The Best of Craigslist - Casual Encounters

If you work in an office and you're a pervert (like me), no doubt you have found your way over to Craigslist's Casual Encounters forum. Since surfing porn sites is an out and out faux pas in the corporate world the Casual Encounters forum is one of the few safe places to communicate with other perverts without being judged upon by the square world. Sound too good to be true? It is!

If you've actually ever surfed through the posts you'd know that its a long swim through a cold sea of cock shots and gay fantasy before you find anything that's actually worth reading or responding to. In an effort to help cut through the red tape I've decided to put a few of the best posts I have found on the CE forum here on this blog (complete with 'reply to' link) so that you might avoid having to sift through another 50 dick-cam photos. I have also provided a brief explanation of why I thought the post was a worthy read.










Tim Horton's Fantasy - m4w - 20 (Brampton)

Reply to: pers-824750656@craigslist.org [?]
Date: 2008-09-02, 11:43PM EDT

Ever dreamed about doing the guy working over the counter at Tim Horton's? If so you have found the right post. I will be working tomorrow evening (SEPT 3rd) and hope to make your dream a reality. MOSTLY ORAL, but lets see how it goes down. I am looking for straight and bi WOMEN ONLY, single WOMEN, married WOMEN, or 2 or more women. No one over 35, prefer white, indian, asian, hispanic. MUST BE FIT. VERY DISCREET, d&d free just like me and HIV/STD NEG! PLEASE REPLY BACK WITH A PICTURE AND I WILL ARRANGE THE DETAILS OF HOW THIS WILL GO ABOUT... *** NO GAYS BI-MEN, TRANNYS, OR CROSS DRESSERS *** * NO ESCORTS*




Why this posting is great:
I liken this post to trying to rob a bank by first telling everyone in the bank that your gun is NOT loaded and then proceeding to make ridiculously detailed demands about how you would like them to hand over their money.
Do you have the balls to try something like that? I know I don't. But this guy does!
First he boldly proclaims that he is a Tim Horton's employee. In fact, for whatever reason, its the main selling point of his post. Then oblivious to the fact he's just pretty much defined every womans anti-fantasy, he goes on to drop a paragraph of exclusionist demands where he alienates and rejects the people most likely to be browsing the Craigslist casual encounters forum (gays, bi's, tranny's, cross dressers et al). Its a level of self-delusion on par with that of celebrity mom's who release tell all books about their daughters and then go on a media tour to discuss how everything they've done as a mother has always been in the best interest of their child.
True Story: My friend Paul used to work at a Tim Horton's. We were out once at a club chatting up a couple girls when one of them looks at Paul and asks “so what do you do for work?”. Paul's answer - “I have AIDS”. What the fuck?! As the girls walked away with disgust painted all over their face just like the clown-whore makeup they were wearing I had no choice but to ask Paul “What did you say that for?”. Paul answered with the voice of perfect reason, “Well I work at Tim Hortons man. I don't know...I guess I thought the AIDS thing would somehow give me more of a chance”. Touche Paul.







nice guy with small cock looking for small girl - m4w - 27 (york region)

Reply to: pers-824737419@craigslist.org [?]
Date: 2008-09-02, 11:29PM EDT

Well I hav ea small cock and I am looking for a girl to meet and get to know and maybe have some fun with. I have a small cock...not pathetically small or anything but 5 inches long and not hugely thick.

I am looking for a girl that may not enjoy sex with big cocks that may find it painfull or uncomfortable, since I will most likely be a perfect fit for you and it will be magical, I do love to orally please as well.



Why this post is great:
Does anybody really know who they are these days?
Helping people “find their inner self” has become a billion dollar industry dominated by washed up 40-something white women who dress like high school drama teachers. In spite of this disturbing trend there are still those out there, like the author of this post, who can look themselves in the mirror and make sense of what it is they see.
He has obviously come to grips with the fact that no matter how you slice it he will always have no choice but to be “balls deep”, and for him that’s all right. In lieu of gut-crushing, organ bruising, deep dick fucking he reasonably offers the alternative of soft, calm and “magical” love making. He even readily offers oral sex like a used car dealer trying to push a lemon buy adding in a free set of tires. I know you ladies out there are asking yourselves “Is this for me?”. It probably isn’t. But at least he’ll be okay with that.







