By contributing writer Matt Hulten

Dear Cute Girl I Met at the Bar Who Told Me to Send Her a MySpace Message, Then Proceeded to Read Said Letter After I Sent It, but Has Not Bothered To Respond, Even Weeks Later,

So I guess my first question is, what the fuck? I mean, seriously, what’s your problem?

When we met the other night at the bar, I mean, I thought we really hit it off. I was under the impression that you thought the same. Frankly, I brought my A game to the bar with me that night. I don’t want to sound arrogant when I say that most any woman in the place would have been enamored with me. I was charming, I was witty, and I was funny. And I wasn’t even that drunk. Yet I found myself drawn to you. I thought we really connected and our conversation was both amusing and enlightening.


Note to self: Reduce amount of friends so as not to seem insecure…

When last call came around, I acted like a gentleman and treated you with the respect I thought you deserved, asking to see you again for a real date, instead of insisting that you return to my place to “watch Borat on DVD.” I decided that it was a better move to have you thrust your mouth toward a basket of breadsticks at the Olive Garden on another occasion instead of thrusting it toward my crotch that night. Perhaps that was my first mistake.

And what did you say in response to my invitation? I’ll tell you what you said. You said that you’d love to see me again. LOVE! Your words, not mine. Then you told me the best way to get a hold of you was through MySpace. Fucking MySpace! But whatever, I overlooked the fact that your preferred choice of communication was the same as a 16-year-old with no driver’s license. Maybe at the time I even thought it was endearing. Probably because I wanted to have sex with you, but that’s neither here nor there.

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So I went home and sent you a polite MySpace message later that week. Something friendly and inviting and not at all lecherous. This was not a note I would have sent to some random girl on Craigslist, but something I would have sent to a friend. A friend I wished to have sex with in the future, but again, that’s neither here nor there. I waited patiently for your response, checking my inbox every few days. Actually, hours. Okay, minutes.

Yet, here we are, weeks later and you still have not returned my message. This would be painful enough by itself, but the fact of the matter is I can see that you READ MY MESSAGE! The very MySpace you hold so dear has betrayed you! It has rolled on you the same way a cowardly stoolie rats out a mob boss to save his own hide. The status of my message went from “UNREAD” to “READ” almost instantly. Yet, my inbox remains empty. Empty like the dark hole in your chest where your soul should be.

What kind of psychopath tells someone to message them, then turns around, reads said message, and chooses to ignore it? It wasn’t as if you were hit by a train or had your typing hand cut off because you stole a loaf of bread. Those would both be excusable justifications for not returning my message in a prompt fashion. But I know you are in perfect message-writing health. Again, your precious MySpace has betrayed you. I can see that you’ve been online and to MySpace. I am not a fool, I understand what “Last Login Date” means. What I don’t understand is why you are such a whore. Such a dirty, godless whore.

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That “READ” status message haunts my feverish dreams. Why, cruel temptress, why have you played with my emotions so harshly? I deserve better, and to be blunt, I demand better.

I hope you burn in hell, you no message returning bitch.

Love,
Matt Hulten

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