Ever wondered what it'd be like to be a contestant on Blind Date, only with Twitter spambots instead of real life contestants? Wonder no more...
This garish lilac set is violating my retinas. This stool isn’t particularly comfortable either. God, this is the last time I agree to anything whilst drunk.
“So, Sean, tell us a bit about yourself.”
What do I say? Am I supposed to tell the truth here? I suppose it couldn’t hurt, I mean, these women are presumably already locked into some legally binding contract. I’m guaranteed a date with whoever I choose. So it makes no difference what I say. I don’t even need to sound attractive. Alright. Blunt truth it is.
“Well, Cilla, I’m a 20-year-old university student with mediocre facial hair, but aspirations of growing a majestic beard someday. I’m about 5’10”. I like metal music, video games and my favourite film is The Departed. I have a few tattoos and play bass guitar. That’s about it.”
“Oh. He sounds hot doesn’t he, audience?!”
Silence. Deathly silence. Nobody is clapping. Just the distant rustling of crisp packets. This is pretty embarrassing. Oh. HAHA. Well done, Ironic Wolf Whistle Guy. Prick.
“Alright, Sean. We’re going to bring out three lovely ladies and sit them behind that screen so you can’t see them. We’ll tell you a bit about each of them, then you pick your favourite! Okay, let’s meet the first of the girls you might be going home with tonight.”
“Welcome, Celsa Doyon! Celsa is blonde and in her early twenties. She wears sunglasses and a red bikini and describes herself as a “dirty posh girl”. She “loves the thought of people watching her fuck” and she blows “like there’s no tomorrow”. What do you think, Sean? Is Celsa the kind of girl you see yourself having a future with?”
Jesus Christ. That was a bit full on. What do I say to that? The audience is certainly happy. She must be hot. Celsa is a nice name. I like blondes too, I suppose. Bikinis are nice. So are sunglasses. What else did she say? Oh yeah. Dirty posh girl. I’m a working class guy, the archetypal ‘dirty posh girl’ is pretty appealing to me. It’s the upper class sentiment with the undercurrent of uncleanliness that does it. I mean, she might wear a tiara and a ball gown, but once they come off and she solidly declares she needs to shit on my chest, I know she’s just as filthy as the rest of us.
But do I really want a girl to shit on my chest? I’m not sure. I don’t think so. But maybe she’s really nice. Could I say no? I don’t know. What else? She “blows like there’s no tomorrow”. Weird. The expression “like there’s no tomorrow” puzzles me. Perhaps it’s my lackadaisical temperament, but if there was no tomorrow every activity would be completed with a staggering lack of effort. I’d be fuckin’ reckless is what I’d be. And there is nothing fun about reckless blow jobs. Allowing your genitalia near anything with teeth is dangerous. Doubly so when those teeth are behaving “like there’s no tomorrow”. No thank you.
Right. What else? Oh, she likes people watching her fuck. Right. That presumably means she likes people watching me fuck. I’m not sure how I feel about that. I’m fairly conservative about my sexual endeavours. And what if she’s monstrously ugly? I won’t know until they move that fucking screen out of the way. What if she wants people to watch us? People will see me having sex with a monster? God, what if they make us fuck, right now?! They’ll move the screen and make us fuck like jackrabbits on the stage with the studio audience clapping and whooping.
“So, Sean. What do you think of Celsa?”
“Errr. Yeah, she sounds nice.” I think I got away with that. Yeah. Nailed it.
“Okay, let’s meet your second potential date for this evening. Welcome, Monnie Willars! Monnie is a brunette who loves walks on the beach. She wears a blue bikini and a gold bracelet and thinks you should “TELL THEM WHAT THEY WANT TO HEAR. THEN DO WHAT THE FUCK YOU WANT”. What do you think, Sean? Do you like the sound of Monnie?”
Fucking Hell. Where do they find these women? She sounds angry. Monnie. That’s another nice name though. She’s a brunette. I like brunettes. I like them more than blondes. Blue bikini. Hmm. I like red bikinis more than blue bikinis. I like Raphael more than Leonardo. Maybe that’s it.
What else? Gold bracelet. I don’t know a lot about jewellery. I’m sure it’s lovely. Alright. What was that last bit? TELL THEM WHAT THEY WANT TO HEAR THEN DO WHAT THE FUCK YOU WANT? Yeah. Not sure how I feel about that. I suppose that’s good advice. Is it? I don’t know. It’s not really the kind of thing you want to tell a potential suitor though. I can’t imagine that attitude being welcome in a domestic environment. She’s a liar is what she is. What a bitch. I don’t like her at all. But then again, maybe I need someone in my life to tell me what I want to hear, to boost my ego. That might be good for me.
“I’m not so sure about Mollie, Cilla.”
“Right. Sorry Monnie. I think I prefer Celsa.” Take that Mollie you lying bitch. I’d rather have shit on my chest than be lied to everyday of my life.
“Oh. Sorry, Monnie. It looks like blondes do have more fun.”
That’s not what I said. Christ. This show is awful.
“Okay, Sean. Let’s meet your third and final potential date for tonight. Welcome, Carmelina Abigg! Carm is a blonde in her early twenties who favours a classic look, wearing a white crop top with jeans. She says of herself “I’m having sex in the moon next summer”. How does that grab you, Sean? Do you like Carmelina?”
Semolina. Semolina. All I can think is semolina. What do I think of Carmelina? She wears jeans and a crop top. That’s good. She’s somewhat more conservative than the others. But she still shows a bit of skin. I like skin. Semolina has skin, if you leave it out too long. What else? What was her last name? Abigg? What the fuck kind of a name is Abigg? A big what? A big dick?! Is she a transsexual? Jesus. I never agreed to this. Stop it. You’re being irrational. She probably doesn’t even have a big penis. She probably doesn’t have a penis at all.
Though that would explain why she’s wearing jeans and not a bikini like the rest. What else? She’s having sex in the moon. Next summer. What the fuck does that even mean? That makes no sense. English can’t be her first language. Maybe she’s all exotic and sexy. Maybe she’s Spanish. Or French. I’d like to have sex in the moon with a French girl. But what about her hairy cock? Oh, God. This is horrible.
“Well, Sean. You’ve heard from all of your potential dates for tonight. The question is, who do you want to take home? Celsa, the gorgeous blonde who blows like there’s no tomorrow? Monnie, the sultry brunette who does what the fuck she wants? Or Carmelina, who’s having sex in the moon?”
The audience are shouting. They’re all chanting different names. Celsa, Mollie and Semolina. Who do I choose? The first wants to shit on my chest, the second is a compulsive liar and the third has a penis. I don’t know what to do.
“Okay, Cilla. I’ve thought about it. And. I – I – I think. I think it’s Moll – Monnie. I think it’s Monnie.”
“Okay, gang. Let’s move the screen and show Sean who he’s taking out tonight!”
The audience are clapping and cheering. The screen’s moving. I’m going to see her. I’m actually quite excited. I hope she’s really nice. I hope sh – What? There’s nobody there. What the fuck? What’s this? A link to a porn site?
That lying bitch. I should’ve gone for the shit on the chest.
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