The Sound of White (Noise)
There are an estimated 40 000 regular cocaine users in London alone. Match.com, the largest internet dating agency in the world claims to have around 1 million UK subscribers and on a standard bell curve around 15% of the population will have some form of psychological illness. Statistically this means, for an average person, the chance of you coming into contact with a coked-up lunatic in London is around about 1 in 20.
If you add to this equation my ability to attract great hoardes of screaming white noise, these stakes almost immediately level out to even money.
Despite all this, I recently voluntarily signed up for internet dating.
I will justify this clear moment of insanity by simply saying I am new to London so don't know that many people and am a staunch fan of gonzo journalism. So, after a night of madness on the medina in Marrakech my internal monologue was quashed by what I can only call my 'foolish' voice, which convinced me to swallow my pride and sign up for what I have always imagined to be at the top of the slippery slope to just plain sad.
At worst, foolish voice assured me, I would get some hilarious stories about which I could write; at best I'd probably get dinner and a movie with someone who didn't annoy me too much.
And so, on a balmy night in a seedy internet cafe in Marrakech, I signed my life away.
After several boring conversations with accountant types, who I eventually rudely blanked, I hit the jackpot. A real life television executive with a penchant for latex, ladies and lines.
My new friend, let's call him Franklyn for the purpose of the story, Frank, Frankie boy, was like a Larry David character. He was simply too good to be true. He made bog standard misogynists look like Germaine Greer and was openly proud of his "rep for dishing out the slaps when things get tasty".
Indeed, he showed moments of pure ironic genuis when telling me about people he regarded as "desperate mentalists". Even in my wildest dreams, I could not have invented a character as good as Frankie boy. Life presents me with material that is not believable in a fictional sense, and for that I give thanks.
With the plod 'getting to know you' conversation quickly dispensed, our email conversation rapidly hurtled towards something less... small talkish. None of that favourite author, favourite book chit chat for us. No... "Favourite dressing up for fucking outfit?" was possibly his best effort. A veritable Keats was my boy Frankie.
Genuinely fearing that if we met I would end up hacked into small pieces and found in bin liners around north London for days after, I began to question how committed I was to this entire gonzo journalism approach to dating. And so when, after an evening talking with my virtual casanova, I dreamt I was being suffocated with a plastic bag by a tall Spurs fan, I began to rethink my hasty dismissals of my earlier accountant suitors. Safe and conservative can also make good editorial I began convincing myself.
After several days of dialogue that is best described as Lewis Carrol meets Marquis de Sade, my guilt for not disclosing from the outset one of my motivations (ie content) built up to the point where I confessed that this was really a more... theoretical exercise for me than I may have previously indicated.
The reaction was not good. Indeed, I was summarily dumped. Only the night before he'd been offering to cook me dinner and had picked out names for our kids. So, all cards on the table, I was dumped, by a guy who has never laid eyes on me, spoken a word to me or even knows my real name. I've actually never been dumped before, and certainly never by someone I've not met.
Days later and he's still blanking me. I assumed he'd be annoyed, but then find it amusing! However, it seems my Franklyn can bear a grudge. I've tried to cajole him out of his strop, if for no other reason than to have him call me an evil wench for playing so maliciously with him. But he will not be drawn into it. He has the hump well and truly, poor poppet.
Fortunately he still doesn't actually know who I am (although the same cannot be said for him, naive one might say) so I think I can still safely shop at Sainsbury's without fear of recrimination. And to be fair to my psychotic virtual love, I don't think he's the bottle to become a stalker so I'm not concerned.
So, Frankie honey, if you're reading this, Machiavelli made mad. XOX
If you add to this equation my ability to attract great hoardes of screaming white noise, these stakes almost immediately level out to even money.
Despite all this, I recently voluntarily signed up for internet dating.
I will justify this clear moment of insanity by simply saying I am new to London so don't know that many people and am a staunch fan of gonzo journalism. So, after a night of madness on the medina in Marrakech my internal monologue was quashed by what I can only call my 'foolish' voice, which convinced me to swallow my pride and sign up for what I have always imagined to be at the top of the slippery slope to just plain sad.