only hairy pussies will be liked by a good looking guy

Reply to: pers-824713949@craigslist.org [?]
Date: 2008-09-02, 11:07PM EDT



hi,
I am a good looking guy and looking for girl who has hairy pussy, if you keep it hairy or you have hairy pussy, I will make sure that she get divine pleasure from my tongue.
I will lick any hairy pussy, sorry but shaved pussy doesn't turns me on
Asian girls, or any other race welcome, your age and race is not issue, all that matters is your pubic hair which drives me crazy



Why this post is great:
A lot of people say they’re into retro, but do they really mean it? For the most part 'retro' has become a magnet for the insincere who need a clear cut way of expressing the fact they have nothing to offer the present day world. However every so often someone will remind us all of just how powerful retro can be if done in the right spirit. The author of this post is a refreshing example of retro done right. He’s willing to take it way past anywhere you and your friends might go by shopping for cool or ironic second hand clothing in Kensington on a Sunday. When people think of the hip 70’s and early 80’s the hairy pussy is as inextricable a thought picture as polyester bell bottoms, afro’s, disco balls and moustaches. It’s part of what defined the era. The weak of spirit will glibly pass over the hairy pussy hoping it will eventually fade into the ether of the neglected past; the author of this post single-handedly refuses to allow this to happen. You can’t help but applaud someone who’s attention to detail and need for authenticity would drive them to post something like this. My only fear for the author of this post is that there aren’t enough passionate female retro-ists out there to meet his demand.









I'LL DO ANYTHING TO ANYONE - m4mw - 30 (dt)

Reply to: pers-824753487@craigslist.org [?]
Date: 2008-09-02, 11:46PM EDT

Now!





Why this post is great:
This post is an Orwellian masterstroke that reminds us all of the essential power of the English language. Consider for a moment: this pervert has invited you into a world of depravity as boundless as the human imagination itself.
In this world without limits your desires need not even be sexual. Perhaps you fancy having someone around to cover you head to toe in Vaseline while eating ice cream and watching Tivo'd reruns of Entourage. Is he up for it? YES!
Clearly this falls under the activity category of Anything.
This post is almost like a dare - “think of the most perverted thing you can possibly think of and I'll beat you in 10 words or less!”, proclaims its author.
Its a linguistic tour de force that would send even Chomsky's mind aflutter.
It concisely answers all the questions one could possibly have:
Who? anyone.
What? anything.
When? NOW.

This last detail is especially endearing because in today's on demand world time is not only money, its even more valuable than money and the author is savvy to this.
I can't think of anyone in their right mind who wouldn't want to reply to this posting.

(Senior) Citizen Kane: why old people own and control

12:30 and my stomach is feeling as empty as a politicians election year promises.
Fuck.
If you work in the Square One area you know that fast food aside there aren't many quality eating options for someone who is health conscious. Having been painted into this corner many times before I already know where I'm going to end up: The Marche.
About The Marche - it’s a market style restaurant decorated like a forest where a bunch of food is scattered all over the place . You're supposed somehow pick out a lunch from this anarchy using only a tray and God's grace.
If you’ve ever wondered what it would feel like for your brain to melt from indecision I suggest you go someday.

So I go and after choosing a couple food items that I'm not sure I even want to eat out of pure frustration, I get slapped in the face to the tune of a 500 person line waiting to cash out. Its was unreal. A long spiralling queue of business professionals carrying food trays that curled all the way around the perimeter of the restaurant like that picture of the snake eating its own tail. Was I even that fucking hungry?...
Weighing my options I decided against just walking out and stealing my lunch and chose instead to force my way into the unorganized mass of people, somehow hoping that there was an order governing what looked to me to be a situation of pure madness.

5 minutes....

10 minutes....

15 fucking minutes....

So finally it’s my turn to cash out and as I walk up to the register feeling like Moses come out of the desert, it happens...
I’m completely blindsided by two seniors who have cut to the very front of the line with this “what?? where am I ?” look on their face so that the million other people waiting will feel too guilty to bother them about it.
I, however, decide to not be a pussy and proceed to call bullshit on the events unfolding before my own eyes. So in a polite manner I tap the old guy on the shoulder and say “Excuse me Sir but there's actually a line and a lot of people, including me, have been waiting a very long time to cash out”. As I finish saying this to him he just stares at me blankly like like I've been reading him names out of a phone book. Just then I take a moment to look around and I notice it: everyone’s looking at me like I just pulled the plug on Terry Schiavo.

