Slingblading: Angry, simple-minded, balding, partially blind ex-circus elephant poo boy with a passion for covering lovers in sour cream and gravy seeks exotic, heavily tattooed shirtless Cajun, preferably smooth and stinky, either sex, for whippings, bizarre sex and fashion consulting. No freaks. (Pic from Tigersmack)

I am not the Jerk: I like eating cup o pizza sandwiches in the rain, watching Steve Martin movies cause I look like him , peeing on birds in the park and licking strangers on the subway; you eat beets raw, have climbed Tebow Mountain, and sweat freely and often. Take care of me!

Feathered Angel-winged Bangs Me — trying to sleep in the street in the Tuscaloosa Ghetto, pleading with you to give me a cigarette; you-choking on my odor, tripping over your purse trying to get away; at the last moment, our eyes meeting. Yours were blue. Can I have a dollar?

Wild Boi: I am shaven and sweaty (call me Les), I drink too much and I get into fights. In other words, I’m a Cajun with Six-toes on each foot searching for a mulleted lesbian field goal kicker. Like screaming and marking territory with urine? Let’s make meth together in my bathtub. Come be my Dixie Chick (the little fat one, not the good looking sisters)

God. Remember that summer you spent with your parents in Destin and how mad you were that they made you go? And how you were hopelessly bored until you saw the most gorgeous man you’d ever encountered strolling down the beach looking at you, skillfully removing your cutoff jorts with his piercing eyes? And how you spent the last month imagining him taking you while you wore a Gators Tebow #15 Blue throwback jersey, masturbating feverishly day and night, wishing he would reappear, just like in every Gator Fans homoerotic fantasy, but he never did because you were 15 and he would have gone to jail? That was me, and you just turned 18. You are my Gainesville Taxi…Let’s ride

Phil: I’m looking for a kindred slacker. Watch me eat doughnuts and throw up while I do tricks. It’s sexy! Well, i’ve never killed anyone with broken shards of a Smirnoff Ice bottle, wrapped their body in a Hefty Strong Flex bag, dragged it to the Tennessee River, dumped it in, smoked a Kool, and got my nails done to dispose of any DNA evidence left behind in the struggle…on a Thursday. Today is Wednesday, so call me soon for fun and more.

Tommy: MEOW! I need some string or some catnip. I want to try out some new plays. We can make one single plop together. Come be my Katie Couric

Text MSG Guy: I’m am your ‘Snap’ of crackle and pop in a bowl of soggy milky cereal. You must know all about Duncan Hines yellow cake. Fly me to the moon and watch me play among the stars.

Steve. Call me Peter Pan. I am a 30 something who can’t grow up (and, consequently, will never hit puberty) seeking a cocky Spread Option Amazonian Urbanite. Think of Family Circus’s Jeffy seeks Aeon Flux for circuitous walks around the Swamp and blumpkins all around. Looking for fun and feelin’ groovy!

Rich. Demented thin, short white man that is something of a pill. Will take your headaches away. Come fly with me and let me whisper sweet nothings in your ear of the never-never land of Kentucky football. Baby, Full disclosure: I’m a bagel.

Sly: Bitter, unsuccessful middle aged loser wallowing in an unending sea of inert, drooping Starkness looking for a needy leech-like hanger-on to abuse with dull stories, tired sex and Whispering Bill Anderson albums. I’m not on crack but I’d like to be! Looking for a companion for travel and laughs and maybe more.

Mark: Looking for a Dog Whisperer who can make me socialize with the pack. There is a little place in the jumbled sock drawer of my heart where you match up all the pairs, throw out the ones with holes in them, and buy me some of those neat dressy ones with the weird black and red geometrical Bulldog designs on them. Watch me get between your hedges. GATA!!!

(these are variations taken from actual personal ads)