At worst, foolish voice assured me, I would get some hilarious stories about which I could write; at best I'd probably get dinner and a movie with someone who didn't annoy me too much.
And so, on a balmy night in a seedy internet cafe in Marrakech, I signed my life away.
After several boring conversations with accountant types, who I eventually rudely blanked, I hit the jackpot. A real life television executive with a penchant for latex, ladies and lines.
My new friend, let's call him Franklyn for the purpose of the story, Frank, Frankie boy, was like a Larry David character. He was simply too good to be true. He made bog standard misogynists look like Germaine Greer and was openly proud of his "rep for dishing out the slaps when things get tasty".
Indeed, he showed moments of pure ironic genuis when telling me about people he regarded as "desperate mentalists". Even in my wildest dreams, I could not have invented a character as good as Frankie boy. Life presents me with material that is not believable in a fictional sense, and for that I give thanks.
With the plod 'getting to know you' conversation quickly dispensed, our email conversation rapidly hurtled towards something less... small talkish. None of that favourite author, favourite book chit chat for us. No... "Favourite dressing up for fucking outfit?" was possibly his best effort. A veritable Keats was my boy Frankie.
Genuinely fearing that if we met I would end up hacked into small pieces and found in bin liners around north London for days after, I began to question how committed I was to this entire gonzo journalism approach to dating. And so when, after an evening talking with my virtual casanova, I dreamt I was being suffocated with a plastic bag by a tall Spurs fan, I began to rethink my hasty dismissals of my earlier accountant suitors. Safe and conservative can also make good editorial I began convincing myself.
After several days of dialogue that is best described as Lewis Carrol meets Marquis de Sade, my guilt for not disclosing from the outset one of my motivations (ie content) built up to the point where I confessed that this was really a more... theoretical exercise for me than I may have previously indicated.
The reaction was not good. Indeed, I was summarily dumped. Only the night before he'd been offering to cook me dinner and had picked out names for our kids. So, all cards on the table, I was dumped, by a guy who has never laid eyes on me, spoken a word to me or even knows my real name. I've actually never been dumped before, and certainly never by someone I've not met.
Days later and he's still blanking me. I assumed he'd be annoyed, but then find it amusing! However, it seems my Franklyn can bear a grudge. I've tried to cajole him out of his strop, if for no other reason than to have him call me an evil wench for playing so maliciously with him. But he will not be drawn into it. He has the hump well and truly, poor poppet.
Fortunately he still doesn't actually know who I am (although the same cannot be said for him, naive one might say) so I think I can still safely shop at Sainsbury's without fear of recrimination. And to be fair to my psychotic virtual love, I don't think he's the bottle to become a stalker so I'm not concerned.
So, Frankie honey, if you're reading this, Machiavelli made mad. XOX
But it all seems a bit made up, like she doesn't really exist or something.
Of course, the creation of an on-line persona for fun and money is something that we can all do. I have been 'Frankie the priapic Tv Exec' for years, I'm just a bit pissed off that somebody stole my character and passed it off as real.
I'm either better than I thought, or she should have asked first.
Rude bitch.
Anyway, just a note to tell you all that I would have answered her messages, I haven't been scared off by the blog. It's simply that I have been very busy this week and by the time I got round to answering my favourite Australian her picture had appeared on her profile and all bets were off.
Not only were all bets off, but I had instead spent all of my betting money on drugs and hookers, turned up drunk at the racecourse and burned the fucker down.
Her writing isn't up to much either...
Yellow Brick Road
How sad that in four days this is the best you can do.
And I didn't steal your persona, tiger, if anything I improved it.
Love the water cooler jape though, just a bit disappointing that it's so predictably stolen from someone more clever, much like your "work."
Really Long Link
I hope that I can cope with knowing that your tosser friends think so poorly of me.
And don't worry, my love, I won't tell anyone that you've had hair plugs.
ya riily think I'd spend four days writing a response to an ugly chick?
Jesus...
You are THAT good.
Just want to clarify one thing JD.