The dude behind me pipes up and is like “hey how about having some respect”
What?
As I felt the sting of my jaw hitting the floor I spun back around to notice that the cashier had this look on her face and was staring right at me. I knew exactly what she was thinking in her head because I’d seen that look before:

At a party back in 2001(?) – we were watching the news and they had some shit about the Paul Bernardo case on TV cause I think he was going under parole review and for a second they cut to a shot of a done up Karla Homolka looking like she just had a makeover at Glamour Shots. Oblivious to the fact I was in a room full of people I didn’t know cause I had just hit a line of coke in the washroom I blurted out “You know I think I’d fuck Karla Homolka”. The girl sitting across from me shot over this look…

It was the same look the cashier was giving me now. It basically meant that you were going to burn in hell for being scum.
WTF?
Sorry that I committed the grievous social faux pas of believing that standing in an established line for 15 minutes while my food loses heat and flavour entitles me to the right to pay directly after the person who preceded me in said queue. I mean WHY the fuck would I believe that?

Fuck me right?

So anyways, as I stood there fucking the what for a few moments, dazed by the fact everyone seemed to be supporting this blatant violation of my civil rights, the old people finished paying for their food and hobbled away from the cash while everyone in the immediate area shone smiles made of warm sunshine at them and muttered shit like “I’m so glad they’re not dead!” and “aren’t they just like the couple from the Notebook!”

Just then I noticed the old lady. As she was walking away she had stopped to turn back, giving me a look of her own (there was a lot of interpreting ‘looks’ during this tragic vignette). Her look while non-verbal in nature, spoke to me in the voice of a 7 foot black man and this is what it said:

“FUCK YOU! WHAT?!??!?!?”

Here’s the thing about old people. They’re not half as crippled or incapable as you assume they are. But they know all the assumptions you’re making about them and instead of railing against it in a futile protest to demonstrate that they’re neither handicapped nor retarded (which would be a total waste of their remaining life) they’ve done the smart thing and turned everyone’s biased assumptions into an opportunity to Keiser Soze their way through what little time they have left among the living.

After absorbing the psychic hate beaming at me from all directions and paying for my food I glanced over towards the couple again. They were now seated and laughing together casually, the kind of laugh you would expect from a twenty-something couple. As I paced my way out of the food court I couldn’t help but think to myself that those old people were living far better than I might ever in all the days I have left.
With Viagra and Lipitor and a socialized Canadian pension fund at their disposal for all I know they were going home after eating and not waiting in line to have a 4 hour V-sponsored orgy followed by some prime time television and the liberty of knowing that the only thing they have on schedule for tomorrow is whatever the fuck they want.

I on the other hand would finish my cold lunch to go home and design lies I could later tell to women in bars so that they might find me cool enough to sleep with and then hopefully find some way to kick them out before 1a.m. After that I’d force myself into a restless 5 hour tossing and turning session before getting up to fight my way over to the office where my shitty desk job lays in wait.

I couldn’t help but stop to ask myself the following question: Who’s winning here?

The only answer I could come up with: Not me.

Abuse of Language - things people say but don't mean

People say a lot of things throughout the course of a day. Sometimes they say things that don't really mean anything. Here are some of those things...


“How's It Going?”

Nobody knows for sure what 'it' is supposed to represent. Maybe 'it' is that particular day, or 'it' could also be just life in general. Maybe by 'it' the person means the rash you have on your balls. You just won't ever know will you. Still, whatever 'it' may be you're expected to describe – as quickly as you can of course since the person who asked is already walking away – how 'it' is 'going'. If this were any more ambiguous it would be part of the American economic strategy.
What's most disturbing about the way this greeting is used is the absolute lack of sincerity. For example, today as I was leaving the office I asked the Korean guy who works at the convenience store at the bottom of my building “How's it going?” with such insincerity and indifference I felt as though I had just bukkaked on the face of the English language. Words were never meant to be so empty. Of course by asking I obligated him with having to reply in kind with some absolutely hollow piece of verbiage like 'pretty good' or 'not bad' or worst of all 'it's going', which is possibly the most meaningless thing you can say in the entire English language. At the end of it all you're left standing there feeling a mutual sense of loss and shame hoping that next time you'll both have the sense to politely ignore each other.


