Thanks to the ever expanding greed of the world, we now have an infinite number of ways to project our lies upon the desperate populace under guise of photoshopped avatars and exaggerated profiles. And while the whole world may indulge the valueless vacuum of facebook, twitter, and whatever other self-absorbed time thieves troll the waves of media, I sit in darkness staring at the portal to social freedom in complete fear that such an outlet would eventually lead to an actual physical meeting where my fat rolls and horrid face would be revealed. No matter what was on the other side, it couldn’t look as bad as me.
I have dreamed of it though. I used to look over the profiles of every so called social outlet, dreaming of what it must be like to be willing to share the intimate details of my life with pretty much anyone in the world. I can’t even share the details of my life with my parents. Well, I should say they don’t hear me when I do tell them the details of my life. I must have confessed the whole vampire curse to them a couple dozen times or so but it’s never once received a response. Part of my mind wonders if they actually do hear it, but it is too tiring to hear the same nonsense over and over again and that pretending I’m not saying anything is much easier than saying anything at all.
Some time ago I came upon a website where you can rummage through the profiles of a few hundred women in Russia, pay money to contact them, and I assume offer to marry them. They don’t project that it’s clearly to get in the country, but obviously that’s what it is. I had wondered if a pretty Russian girl would be willing to endure my company for a couple years to get her green card. Legally the whole citizenship thing is established after 2 years and she could finally be rid of my repulsive body and keep her citizenship. If there was any one thing I would put money on, it’s that no girl would ever willingly spend more time with me than they have to. In other words… no girl would spend enough time with me to notice my dark secret. It would almost be perfect if not for the fact that every cent I get from disability is suctioned straight from my hands. I can only imagine the kinds of girls looking to sell a couple years of their lives for a green card are also the kind that realize they get half your money when you get the divorce. They might want someone with a little more than zero, and possibly someone that isn’t a permanent occupant of their parent’s basement. For the first time ever I had a slight glimmer of optimism that I could concoct some kind of scheme to build a small amount of wealth, and through clever manipulation of the very confusing English language, I could sell myself as an exceptionally youthful middle aged adult, free of the burden of housing payments or secular obligation. Sounds good, huh?
I must have written my own falsetto profile a thousand times trying to come up with something that wasn’t a lie. Or at least only had a few small lies here and there. I wanted to come up with just enough to sound appealing but not so extreme that they would immediately realize they did not get what they signed up for. Instead, I wanted them to realize they indeed got exactly what they signed up for. After all, I don’t think you can just return to Russia if you don’t like the package. And they would be mistaken if they think I would return the package, no matter what condition it arrived in. They could probably send me a seal and I would be happy. So I set out to work composing the profile of a monster trying to pass as a normal guy. Maybe not “normal” but you know what I mean. I might eventually build the courage to send it to someone… eventually.