What was the time interval between putting your picture on your profile and being dumped?
The guy your descibing sounds like someone who'd fuck you brutally whether or not you were using him for content.
Did he really become so sensitive about your motives so quickly?
Sadly, within minutes of confessing that I would get at least one story out of the experience he had dumped me. With an emoticon of all things.
At the time, the dumping really stuffed up the ending to my piece, but this has turned out much better.
And I have since cancelled my subscription to the service. My work here is done.
The emoticon was is and shall only ever be ironic.
Your posting above above kind of has the ring of truth, except you would've gone out with me, wouldn't you?
You actually are quite lonely, arncha?
And now, this whole sorry, nasty and bitter little affair with neither smiles nor victors on either part has been put down to 'copy'.
Do you ascribe every negative experience you have jn London to this 'blog fodder' thing?
Yeah I got mugged yesterday, but looking back, I think I was deliberately waving my ipod about in a provocative fashion so that I could write about it on my blog.
It doesn't wash.
You are lonely, and I'll tell you why. It's not because you are a stranger in a strange city.
It is because you are ugly.
What's more, you're fat. This is a competitive city, and you've taken your eye off the ball, and put it on the menu.
Perhaps next time I respond to one of your missives, I should put a picture of a nice big cake on the posting to get you to take a closer look, ironic emoticons and all.
And it WAS the picture that caused the dumping. I was only teasing before that.
Yellow Brick Road
But... see... now you've hurt my feelings.
Your Deepak Chopra/Psych 101 analysis has cut me to the quick. I may even cry. I'll see if I can hold it together for a bit longer.
If you're just going to keep recyling your abuse, then I really can't see this going anywhere.
XOXO
Fuck you and the ship you came in on.
Yellow Brick Road
Thank you linesmen, thank you ball boys.
This "Franklin" character which you have so wittily invented belongs in a book, not a blog, which is mean to be a diary of sorts, a diary being NON FICTION. Franklin, the powerful, growly, leatherclad pussycat tiger who is in a "glamorous" career, and clearly getting so much pussy, hot little button that he is, still needs to advertise on a personals site? OH WHATEVER JD.
There is so much contradiction there it hurts. A man so attractive that he can call someone "fat" and "ugly", a man so attractive, in such a fabulous industry that he needs to runs personals. I am sorry but if he was a true S&M aficionado he would be going to the appropriate clubs, bars and chatrooms, not advertising his sorry and lazy butt on a mainstream dating service.
In my experience, hot men who get all the women; love all the women and dont degenerate into comments about someones appearance. "I hate you, you smell", these comments smack of a small child with a bruised ego and not a real man. So, clever as you are JD, I shall read with excitement and anticipation of all the other comments that you clearly have posted yourself, as someone so pathetic and contradictory can clearly not be an adult human being, let alone the english gentlemen that I have had the pleasure to encounter. I am looking forward to much more fiction from you and I shall tell all my friends to read your short stories.
You should contact penguin
Love,
a loyal and avid reader of your blog
RR
And we all know that you have appearance 'issues' to start with, if you wanted to add 'derranged mentalist' (copywright me) to the list of other extraordinary obstacles that block you from ever enjoying any sort of fun, love or indeed tramp sex in a city of 10 million people, you just have.
Very well done. And nice sporting metaphor, you must have an active imagination or a very, very long memory. Like an elephant. They eat a lot too, don't they?
Your positon here is VERY shaky. Franklyn, or The Beast, as he is otherwise known, is an on-line construct for my projects. He's funny, he works. It's a modern stereotype that people instantly understand, connect with and then hate and laugh at.
Whilst garnering copy for my own projects, you have ripped it off and slapped on this half arsed pile of shite you call 'wot i did when i went to big town'. Or some other juvenile tripe.
It's my joke, my gag, my gig. And you've just plain fucking nicked it, and then passed the poor fucker off as real, and of your own majical discovery WITHOUT ASKING. Not even he deserves that.
But what to expect from an Australian?
You blatantly steal something and then pass it off a sports win.