“Everything Happens for a Reason”

Let's be clear -
This line was designed by horny 20 year old guys to get emotionally confused girls to sleep with them. Its express purpose is for situations like when I'm in Cancun and I've managed to talk a tight 20 year old back to my resort room but can't seal the deal cause she has reservations about feeling like a whore. That's when this baby comes into play. While it is in essence a statement without content, at best a lay man's expression of his belief in causation, it works for the following reasons:

Girls don't understand science
Girls feel empowered by participating in activities that can be viewed as neo-spiritual
It sounds superficially plausible enough to disarm immediate skepticism
Girls most often are looking for an excuse

So when the party is over and you're both in your hotel room and she's like “but I don't really know you”, just say “ I know, but we're both here now and everything happens for a reason” and see if your dick isn't in her mouth before you even finish clapping off the last syllable.




“Life is Short”

No it isn't. What will you ever experience that's longer than your own life? Answer: Nothing.
What confused people who are easily hooked by Nike slogans really mean to say when they drop 'life is short' is something like 'Im going to be dead a lot sooner than I'd like to be'. This isn't the same thing as life being short. Short is a relational term that's meant to compare things. For example, if you put me in the men's locker room for the Chinese basketball team I'd be clocking porn star length. Move me over to the U.S. men's locker room and suddenly I'm half the man I used to be. Nothing about me changed of course, just the relation between me and my surroundings. The point is life is life and it can't be compared against itself in the same way you would compare dick's in a locker room. Like I tell the women when my pants come off: it's not long or short. It just is.

An Open Letter to the Guy Who Pissed On My Toilet Seat

To: The Guy Who Pissed On My Toilet Seat (Lower level guest bathroom)


What the fuck?

Do you actually expect me to believe you were so pre-occupied and oblivious that you didn't notice the inch deep puddle of piss you left around my toilet seat?
Of course not.
So then what does this mean?
Is this your way of quietly saying fuck you?
Is this some bad joke I'm not getting?
Do you think that I'll not notice or that maybe I'll think it was someone else even though you're obviously the last person who's used my guest washroom ?

How do you manage to look down, see what you have done and instead of doing anything just leave?

Unconscionable. Utterly unconscionable.

After sopping your mess up myself and imagining that this must be the male equivalent of sitting through a rape kit I couldn't help but think in abstract about men's washrooms everywhere and how your kind have rendered their usage a practice in masochism.

You want to know what I think, Guy Who Pissed On My Toilet Seat?

I think that there is a feeling that the English language hasn’t found a word for yet. It’s approximate to some muddy mix of fear, anxiety, panic, defeat and resignation. It’s the feeling you get when you’re a man outside of the confines of your own home and you realize you need to take a shit.
This feeling doesn't need to exist but because of people like you it does.

I was at Lee's Palace this weekend and I guess you were too, because even though the water in the men's room wasn't working the floor was still soaked with what I could only assume to be a thick layer of stagnant piss. I couldn't really tell you much more about what the men's room was like. After taking a few steps in I was forced to run back out because of a smell I could only describe as “dead bodies”.
To conclude my story, I pissed on the wall outside of the club in a comfort far superior to what I would have experienced inside the men's washroom. As the slow trickle of my weak stream, caused by a mildly enlarged prostate, hit the spray painted bricks of Lee's back alley wall I wondered to myself if you were even aware of the fact that by making the men's restrooms of the world unusable you were forcing the world itself into becoming a toilet?
Maybe you are aware.
Maybe you're an anarchist like Heath Ledger's Joker who just “wants to see the world burn”.

I don't know.
What I do know is that there is a problem when I would rather shit my pants than use the restroom because somehow when you add everything up its the cleaner thing to do. I mean don't you ever get fazed by what it is you're creating?

All I'm hearing about everywhere these days is how far the world is coming along and how there might be a black President and that there's a workable cure for cancer on the horizon and that the LHC will unravel all the mystery's of our existence...

