Not Replying: You message me over and over again yet I haven’t replied to you once (The Serial Messenger)

Type in username. Type in password. Hit “Check Mail”. What the?! 6 new messages? 5 of which are from the same person? Who the Jesus H. Christ is this guy and why the need for all these messages to me? Better dive right into this. Maybe if I’m lucky enough he’ll tell me that his African grandfather just passed away and that he needs my help to activate his share of the estate by wiring him 10 Gs stat. So the first message is your typical middle aged internet dude yawn fest – My name is Jim and I like sports, and motorcycles, and working on my car, and I think we would really hit it off. I’m sure you’re very nice and lovely Jim but the only thing that I want to hit it off with after reading your message and seeing that you’re a whole 15 years older than me with children in tow is the delete button. But you’re seemingly not going to make it that easy to just forget about you when I see the next message: After thinking about it, I feel we would REALLY get along. Please message me back. And the next message: I guess you haven’t logged in to see my messages but I thought up this poem for you last night. Annnd the next message: Ok. So I’m probably pestering you but I reread your profile and I can’t help but still try and get to know you. I will promise to treat you right. Annnd the one after that: I’m going away for the weekend without internet so if you reply and I don’t reply back, don’t get too worried. Wish you were coming with me! What. The. Fuck. I haven’t even fucking logged in to read these messages and you’re already all up in my face incorporating me into your weekend getaways? Delete. Delete. Delete. However, my subtle hint that you should probably give up the ghost seemingly goes unacknowledged when I receive yet another slew of messages from you the next time that I log on. I see that you have deleted my messages. I really think we would get along. I can prove it. How about we go out this weekend? Dinner? Drinks? A long walk by the water? Maybe I am way off base here, but I can’t help but feel that is creepster code for “take you to my cabin in the woods, gut you, and then wear your skin as a suit while I sip brandy by the fire listening to Chet Baker.” You’re making me nervous to sign into this site. I feel you have probably already hacked into my computer somehow and are now staring at me through my webcam at this very moment. Persistence is good in moderation but this is all very next level, my friend. I have yet to say one word back to you and there are already large, gaping issues between us. Perhaps I should have politely declined your e-advances instead of straight up hitting the delete key, but I feel that would have just fueled the fire. And let’s be honest here – this is the internet, you’re expected not to have any manners.

Not Replying: You write me an adjective surged novel (The Professor)

The size alone of this initial message is intimidating me, let alone the seven syllable words that seem to make it into every perfectly punctuated sentence that you have crafted. What the hell does celestial even mean? And why are you using it to describe me? Isn’t that like a tea brand or something? It’s like I’m back in the tenth grade attempting to read Dickens’ A Tale of Two Cities for the first time – I feel the need to request a Cole’s Notes version of this message. I mean, I whole heartedly appreciate the effort you’ve put forward here and much prefer to be subjected to this than some one lined, consonant ridden babble but what does it take to meet me somewhere in the middle of this spectrum, guys? We haven’t even met yet and my palms are already sweating in the presence of your pretentious nature. And what about the reply? Are you expecting me to attempt to match you, let alone potentially see you up, with MY vocabulary skills to prove myself worthy? I feel if I so much misplace a comma in my reply you’ll be quick to heckle into your ascot tie at me in between taking puffs of your smoking pipe; feet propped up on the ottoman of your study lined with books with titles along the likes of The Systematic Regime of the Fallen Predecessors of Post-Colonial Atlantis. Too much pressure! So smart dudes – although your five-dollar words can make my heart swoon in the right context, being hit with a screen full of them before I can even catch your first name is a little too much for me to handle.

Not Replying: You message me specifically for the sex (The Perv)

Hi, to be blunt, I’m looking for some casual fun. I really just like pleasing women down there, interested? : ) Well hi there sweet talker – Would you bust out these irresistible lines on a female at a bar? Grocery store? Amusement park? I’m willing to bet the answer is highly unlikely as you seemingly don’t even have the balls to upload a picture of yourself to round out  your blank profile. You’re the reason why online dating sites get such a creepy rap from females; painting them an e-experience similar to that of traipsing through an alleyway filled with used car salesmen and lepers biting at their ankles. You give a bad name to the beauty that is the internet while quickly crushing any hope that chivalry may actually still exist in this day and age. And what the fuck is up with that smiley face? Just because you slap an emoticon at the end of your pervy message doesn’t make it any more forgiving. There’s plenty of websites out there that specialize in what you are looking for, or perhaps saving these charming messages for the few girls whom have actually stated that they are looking for an “intimate encounter” would be a good start. Much like your Castanova counter part, some basic streamlining could really work some magic with getting you that much closer to some anonymous pussy. Or maybe these messages are simply a means to getting a rise from innocent females while conveniently masking your identity behind a computer screen – but  isn’t that what Chatroulette is for?

Not Replying: You send me a generic template message (The Castanova)

“Hi there. I couldn’t help but notice your profile and felt the need to message you. I don’t normally do this and to be honest I just signed up to this site so I could message you. My name is Real Original and I like going to the gym, UFC, and going clubbing on weekends. I’m a laid back person and am well established in my career. I’ve never been married but want kids at some point in my life. Drop me a line if you want to grab a coffee sometime.”
Your message reads like a transcript of a bad dating agency video tape circa 1985. Although you may think you’re being sly by making me feel I’m oh-so-special to be owed this e-pleasure, you’re not pulling any wool over these eyes, my friend. Anyone with half a brain can clearly deduct that you are simply casting your giant net out into the internet ocean, giving it a limp tug, and seeing what you can desperately reel in with the minimal cut-and-paste efforts that you’ve put forward. Your swooning technique may have seemed a little more genuine had you put a little thought into this and actually read my profile, blatantly noting that I am into zero of the interests you have mentioned.  It’s obvious that common sense isn’t quite a strong point of yours, but some basic streamlining could really work wonders for you. So CTRL-V again Castanova, your carbon copied opening messages belong no where near my inbox.