Brilliant. No wonder the entire world is in such a rush to immerse themselves in the work of the great Australian thinkers like... oh Jesus, you lot count the chap behind Dame Edna as a literary great don't you? Rolf Harris? Clive fucking James?
Thankyou garcon, thankyou chef.
It's the principle of the situation which you seem to be failing to grasp. For you it's always been some sort of contest. As I said in an earlier post: This is a bitter, nasty little exchange of your creating with neither smiles NOR victors.
But for you it appears to be the chance for revenge, for closure (in leiu of wriitng one I suppose) for (Americanism Alert) payback! But for why?
Because you were rejected.
Most of your 'moral outrage' is just thinly disguised rejection anger. It's pathetic, more so as it seems that you have been effectively rejected by an imaginary man, and a 'sex crazed' one to boot.
Bless your criminal heart. Perhaps those Victorians were right and your genetic criminality has popped it's slimy head, marsupial like, out from it's rehabilitated hiding place.
None of this matters of course, I'm wasting my time and yours on a beautiful sunny day. I'm meeting a very beautiful woman in a park, and you no doubts had a pile of choclate eggs the size of Primrose hill to wase through. Good luck, don't forget to remove the foil.
By the way, a very good friend of mine told me these fascinating facts. And I quote:
"Actually, her blog doesn't look like it's popular at all. She has no Alexa ranking (meaning: no one cares about her blog). Technorati sees 28 sites linking to her and has no ranking (meaning: no one cares about her blog). Google see 174 sites linking to her and they all seem to be ones using the same blogging software (and it looks like they all *automatically* link to her site along with loads of others).
You best put your keyboard away, and go surfing, actually you might want to start with a gentle walk around the block first, say to the bakery, and build up from there.
Bless your heart.
x
P.S: Your wording has the clumsy constructs of the (as you would possibly say) venomously verbose and terminally trite. Your constructs lack integrity too. Generally you're 'over writing'. And it's a bit cringy, so if you don't hear from me again, it's because I couldn't fucking bare to fight my way through one of your marathon and unique punchline free 'structures' again.
Oh and far too many commas.
Do something useful. Can the shithouse blog and read the American realists.
Christ, can you spell perserverate, sunshine?
Sadly, no eggs for me. I couldn't possibly eat when I am this heart broken. I keep reflecting on where it all went so tragically wrong with us... Oh, that's right. When you asked me to be Meg Ryan to your Tom Hanks and I took the piss out of you.
Yes, yes. Australians are all convicts; world's largest outdoor prison...but isn't this England vs Australia angle just a tad derivative (a word I'm sure you've come across more than once in your career.)
Hope the hook-up goes well. You'll no doubt be exhausted tomorrow from all the energy you'll expend tonight - digging the hole, mixing the concrete...
BTW did I tell you I was in a Chaser skit the other day? I was walking through the tunnel (why is it that I always bump into them in the tunnel) and Chas was doing a skit involving kicking out the buskers and replacing them with pokie machines, hilarious. I’d tell everyone to look out for me in the next episode but my skirt was dangerously short (I was on my way to a date) and I’m fearful of the crap I would get for getting my pins out in Autumn.
Oh and trust me the only beautiful woman Frankie was having lunch with in the park was on the pages of his magazine.
And my guess is his mother disowned him years ago, or necked herself.
Haven't you been reading his scathing responses to me, where he's been desperately trying to assuage his narcissistic rage (clinical definition) by making out that it was also just a game to him?
I especially like the water cooler conversation with his friends. All done in character of course. He's not a bona fide misogynist or ego maniac; he's just bigging it up for humour.
Really Long Link
I miss the Chasers. TV folk who actually are funny. This experience surely tops Chas' internet dating scam, no?
Yellow Brick Road
Sadly, defamation laws restrict me from providing any identifying info. Although "in the public's interest" still stands a defence from memory.
No, no... that would be wrong.
Christ! Did Frankie actually play the victim card? (good for one use only, Beast.)
Is he actually making out that this is all about him being tricked?
You brute JD. You've hurt his feewings. Apologise immediately.