But riddle me this Guy Who Pissed On My Toilet Seat:
How the fuck can we be ready to mess with Higgs-Boson when as a society we can't even collectively maintain a passable standard of cleanliness in our shared facilities??
Does that sound like a reasonable power/responsibility ratio to you?

Anyways, I'm not inviting you to my next party and I hope you're “pissed” off about it.

Sincerely,

K-

Alone and Naked: a cautionary tale of why every man in a relationship shold be thankful for his woman

So I got dumped.

After three weeks of crying like a pussy and making desperate 3 a.m. “take me back” phone calls that I'll NEVER admit to having made, I realized that its time to get back out there.
The only problem is that I don't even know where out there is anymore. The singles scene has and will always be a fairweather friend capable of delivering nights of incredible highs and earth shattering lows. What would it bring me this time around?
Me and the guys decided to head down to Madison's, a college bar near the Annex, to find out. The night proceeded as follows:

10:30

Spirits are high. We're in the car on the way down hyping each other up with all the usual pre-game talk; channelling the right mix of swagger and prick that no slut can resist. This typically isn't my kind of thing but if this is what the singles scene was about nowadays then it would have to be my kind of thing. My mentality: Go with the flow.


11:00

We arrive and its raining lightly. We hop in line and wait. Right when we get to the front two chicks jump ahead of us and then, after they've firmly established their position, ask “is it okay if we go in before you guys?”. They ask with an air of expectant entitlement, as though because they have tits any request they make of men while at a bar must automatically be obeyed. After all it's all about them right? All hail the pussy! Tremble in the cold rain while it runs amok making stupid comments inside the warmth of the bar!
Fuck that.
What I want to say to these two is:

It's not my fault you're so ugly that you need 4 hours to prepare yourself to go out and so you feel extra slighted by the fact god decided to make it rain and ruin the face you've painted on over the one he gave you. Fuck you and take a number.

I don't say this though because the night is young and I don't want to mess with my chi. I have been away from the singles scene for a very long time but not long enough that I can't remember how delicate the balance of factors is for things to go your way. I let it slide and we're into the bar shortly after.


11:30

Once we're in we notice that the ratio is awful. This is a huge blow to our positive energy. Bravely we head to the bar and decide to try and make the best of the night. After getting our first round we settle in and for fun decide to do a head count of guys to girls. Our result: 28 to 9 guys. Of the 9 girls in the immediate area 6 were already talking to other guys and the remaining three were what I like to refer to as 'last call only'. Our once good humour has been tarnished by the omnipresence of dick. We brace ourselves for the ever increasing probability that we will once again be going home to broadband and the hand.

We decide to stay put, shoot the shit with each other and let the cards fall where they may. At least we're in good company and clever enough to keep each other entertained if nothing else. We talk sports and drink for the next hour until my buddy Nick decides that he's ready to run 'last call' tactics. It's 12:30. I feel like we're going straight from the 7th inning stretch to the bottom of the 9th but I don't say anything. I'm going with the flow.


12:45

We start our own bar game called count the Affliction t-shirts. Basically you count how many people are wearing Affliction shirts and then subtract that total from the number wearing Ed Hardy shirts and that's how many shots you're obligated to hit. If the total is over 10, you don't have to do any shots. We ended at a total of 12.
What the fuck happened to fashion in bars? I thought we saw the lowest point with the Von Dutch trucker hat, but this is for sure as bad if not worse.


1:00

Like a coward I call my ex hoping somehow she'll want to see me at some point in the night. She doesn't answer. Later the next day I'd find out that she got hammered and slept over at some guys house. It was like having Chernobyl happen in my soul. Here I was at a bar struggling to make sense of the chaos surrounding me and feeling discouraged and alone while she was getting fucked sideways in some dude's apartment. I thank god for gun control because I'm sure if I had a loaded weapon waiting for me when I got home I'd top myself.

1:30

We move into the live music room and things go from 'bad' to 'living hell'. What we walked into was a scene that took a piece of me that I'm sure I'll never get back. The horror...

A forty something drunkard with an acoustic guitar and a mic singing barely in key, on the verge of crying – so impassioned was his delivery.
A make shift dancefloor of guys circle humping the few girls present.
A few couples grinding spastically and off rhythm while sweating on each other.

