Special Husband?!

A reader writes (omg, husband-seekers, we have readers): In January of last year you published a Craigslist ad entitled email/coffee/kisses/sex/ltr/marriage/babies/death/reincarnation/email. I happen to know, unfortunately quite well, the person behind this ad, a textbook psychopath who has over the years caused tremendous emotional and financial damage to family, friends, and perfect strangers, not to mention lonely women. His plan is simple: assess the victims, exploit them till there's nothing left to take, and then abandon them - often overnight. While it is not possible to stop this kind of predator from destroying the lives of those who get ensnared by their sometimes exquisitely set up traps, I believe we have the duty to do what we can. So, I thought I'd forward to you the most recent of this man's ads, which, while brilliantly written (exquisite verbosity is often one of the psychopath's weapons), can be toxic to vulnerable women. Perhaps you'd like to publish it in your blog using the same header as to expose this man whenever he runs it in various parts of the world. Thank God for Google, that great equalizing force against previously secret creeps who thought they could escape detection. The Craigslist link is shown at the end of the ad, most recently published in London and Mannhattan. So, here it is:

the irreverently infrangible seeks the fungible for free trip to Bali
Date: 2010-01-25, 7:48PM

...willing to consider sharing my collection of vintage pre-60s Pez dispensers and post post-70s 8-track tapes with a ridiculously creative (perhaps carve reeds out of root vegetables, makes bricks without straw, chalk realist portraits on sidewalks and Turner skies on brick walls, play a lute or dulcimer...really, really well, bind beautiful hardbacks and strip homemade fettuccine or stop-motion animate your own flip books at 4 o’clock in the morning), ridiculously interesting (maybe you forged a greyhound bus pass and traveled the U.S.A. for 18 months, Magic Bussed the hippie trail from Istambul to India or have considered converting your vintage Vespa to vegetable based fuel), brilliantly (albeit not geekily nor socially ineptly so) odd (the dictionary on a party night fascinates, others marvel at your willingness to don costumes in public, your prosthetic limb collection supersedes all others or you have a photographic memory for all things reptilian), has her shit and shinola together with her mallards in a row (no hard drugs, no chronic depression, no ‘bad’ drunks and hopefully ‘lithium’ remains just a periodic element and not a prescription), fabulously beautiful, sinfully fabulous, head-turning (not in the Exorcist fashion), irrepressible child/girl/woman/goddess who is a self-confessed whore in the kitchen and a closet gourmet in the bedroom
as for you, o so lovely you for who I have waited an eternity and a half, please be a variation on the theme of slender/athletic/fit/toned female, and when you say curvy, please mean curvy in the right places as opposed to Rubenesque with a booty big enough to warrant its own zipcode or possess a gravitational field that makes a game of 8-ball a graphic lesson in Ptolemaic astronomy, please be jaded but not a hue of cynical green, please spend less than 1/8 of your life on a fucking cell phone, please know how to make more than reservations for dinner, know the wealth of a person has little to do with his income, please retain the vestiges of childlike curiosity without tying cans to dog’s tails or throwing tantrums, please be a muse and at once amused by my musings, please enjoy good poetry and equate bad poetry with a long checkout line at Whole Paycheck, please know at least 18 slang words for sex, please don't smoke (near me at least), please know how to spell definitely and know your (ass) from you’re (elbow macaroni), please be scruffily feminine and an elegant tomboy, please be indescribably unique, please be affectionate but less clingy than saran wrap, please be visibly happy (at least most of the time) and irreverent and exceedingly considerate, please be within an age range an overgrown kid like me might consider apropos LTR material (i.e. lie between jail-bait and 39 ˝), please be without kids and capable of suppressing the krakatoic rumblings of your womb, please be spiritual without believing in organized religion and anthropomorphic supernal beings unless they’re made of spaghetti and a dripping of virgin olive oil, please have bothered to read this entire ramble, the perusin’ of which you will not have considered a chore, and please know the sexiest and most erotic thing about any man is his big fucking brain, and please please me, o yeah, like I please you
~ lastly and leastly, please do not ask me to become a Jehovah’s witness -- I wasn’t even near the fucking accident ~
a bit more about meself, I'm sort of amazing (confidence not ego), world traveler (94 countries not Google Earth), super-smart (books scribbled + off the chart scores) and have a lightning wit (rocket not flash). I get the attention of a room when I walk in. I have no idea why folks are so afraid of automatic weapons. The safety is on. So, I'm more than a bit anomalous, but I assure you there's method to my madness like the flight of bees or a woman at a sample sale. I have an associational logic that instantly references philosophy, literature, music, art, pop culture and kitsch -- without Google. Spock would’ve approved my logic which, like the Vulcan moon,Trayf, is at once elliptical and eccentric echoing the tides of the mercurial human heart. What else? I love the filtration prior to intimacy and the deep philosophical discussions that follow (for example: 'why isn't there something instead of nothing -- in my wallet?'; and, 'where do all these fucking Chinese takeout menus come from?' I'm a rara avis that has migrated, due to the encroaching climate velocity, to my preferred habitat, Bali, where I live part of the year. I have a beautiful villa there with views of terraced rice fields and volcanoes. On a clear day you can even see the bill collectors wielding machetes. Come on over y'all and bring some pie -- or gefilte fish. If I'm the witty hipster you've been holding out for, gimme a holler. Or, pass me over for that square jawed, 6-packed ass clown with the pea brain who believes wrestling is real. What the world needs now are more pea brained children wraslin' in front of their TVs who grow up to be gas station attendants or, God forbid, work for CLP. Sure, I love Life on Mars just like anybody else, but, trust me, never call those buggers in an emergency. Call me. I'm your go to guy.
Hope you appreciated the rant. If you didn't just know I’ve got a loaded weapon – it’s called a brain and mine doesn't shoot blanks
ladies, don’t forget to reveal your age, your pix and 13 reasons why I will never tire of you to earn beloved brownie points and a paid subscription to Utne Reader (which rhymes with chutney feeder); your willingness to hop on a plane with me to Bali (my treat, of course) in the next 30-60 days (enough time to reduce your prized possessions to the confines of a backpack and live out your security deposit) will also soar your missive to the top of my heart's inbox

Location: where parallel lines meet



We may all be assholes judging people who we don't know on the internet, but let us bear in the following in mind: we judge because these people are intolerable.