Dear Harry Smith

As usual, the character described herein is a composite character developed from X number of real people. Or is he all the same person? Hmmm. I suppose that’s possible. Such is the nature of electronic communication.

I don’t particularly make it easy for men to connect with me. Why should I? I’ll answer that question in the positive first:

  1. I’m damaged.
  2. I’m difficult.
  3. I’m over the hill and not getting any younger.
  4. I ought to be desperate.
  5. I’m lonely.

And now in the negative:

  1. A match is unlikely, and so I might as well discourage ninety-nine percent of the zombies out there for their own protection as well as my own.
  2. I’m hot for an old broad, which is not the blessing that Madison Avenue makes it out to be. Loads of misdirected attention neither assuages loneliness nor fulfills me, but rather merely serves as a distraction.
  3. Understanding me takes patience, and boots on the ground. Hot-tempered libidinous creatures, with short attention spans conditioned by modern electronics and media, rarely have enough, and thus really ought not to bother with me.
  4. Truth in advertising.

All that said, I’m flattered by the ham-handed, oafish, and persistent attempts to gain my attentions by this certain composite purely virtual character in my life. Unfortunately, flattery is as ineffective on me as insults. Ditto for promises of either provisioning or parading me about while foolishly spending money that could be used for something meaningful instead. I have got no one to impress and besides you have no idea of the impossible bar you are attempting to surpass. Why bother? The happiest years of my life were spent in a walk-up flat in North Philadelphia and a fifth wheel in Long Beach, California. How about you? Are you as obsessed with appearances as you seem? What does that say about you?

Here is where I can provide a canned response to the particular archetype/collection of characters who inspire(s) this post, although it is unlikely to reach the ears of the individual or individuals who inspire it.

  • Attempting to portray oneself as knowing something that one obviously doesn’t know, is counter-productive if oddly amusing. Likewise, if the purpose of making a display of such deficiency is supposed to inspire in me charity for your plight such as to assist you in your sock puppet disassociative tendencies. No dice.
  • No amount of attempts to either humiliate or flatter me will cause me to personally present to you a photo of me wearing my hot, tight, head-turning jeans, or me sans those jeans. (Is there some sort of Scavenger Hunt in play here?)
  • Sweet talkers mean little to me without boots on the ground. It is unfortunate that boots-on-the-ground is, generally speaking, a surprise when it comes to me. Therefore, prepared to be surprised, pleasantly or no, previous photo or no. Since when are visually-inclined men ignorant of the deceptions of photographs? Or are they hoping for a nude “mug shot”?
  • When bullheaded, psychotic, baby-men feel entitled to my time on their terms not mine, I can be free to say whatever I want to them from the safety of my carefully constructed anonymity which happens to intersect with reality in such a way as to verify my credibility (but yet protect the innocent). It won’t matter to such men, however. The only thing that matters to such men is a blunt instrument between the eyes. Therefore, I’ll take some time today to do a little target shooting and tactical defense practice. I wouldn’t test me if I were you.

Besides, you ought to be grateful for this lesson. Let’s see whether you decide to express such gratitude, and how, or whether you just keep right on doing what you’re doing but expecting a different result. There’s a name for that…

7 thoughts on “Dear Harry Smith

  1. Pingback: Dear Harry Smith | Manosphere.com

  2. Whoa, whoa, WHOA, there, Sweetpants!
    You just caused that fat chick with the moustache over there to ruin an entire half-gallon of Chunky Munky with big salty tears!
    That shit’ll NEVER re-freeze now!

    Not really. She was already crying into it when you started.

    Damaged? Difficult? Lonely? Etc.?
    You just described MOST singles over fifty, except for the looking-good-in-jeans bit.

    TRY not to feel like a strange creature from outer space.

    And again, good luck to you.

    • I agree! Meanwhile, it would seem that clear communication just represents a challenge or wall for many of the opposite sex to tear down for the sake of “conquest”. I think of that as sort of a need to gain points with one’s same-sex peers or parental figures, like a “trophy”. On the other hand, too much intellectualizing is sort of anti-sex, particularly for someone like me who actually does want to be “taken down” in some way. But please, not by an idiot like Harry. That’s humiliation that just makes me laugh–with laughing also not highly conducive to sexual and romantic intimacy. Harry is highly unlikely to actually show up in my life and so I’m just exercising my chops at his expense. That might not seem very nice but sometimes the acquisition of knowledge isn’t very nice even if it may sometimes be necessary

  3. Any suitor would have to be one helluva guy. He would have to be counter-counter-counter-intuitive by nature. When you say things like, “The despair consumes me as the day does the night, those long forgotten ashes find their way to the surface…..they always do, eventually”, what that really means is “Go pick up my dry cleaning.”

    Damage-shmammage! Whose soul doesn’t have a few scratches and dents? It’s really a matter of degrees.

    • LOL. Yeah. You’ve got my number. Pretty much. Except in my relationships, the only one issuing directives is him. I just do what I’m told. Without such directives I’m reduced to hurling awkwardly verbose remarks on the internet. C’est la vie.

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