The un-datable un-doables of match dot com

Crawled outta the rack at the crack of noon to check my email to see what jetsom and flotsom match.com harvested for me overnight.  Previously I have blogged about the random mimes, cripples, clowns, gynecomastics, fat fucks, pyrotechnics, and Glenn Becks that have been "scientifically" matched with me as potential "soul mates."

For the record, it has been proven that only potential cell mates, if not outright douchebags, qualifty as soul mates for Babs.  Bad, bad, wicked, self destructive. cheating, lying, unemployed, married bad boys are the ones Babs will fall for, date, marry, remarry, donate a kidney or bone marrow to, etc...you know who you are fellas-- love and kisses from Babs.  Nice guys DO finish last with this bitch.   

This morning was a particularly poignant if not pungent batch of nice guys who are good at "creating romance" delivered to the inbox of the bitch.  Fellas, I ain't gonna "nudge" you if you are a "restaurant worker," in a wheel chair, holding up a fish, sporting stone washed jeans, a Canadian tuxedo, a popped collar, a graphic tee, a moose knuckle, a wife beater, and/or a comb over, or live in a town of less than 6,000 inhabitants in Alaska, Wyoming, Montana, or Scotland.  Also previous acrimoniously divorced spouses are not eligible. 

...Thus rendering Babs a total loser in the numbers game of online dating.   

Always contriving "Plan B"... why not create an online dating service for opposites?  This service will search for, and deliver to your inbox, each morning a montage of your polar opposites. If I wasn't so lazy I'd get with an IT guru and launch and monetize that schemata... easy readers, yee who have some gumption, I give you permission to run with this scathingly brilliant idea. 

With a tropical depression looming, Babs shall call it a day and crawl back in the rack until cocktail hour.