and Rob lived in town, so that didn't make much sense to Mary. They were meeting for a business arrangement, not a date. She said that wasn't in the cards, she just wanted to grab some sushi. He agreed to pick her up after class.

At this point the author of this blog would like to call an intermission. During this intermission, the author would like to construct a lemonade stand outside Mary's hotel. Yet rather than write "Lemonade- 10 cents" across the top of my stand, I'm going to write "Hints- 10 cents", followed by throwing dimes at Mary when she walks out of her hotel.


So Mary gets out of class early, and sends Rob a text to have him meet her at her hotel. Mary goes back to her hotel and falls asleep, only to awaken three hours later starving and no sign of Rob. She texts him, calls him and emails him. No response.

Desperate for the rental room, Mary repeatedly texted and emailed Rob over the course of the next week to a.) see if he was ok, and b.) arrange to get the room. She never heard back from him, and Mary was convinced he had somehow been injured or killed on the day they were supposed to meet.

Two weeks later, Mary's at home studying, and guess who sends a text?


Take it away, Rob.

Rob: what's up?
Mary: Oh, so you're alive?
Rob: what are you doing?
Mary: in bed studying, what happened to you, I thought you were dead
Rob: what are you wearing?
Mary: seriously, is this how you are going to play this?
Rob: what do you mean?
Mary: two weeks ago you blew me off with no word, I called, texted, e-mailed and even googled you to see if you died I thought you were dead
Rob: it was a bad night, one of my friends got fired for the place I work
Mary: why didnt you respond to any of my calls?
Rob: sorry, it was really messed up, they thought he was stealing money and we all had to go into work and be questioned
Mary: That was two weeks ago
Rob: well by the time we got out of there I figured it was too late to tell you
Mary: what about the 14 days since then when I asked if you were okay and told you I thought you were probably dead.
Rob: Ive had a bad day, cant you just talk dirty to me?
Mary: No, why would you ask me that, I dont even know you, we've never even met
Rob: but I need to relax
Mary: first you want to go to a B&B, then you totally blow me off and let me think you are dead and now you want me to talk dirty to you so you can relax?
Rob: i didnt blow you off, I couldnt help it that night
Mary: we are not dating, a B&B is not the right place for us to first meet and see if we are comfortable enough to have me stay at your place
Rob: I just wanted to go and relax, all you women think that every man wants to fuck you. Get over yourself.
Mary: I cant get over you waiting two weeks to tell me you are alive and then you ask what I'm wearing
Rob: I just had a bad day and wanted to have you talk dirty to me, thats's all.
Mary: its time for you to lose my number
Rob: you women are all alike

Classy, Rob.

Classy indeed.

Wednesday, March 4, 2009

PLFM Program Note

This little PLFM experiment seems to have worked out pretty well so far. We've gotten well over 100,000 page views in our first month of existence, and we'd like to keep it going. But to keep it going, we're going to need help from you guys to keep sending us the juicy stuff. It came in rivers at first, but the really good shit is dwindling rapidly. If you have a psychotic, insane, pathetic or hilariously sad email, text or recording from a man or a woman, send it along to WWHM and we'll post it for the world to see. We're open 24 hours a day at

Sunday, March 1, 2009

Happy Birthday!

Lucy met Rich a while back and they went out on a couple of dates. And by a couple dates I mean exactly two dates. They met once, dated twice, and that was it. They saw each other a total of three or four times.

Lucy felt absolutley no physical or emotional chemistry with Rich. He was too needy, he refused to pay for dinners, and had a surprisingly eclectic "why bother?" attitude about showering and washing his hair. After the second date, Lucy decided to banish Rich to the "friend" zone.

But he was a nice guy, so when Rich's birthday rolled around soon after, Lucy thought she'd send him a little Happy Birthday! email to brighten his day.

Let's just say it didn't brighten his day much.

As contributor Eva writes "It seems absurd that anyone would send anyone they've meet 3-4 times in their life a letter like this, but here he goes......."

Here he goes indeed.

Happy Birthday Rich! Nice having you as a friend!

"It's more than friendship that I want --all i've really ever expected or wanted was to be thought of and known that i was wanted by you.

Anyway, what I NEVER would want -- but what your note felt to me -- was an empty perfunctoriness. Maybe your note, if I could have heard inflection (and it wasn't a note) or seen inside your mind, was sincerely "warmth" to you, but I couldn't tell by those few words written, without a sound or anything else articulated or nearly any other action in a long while.

So, all I was left to conclude and think was, well, you must not care or think much of me then, if that note and nothing more even on my birthday was all you could meagerly muster.. Your message seemed no more expressive (or at least I couldn't tell it was) than from some random people whom I feel and care next to nothing for.

P.s. If there's nothing new or different to express goodly and warmly -- if there's nothing other than the coldness and distance I am by default assuming -- don't feel obligated to reiterate it or anything. it would dismay me to hear.

Fucking lighten up, Francis.

Needless to say, Rich will probably be getting one less birthday card next year.