First off let me get the obligatory inroductory speech out of the way. My name is Ade Magnaye, blogger extrordinaire. Internet celebrity. Rock star. Stalker magnet. Member of that amazing group of gentlemen, The Man Blog. I usually order Chai Tea Latte, in the hope that you won’t see me as the usual frappucino-ordering ilk and that you see me as posh and shit. I bring my laptop everytime and pretend to surf the internet, but seeing I can’t afford your shop’s stupid expensive wireless, I actually stare at my desktop wallpaper every single time. I go every every other day to the coffee shop you work in so I could ogle at your wonderfully beautiful chinita face from a distance. And wank off in the bathroom.
So, dear cute barista, I hope you understand that I am no stalker. No siree, I don’t stalk people. Okay, there was a time when my next-door neighbor caught me hiding behind some bushes a couple of years ago, but that’s another story.
So yeah, do you understand where I’m getting at? No? Let me spell it out for you: me + you = win. Why not right? I honestly think I’m qualified. If you think of nothing more than calling the cops, let me show you some reasons you have to get it on with me:
- I have an unblemished criminal record
- I do not stalk people. Technically.
- I do not hump people the first time I talk to them.
- I know Linux. That has got to count for something, right?
- Internet. Celebrity. Booyah.
I deeply implore, cute chinita barista. Me + you = win. Now I shall publish this entry and I shall probably have my picture posted on all Seattle’s Best Coffee branches, with a sternly-worded warning to “do not let this schizoid in, lest he cause irrepairable emotional damage to customers and crew”, but c’mon. I look better than that guy you talk to for hours with apparent glee and happiness at the end of your shift. Okay, I would probably look better than a Jinggoy Estrada look-alike, but still. Also, your “boyfriend” might want to beat me up after reading this, so before his ape-sized fists land on my face and disfigure me forever, so I ask you choose me over him. I will give you hours of pure unadulterated fun. And overweight rock star secks.
Think about it.
Remember, underneath this blubber lies a heart so pure and fragile that it flutters like a gazelle in the serengetti whenever I see your cute brace-y smile. Wait.
P.S. You do understand, of course, that upon rejection of my offer you need to apply for a gun license because it’ll be necessary for your well-being, right? So there, no pressure.
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