Dear Lovelife Advocate Offer:

Uhm? Did I fall down a rabbithole into bizarro world? The singles ego-system is monstrously fugged if the state of things has plummeted to where I have anything to offer.

This calls for a “no bangin’ hottie left behind” aptitude test question…

T freelancing as a lovelife advocate is like:
a) Turtle giving Vinnie Chase hookup advice
b) Pinky checking Brain’s plans for math errors (narf)
c) A golden retriever running a gazelle-killing seminar for lions
d) Any or all of the above

In the clubbing / barhopping / being-out-and-seen jungle I have the predator tools of a Springer Spaniel. Being a Springer, I’m proud of the fact that I, on a few rare occasions, competed with wolves and won. Bringing down an occasional doe did not, however, turn me into a wolf. All it meant is that I really, REALLY prefer Bambi to say, a platypus.

Wolves and Tigers and Bears are the ones that have actual fucking claws and teeth. I don’t have these weapons. I cope with the fact. Unlike Kanye’s new single I’m not smarter, better, faster or stronger…or better looking. So I developed a “whateve” tolerance from hell because that’s what gazelles usually say when a fuzzy farm animal tries to act like a carnivore.

But now it sounds like the real predators – who have the actual weapons that make spinning game easy – have forgotten what to do. It’s hard for me have sympathy for those who have the natural tools to pull, but blow it, or the women who are sad over this turn of events. If you’re a predator and have no game you should stay hungry or settle for a fast-food fucking salad. Learn to kill or starve, bitches! And if you’re a bangin’ hottie who’s settling for sub-standard game, shut off the damn food supply and demand better wooing! You are the supply side of the ego-nomic equation and we’re demand, ladies! Stop cutting your damn rates! I’m feeling like an iPhone customer who paid top dollar for something that is now going on sale in the bargain bins.

But how has this happened? I’ll admit I’ve been out of circulation for a couple of years but the competition in the bunny-hunt used to be ROUGH. Even the real predators had to have heavy game to succeed regularly. That was just the competitive standard. It was performance level that you bunnies demanded – at least in NYC and then Cali where I lived. Have you hotties dropped your standards coast-to-coast? Is this what happens to our hookup culture when good sitcom writing is replaced by craptastic reality show clones? Is this Paris Hilton’s fault? I’m baffled.

Waiting for the first “hottie protectionist” bill to hit congress,
-T

p.s. As concerning as all this is, worrying about it's better than actually trying to get work done.