November 2004 (v7 i3)
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Congratulations! You're on my pity-fuck list
by Sandra Stodds, Not really in Love with You

Come on in. Thanks for buying dinner. It wasn't that great, but thanks.

Hey! Hands off, mister. I don't think we should take it to that level yet. In fact, we need to talk. This just isn't working out, and as much as it pains me, and I know it'll pain you, I'm afraid I'm going to have to end this relationship.

Don't look so down, sweetie. I haven't told you the good news yet — I'm putting you on my pity-fuck list.

What's a pity-fuck list, you ask? Don't you have one? Doesn't everyone? You must! You know, a list of people you'll have sex with if you're really, really desperate or need an ego boost. I'm sure even someone who looks like you do has made some kind of mental list at some point. I guess I'm the only one organized enough to write mine down. You're very disorganized and sloppy, by the way — that's one reason you don't deserve to date me.

But don't look so mortified — you're actually pretty high on the list. See, I have a whole binder full of guys' names, or as I like to call it, my big black book of rejects! Hehe, aren't I clever? I know I am — you told me so yourself. You're pretty nice, you know, but you're just not nice enough, obviously. Anyway, I have my binder color-coded. You'll be in the blue section. That's the third-best one!

See, red is best. Those guys usually have looks, money and half a brain, and they're just lacking some minor requirements. Yellow is for aging pretty boys. Blue is for not-too-bright fellows such as yourself who are mediocre lovers and usually overweight. Green is for men with halitosis and nice cars. Purple is for guys with bacne who might be stalkers. Gray is for men who cry in public. Be careful, you look like you're about to head for the gray section yourself, hon!

I think it's charitable of me to allow guys I've rejected a shot at a little friendly, meaningless pity sex. In fact, if I ever decided to kill myself, I'd make a serious effort to do every one of you losers first. Oh, you're looking angry and storming out of my apartment tonight, but wait a few months and you'll be happy to know you have a place in my binder, if not necessarily in my bed or my warm, loving heart. Ta-ta now!
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