While I know it doesn’t really work like this, I like to imagine that men sending messages on dating sites are just like teenagers from the bad disco that we all went to as 14 year olds.
They psyched themselves up to walk over to Mandy Williams to ask her to dance after spending 5 minutes in the corridor practicing beforehand. Sadly it was never likely to work out as Mandy was a clear foot taller and in reality was probably being groomed by someone 5 years older who had a car and enough bumfluff to get served.
Sadly, we’re not in the middle of some imaginary Pulp song when life was so much simpler and Jarvis Cocker still had it. It’s 2016 and this is the sort of charming message that constitutes an opening exchange on a dating site from the menfolk of the internet dating world;

I’m going to imagine that this is a question rather than a statement so I’ll take it as one. The only way that I can imagine giving you a footjob is if your penis contained the only remaining source of red wine in the world and I was trapped in the audience while the more out of touch members of our current government were performing a rewritten dramatisation of the last 5 years of Eastenders episodes complete with posh boy mockney accents.

I’d do it then and only then. 

I’m actually having a little trouble believing that this guy is actually 29. I can’t help but wonder if he escaped my fantasy pulp song, has become flesh and immediately joined up okcupid to start propositioning women.
If he messages you I apologise and hopefully I’ll figure out some way to rid him from the world by employing the new ghostbusters which will at least have the simultaneous benefit of pissing off a few MRAs

At big question towers, this may be our favourite for its rapier like wit and concise charm. Unfortunately, he forgot to ask me a question. Had he requested a foot job or a friends with benefits like situation we could have bummed by now.

More fool him.

I hate to bring looks into this but this photo looks like the last thing you see prior to being bludgeoned to death before your liver is eaten with some fava beans and a nice bottle of white lightning. 

For the record, I do like leather, particularly when it is providing some kind of protective barrier for the cloud of STIs that you inevitably carry.

Please don’t hurt me and if you could get your eyes to stop following me around the room, that’d be awesome thanks.

I bet you £100 that this guy has never considered what saying the extra ‘y’ and ‘u’ actually sounds like. To me it sounds like a parody local DJs from the 80s and let’s be honest, they don’t have a great track record. Particularly when they have a sort of poverty Craig David vibe about them going on.
I do sort of wonder if he’ll keep replying to me once a month every month. Long after the glint has left my eyes and I’m slowly turning into dust, he’ll be there adding extra letters to the end of words thinking that it’s somehow endearing!

It isn’t endearing.