Now putting my actual name and link here may get me some angry, insulting posts from good ole Frankie there, but bring it on mate, in a battle of wits with me, you'd be defenseless...Perhaps your lack of respect for women stems from the fact that you weren't breast fed as a child...may want to seek therapy for that son...
And I'm not hard on the eyes myself, or so I'm told, but I was raised to have respect not only for women, but for people in general, but then again I was raised by an Irish Father and a British Mother...obviously your parents had no such expectations of their son..sad, she should have smothered you in the crib and saved the world yet another self-inflated, angry, bitter man...I love women of any shape, size and color...every one has something to offer..and if you judge people by a picture on a profile, then perhaps you should post one of your own so we can use it for target practice! Jane you have my deepest apology for his obvious lack of self esteem and manners...Not every male acts in such a dispicable manner towards women...Perhaps his ignorant behavior stems from his lack of self respect?
If you don't respect yourself, how in the hell can you show respect towards anyone else? I suggest Frankie, that a good, long, hard look in the mirror is in order...oh wait, perhaps your own reflection would be a more suitable date for you! If you can get even THAT lucky...
Daft sod...you need help, call someone quick!
Take care Jane,
Nick
Yellow Brick Road
What I genuinely don't understand about this entire melee is why my boy cares so much.
If I am the fat, ugly, ginger, thick cunt, convict Australian with grammar issues who's writing a terminally trite blog that no one reads, then why bother? Why not delete the message I sent him with the link to the post and go back to sharpening his knife collection?
Why spend days of his, and his mates', time engaging?
Oh well, I find your other posts so much more amusing and satisfying...please end this angry exchange with numbnuts and go onto something more witty and intellectual, which is the norm for you...
Take care,
Nick
Oh, and to Mr "I'm easy on the eyes", I will readily admit that Frankie is rude etc etc, but JaneD is far ruder for trying to date someone only for copy. That is terminally sad. Imagine if she had found someone less confident that Frankie. What would their reaction have been if they were told that their dating inadequacies were going to be broadcast to the world via a (As far as they were aware) popular blog?
I know Frankie personally, and yes, he is rude, arrogant and unpleasant in the extreme on occasion. But at least he has the decency to be like that from the start, rather than pretending to be polite while knifing someone in the back just to make yourself look good.
Speaking of looking good, hows about you post up that picture of you that turned him off so badly? Then we could all see if he had taste or if he dumped you because he didn't like the idea of being your little story.
Oh, and one final comment:
THIS ISN'T GONZO JOURNALISM, IT'S TRYING DESPERATELY TO FEEL WANTED AND POPULAR. IT APPEARS TO BE FAILING.
That is all.
I'm not censoring comments - unless you're referring to the comment you posted letting me know you were single (so sad... and surprising.) I was so overcome with your classy wooing that I guess I deleted the message. I have repeatedly put up the link to your watercooler, which has all the comments copied into it. I would have thought that sufficed for transparency.
Which neatly segues to Frankie being so decent to start with... I'm confused (but then am a dumb cunt convict so it's not really surprising.) The character of Frankie the priapic TV exec who uses an online persona to garner copy for projects is an argument that has only recently been aired. I was never made aware that he was playing the same game as myself during our conversations. So, not really sure if that makes Frankie the hypocrite, or your mate Beast. Either way, I probably wouldn't subdivide the moral high ground just yet.
you didn't answer Ziggy's question about the picture.
And you did tell a big whopping fib.
Ugly and a liar.
Poor cow.
Why are you not putting up my postings?
Poor show.
Yellow Brick Road
I have apologised repeatedly for deceiving you.
I thought you would find the post funny, as your role in this experience was, at best, a comic prop to some self-deprecating humour.
And "punch line free marathons"? Now you're just recycling stuff I've said about myself. Christ. Maybe I should have said copywright (sic) me?
It's Sunday, the weather's fantastic, why not go out on a date and put all this behind you, or have you already sliced and diced her?
Yellow Brick Road
If you want to send abusive comments to Nick, go to his pages. He has left the hyperlinks for you, so it shouldn't be that hard to find your way. Maybe ask the adult in room to help you?
