OKCupid tells me that “no one has contacted you in over a week”, and that makes me incredibly sad. Because you seem like a very cool chick, who’s intelligent and well read and happens to have just the proper amount of snark to her. This travesty will stand no longer. 

I’m not quite sure what I have to offer, though… I’m too far away to try the, “Hey, let’s go get some coffee this weekend and have an awkward chat” tactic, and I can’t fold you origami animals and leave them on your desk. So I wrote you a small story, something that I can actually give you over the internets. Enjoy: 

“David, we can’t continue on. This has to stop. This… I’m serious!” 
“But Marta, why? Why!” David’s voice cut through the silence in the living room, chilling the air even more. 

“Because we… we’ve grown apart. I just… just… Okay. I don’t love you anymore. There. I’ve said it. I’m sorry.” 

Feeling the tears rising, his vision becoming hazy, he quickly crossed the room and wrapped his arms around Marta from behind. He could smell her, like rain, and must, and not entirely unpleasant. She went tense in his grasp, but she did not move away. 

“I can change… Marta, I can. I know I can. I know this has been difficult on us, but… please. I will do anything for you.” 
“You HAVE done anything, David!” Her words came out sharp, needling him, trying to push him away with their barbs. “More than anything! Need I remind you that my family is in the basement now? They are chopped and stacked like cords of wood in the basement because of your need to appease me.” 

And suddenly the anger was flaring up in him. “You asked me to do that, Marta! You ASKED me to kill them!” 

“Yes, but I didn’t ask you to kill my cousins as well, or the neighbor, or the man at the post office! I didn’t ask any of that of you! I didn’t… ask you to kill me…” 

And he was holding her tighter, his face burying into her sodden hat and plasticy garments, her dulled bronze skin reflecting blues and reds. “But I’ve always loved you Coat Rack, and I just wanted what was best…” 

“I know,” The Coat Rack said soothingly, “You’re right… but you might want to lock the basement door. The police are here. They don’t know you’re both unmedicated and have psychotic tendencies.” 

And as an afterthought, “Which do you like better? Dinosaurs or Robots? You should tell the police you are King of one of those, so they will respect you.” 
“I like robots better,” David said, a wistful smile slowly appearing. And he did, because he was the King of the Robots.

+2 for TL;DR

+3 because even though I could not be bothered to read this entire thing, skimming it makes me positive that it is entirely, horribly creepy and 100% inappropriate.

+3 because she’s “too far away” to get a coffee with, so instead of just moving on to the next profile, he will send her a bizarre story. Sure.


+5 because someone needs to put this guy in jail. A guy who’s like “I think it would be a good use of my time to write a story about murdering a lady’s family and then murdering the lady and then send it to the lady who I don’t actually know on an internet dating site” is probably not totally safe, right?

+4 for King of the Robots. You are truly the worst. Marta — and by the way, the real-life recipient’s name does not appear to be Marta, but let’s keep calling her Marta — RUN. BLOCK. RUN GIRL RUN. BLOCK GIRL BLOCK.