Guys, this Craigslist poster was so inspired by Shoshanna on “Girls” that he’s now offering his services as a sex mentor to shy, virginal women everywhere. Doesn’t someone want to take him up on his offer to “mentor” someone out of their virginity. Enjoy! Check out the rest of the post after the jump. [Craigslist]
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Office work is such a bore, am I right? Which is why this offer to just sit around listening to this “writer” tell “stories” and type them out sounds like a really great job opportunity. Of course, he’s not looking to pay just anyone to be his muse: you’ve got to be an attractive female and a good listener. You don’t even need to be a good speller, because he’s got someone for that. And don’t worry, the stories are “mostly really good.” I mean, he says they are, so they must be. [Craigslist]
Some clueless person in Brooklyn is looking for women to speak openly about not liking Ryan Gosling. Seriously, dude? It’s Not. Gonna. Happen. [Craigslist]
We’ve read our fair share of weird missed connections — car accidents, “You were the drunk girl,” or “You’re a cocktail waitress at the Hustler Casino.” But, this one trumps all. Listed in Los Angeles’ “M4W” section and called “I grabbed your boobs on Sunset,” it tells the tale of a man who tripped, tried to grab onto something to find the nearest thing to be a girl’s boobs, and in the process he ripped off her shirt… Keep reading »
Confession: I am pretty obsessed with Craigslist’s Missed Connections. It is my life goal to find one dedicated to me, and therefore I check them every day — so far, to no avail. After some deep contemplation, I’ve decided that the way I live my life is not necessarily conducive to the mysterious and sexy aura that tends to spark a Missed Connection. I’m not really a “wink and flip my hair” type; I’m more of a “trip in front of a large crowd while carrying a carton of eggs” type. After the jump, a few examples of Missed Connections based on my life that, alas, I will probably never get… Keep reading »
The e-mail simply read: I’ll pay you $350.
I lay down and thought about this. I thought about a three, a five and a zero. How pretty they looked altogether, no periods to dash out the mass. How nice they would look in my empty piggy bank. I thought about what was being asked of me for the $350. The man wanted me to, shall we say, pleasure myself in front of him. As a straight 21-year-old, newbie journalist, this wasn’t really what I had expected when signing on to do an article about sex parties for a hipster-porn-rag mag.
But this is where my “literary” endeavors had led me — to possible prostitution. The want and need for our readers to hear what it’s like for me, a young Jewish man, living in NYC, to attend, watch and maybe, maybe participate in a sex party, had gotten me into this predicament. Keep reading »