I have explained this to you twice. Do I really need to get out a hand puppet to dumb it down further?
The post about Nick being a spineless simpering twat was from me. Post it. He can look after himself.
Yellow Brick Road
Your boy, however, seems to require a tag team attack.
Surely, the big bad Beast can "take me" solo?
I am a only woman after all, and none too bright at that.
On a bemusing note, this has been going on for more than a week. Am I really so fascinating to you people that you still give a toss?
Obviously it's not about winning. Beast has reminded us time and time again there are no winners or smiles in this experience, so why are we still doing this?
And your Blog is godawful.
Yellow Brick Road
I thought I showed remarkable restraint.
I thought you were a Gonzo journalist?
Yellow Brick Road
Obviously it's not about winning. Beast has reminded us time and time again there are no winners or smiles in this experience, so why are we still doing this?"
Because there's nothing the Coolerites like more than a good scrap (although I have to say this isn't one).
He's OUR Beast, y'see?
And there are lots of smiles, by the way. And I think there probably are winners too. Just not here.
The fact that said conscripts cannot even find their own way to my webpage to insult me in person, throws questions into the mix that beg for answers...
I am neither dumb, simpering nor a twat, I simply detest rude, obnoxious and self absorbed people...people who fit that criteria usually get annoyed because it is the truth...those who are not, will find Frankie's rantings only mildly amusing...
And as for he and his mates, perhaps their rudeness and angst should be punishable by having to date people even more combative and bellicose than themselves..
I assumed these pages were free for everyone to post on, regardless of their views, thoughts, ideas and opinions... and garning copy is what any good journalist would do...just ask any renowned media personality and they'll tell you it's true...It may not always be ethical or fair, but it's a fact of life...
So get over yourself Frankie, even your own friends have admitted to your pretencious and unacceptable behavior...and it's not really falltering when even THEY can't stand you...But then again, like tends to attract like so that's no big surprize either...
In my opinion the lot of you are nothing more than pond dwelling, scum sucking, bottom feeders who's moral and ethical dipsticks are two drops short of bone dry...
You don't see me hiding behind anonymous posts nor running from a fight now do you? I merely stated my own opinion, because I have a brain, and opinions are like assholes, everybody has one...if you can't run with the big dogs, then I suggest you stay on the bloody porch...
I have far too many other interests in my own life to keep me occupied...I do not need to involve myself in obviously one sided obtuse and droll exchanges...
If you got dumped by Jane because you were vile, ignorant and petty, simply chalk it up to your stellar personality, build a bridge and get over yourself...
Rejection is a part of life, and calling someone names over it reminds me of a playground bully..
Just because I don't happen to agree with your wretched behavior and sotted opinions, doesn't give you free rein to attack anyone else's...If you've gotten a virual black eye, simply throw a steak on it, pull up your skirts, go home and be done with it...
I haven't visited any sites Jane has seen fit to post here, simply because I couldn't be bothered...She has the right to her opinions same as the rest of us...Oh, but I've forgotten, Frankie and his mates don't like playing fairly...my mistake...
I was remiss for even thinking they possessed some sort of mental or emotional maturity...I shall endeavour to keep that in mind for the next round of vile, and obviously vindictive playground bullying...
And serial bullies, is simply what you and your mates are Frankie...quick to belittle, undermine, denigrate or discredit anyone who might call you into account...
It seems funny to me that you react angrily to criticism and when rejected, you become self absorbed and petty...
I'm thinking, perhaps, along the lines of Narcissistic Personality Disorder...you may want to look up the meaning of the disorder, because it suits you to a tee...
I'm through with even trying to be reasonable here...you may have at it...enjoy yourselves!
Take care,
Nick
Yellow Brick Road
Yes, he is your Beast. Why aren't you setting him up with your sisters/mothers? He's a keeper.
Yellow Brick Road
Although he's not quite telling the truth about it. He appears to be reinventing the time frame and circumstances somewhat.
you ain't the sharpest, are you mate?