Conceited Rich Dude Asks "Ladies, If I Was A Slob Would You Still F*** Me?

     Attention ladies!

     I’m 5’9" and 235 pounds of pure fat. I have a 4-day growth of beard that’ll rub your cheeks raw. Even the black, curly hairs on my shoulders need a good trim. I bathe once a week and call my mom every night, after which I prefer being alone with my thoughts for two hours. I wear the same Chuck Norris t-shirt and khakis I sleep in and own every DVD Adam Sandler ever made. My favorite sports are ESPN ladies’ billiards and Monster Truck Racing. I like slow walks to the liquor store and warming my feet on a HD-TV screen. I appreciate candlelight dinners when you prepare them, especially the foods of Eastern Europe, like beef tongue and kielbasa. Quiet evenings at home are my dream. I’ll play Hit Man and stare at your ass while you cook.

     Wanna date?

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     That’s the reaction I feared. You see, I used to be the kind of guy girls would die for. Handsome as hell, with rich parents and Einstein-level brains. That was my torment. I had no way to tell if a girl wanted the flawed, real me inside. Then I got an idea from my roomie at college. He was a slovenly mess and didn’t have pretty b*****s by the score.

     So I took a page from his book. I became a slob. Unfortunately, my scheme worked too well. The type of girls who used to jump my bones now avoid me like the plague.

     That’s why I’ve composed this candle in the darkness, as I search for the good woman for me.

     Is it you?

     Here’s how to find out: Next time you’re at a party and spot a repulsive, snot-dripping loser, ignore his grizzly façade. Instead, employ your considerable charm. Seduce him. You may discover under his stomach-churning exterior a wonderful rich brainy guy. Me.

     On the other hand, it might be my roommate.

            No?