Not My Type

As many of my friends know, my single, dating life (many moons ago) was abysmal.

I had less chance of success than the ISIS barber shop down the street “taking a little off the top, please.”

The girls I met all had the same excuse. “You’re not my type.” If I was the paranoid type, I would conclude that they all somehow colluded in rejecting me. BUT I’M NOT PARANOID ABOUT GIRLS THAT ARE AGAINST ME!

I looked for all kinds of situations in which to meet my match.

One time I met a girl while designing a newsletter for a big client. She said I’m not her typeface.

I went to the blood bank beside Jimmy Carter’s office and asked a girl, “Hey, I’m a bleeding heart Liberal, would you go out with me?” “Sorry, not my blood type.”

On a date one time, I treated a girl to all the Krispy Kremes she could eat, and she said, “Um, you’re just not my type two diabetes.”

I met a really cute girl at an audition, and she said, “You’re not my typecasting.”

I wrote a sweet love letter to a girl and misspelled “love” as “live”. “I live you.” “Nope. You’re not my typo.”

I tried playing romantic music. “You’re not my stereotype.”

I gave out phone number after phone number. “You’re not my teletype.”

I used every excuse in the book.

During a really bad rain storm, I told a girl it was flooding and she better hop in my boat. “You’re not my archetype.”

My twin brother below, the same genotype as me, never had that problem.


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8 thoughts on “Not My Type”

  1. Most girls/women these days want a dude that is going to beat them, have babies on them, live up in their house and pay no rent, and yet sling the pipe like John Holmes. Go on over to Wonderland. Maybe some girls over there might find you their type.

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