The song being played: Pink Floyd's Wish You Were Here.

The entire scene was as inappropriate as watching someone give a handjob at a funeral. I was overcome by a world-crumbling absurdity the likes of which had left Nietzche a mute. Is this happening? Is this hell? Pasty college kids dry fucking to Wish You Were Here in a room smelling gently of puke and sorrow.


2:00

We make our way over to another room where some asshole on the piano is playing a Beatles mega-mix. Everyone in the room is singing along, not because they like the songs so much as they're drunk and they know the words.
I'm sure a lot of things were also going on in this room but I couldn't notice anything anymore. Mentally my night was over and I was somewhere else, somewhere far away and warm. In my head, Duran Duran's Ordinary World : “where is the life that I recognize? Gone away...”


4:00

After dropping everyone off and getting home I already feel hungover. There's a puzzling ache in my balls that I try and solve with three consecutive rounds of masturbation – to no avail. When I come for the last time it increases the sharpness of the pain in my head and I start to tear up. Sitting alone in the emptiness of my apartment I wonder what is wrong with me?
There is this violence in my soul that hasn't been there for the longest time and from it springs deep wells of pain and want. Then I remember....this is the feeling, this violence, of a man who has no love.
It's the feeling that keeps me up wondering about whether or not my ex is fucking someone else, thinking about the myriad of reasons why she dumped me:
maybe she's bored of fucking me and wants new dick
maybe she never really liked me in the first place
maybe I didn't do everything I could have to make her happy
maybe she thinks she can do better
maybe she's fallen for someone else

and on and on and on and on until it's fucking sunrise and I'm still naked on my bed in a post-jerk off foetal position.

The Moral of the Story:
Guys, I know if you're in a relationship and you're happy, society does very little to reinforce in you a sense of robust masculinity. Single guys get all the glory. They make for the best TV characters, they have more time to spend with their guy buddies and it seems like they always have a story about their crazy lives that makes you feel like you're missing out on everything. I won't lie, being single can at times be a passport to unforgettable fun. Some of the best and worst times I've ever had in my life have come as a result of me being single and looking. My friends, who are all pretty much professional bachelors, have stories that'll keep you on the edge of your seat for weeks. But like anything that sounds too good to be true so to is the illusion of the male single life (unless you're The Clooney).

The high points are less frequent than the low's and even when the times are good there is always that violence – that black hole of want that always has something to prove, that always wants to swallow the world whole. It sits inside of you and undoes you completely in the moments when the world isn't dancing to your tune.
It comes from not having the love of a caring partner to calm and center you. If you have a girl and she loves you, your life is more than likely a sunny place no matter what the weather. You can live life with a serenity of knowing that you'll never have a night like I had at Madison's. The spirit crushing low's. For the privilege of being able to pass through life without these pains I suggest you take a moment and appreciate your girl and all she brings to your life. No doubt she can be a bitch at times and maybe its not always roses, but at least you're not the guy wanting to hang himself at some college bar while she's out fucking some dude and crashing at his apartment. And that's gotta be worth something.

no.0

The Fool is the spirit in search of experience. He represents the mystical cleverness bereft of reason within us, the childlike ability to tune into the inner workings of the world. The sun shining behind him represents the divine nature of the Fool's wisdom and exuberance. On his back are all the possessions he might need. In his hand there is a flower, showing his appreciation of beauty. He is frequently accompanied by a dog, sometimes seen as his animal desires, sometimes as the call of the "real world", nipping at his heels and distracting him. He is seemingly unconcerned that he is standing on a precipice, apparently about to step off.

In General

This site will exist as long as I'm interested in maintaining it. I'll do my best to update it in a timely manner but if the real world comes nipping hard at my heels output might sputter. I suggest subscribing to the blog using the handy link that has been provided so that you don't have to keep coming back to the page only to find there's nothing new. Sign up and we'll do the work for you.

There is no 'theme' that is the focus of the writings you will find here with respect to content. This isn't a blog that's "about" something in particular. The topics will vary at my discretion. You can expect, however, that the posts here will be:

- the starting point of a discussion I believe people should be having
- general observations regarding things that I believe might sometimes be taken for granted
- real world stories
- fictional pieces with no express purpose
- an examination of society's values and attitudes

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