I Just Bought a Hummer – Now Love Me!

(This is a satirical dating profile from my book, Fake Personal Ads (Or Real Personal Ads for Fake People).)



I Just Bought a Hummer – Now Love Me!

Ladies, the truth is that I have always been a thick-skulled brute, as opposed to a lighter cranial individual who picks bugs from the hair of his buddies in a frozen cave. I am the one who, at a crowded movie theater, props his muddy boots atop the head of the nerd in front of him, and then proceeds to crinkle a Kit Kat Bar wrapper so loud it overwhelms the sound of explosions blasting out of the Dolby sound system before throwing it at the two senior citizens seated just below the screen. I am the drunken moron who will slobber all over another guy’s girlfriend and then punch the boyfriend in the face – and the next day brag about how fucked up I got last night. I am unable to stay with just one tramp for some inexplicable reason; therefore I will often, at 2AM, tailgate the car of some random inebriated girl from the bar to her apartment and then stand outside in the dark taking multiple pisses at ten minute intervals. If a raccoon or some other nocturnal critter enters my vicinity, I puff out my chest, and say: “You looking at me, you four-legged asshole? You want a piece of me?”

Suffice it to say, my level of dick-headedness has, over the years, increased with every purchase of a truck, each one bigger and more unnecessary than the last gas-guzzling tank. At night, I have always made a point of turning on my high-beams and riding the ass of a low-riding car so that the driver feels like the very sun is situated on his rear trunk and blazing point-blank into his rearview mirror. Then I will throw a tantrum because the driver, with his singed retinas, cannot steer a straight line, whereupon I will call him (or her) a fucking asshole, while gushing saliva all over my dashboard, which, by the way, is playing a CD of Lynyrd Skynyrd. However, sometimes – oh hell, all the time – I forget that one does not become a good street fighter by virtue of driving a huge truck. In fact, a guy can get quite gelatinous from never walking more than a foot from his monster truck, parked obnoxiously on the curb, to the door of a convenience store. Then again, a big truck gives one a sense of entitlement.

Now I have taken the final step toward dick-head nirvana – I have bought a Hummer. Moreover, I insist on talking on a cell phone while at the wheel, calling mostly 900 numbers, but, hey, it’s all part of the act of getting unearned attention. And, yes, my mustache has also gotten more outrageous, as it has in the past always served as my personality. In a word, my mustache has become Robin Williams.

What I am looking for in a mate is a lady who appreciates a Hummer, a silly mustache, a mind that remains unaware of other people, and a great parking spot, even if it means crushing a little hybrid car beneath my mighty wheels – and, of course, a girl who, like me, thinks that global warming is a crock of shit. But you better hurry up, as chicks dig my new Hummer, especially the ones who also love to ride up the ass of other people.

(To learn more about my book, Fake Personal Ads, or my three other books and two screenplays, visit my website: http://www.authorjamesfjohnson.com )


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