Features, Tinder Fuckbois

Tinder Fuckbois: Week Two

This week was a particularly special one. I had the great pleasure of meeting, in the flesh, a very real Tinder fuckboi. I learned the hard way that these bois are not in fact creatures of ancient folklore or urban myth. They occasionally come disguised as semi-professional producers and, strangely enough, decent human beings– but only over shallow, sporadic texts, of course. It’s when you hit the bottom of your first cocktail that he nonchalantly asks/tells you, “so, back to my place?”

Maybe I was naive to assume a 1am meetup at an overrated LES bar was a simple, friendly business gathering, but maybe he earned his fuckboi badge for assuming it was something more. And maybe I should’ve known things were going to end badly when I described to him my quest to expose all offenders of fuckboiery and he exclaimed, “Oh no, I hope I’m not one of them!” Yes sir, unfortunately you are, and unfortunately I wasted a cute outfit and outstanding Kardashian-esque contour to meet you when I could have stayed home in my Hello Kitty onesie, getting emotional to Ryan Cabrera deep cuts, also known as my “happy place.”

ryan-cabrera-on-the-way-down-single

Oh well, you win some, you lose some! And I’m actually going to mark this one down as a win, as I ended up getting lost and taking shelter at a local drugstore where I indulged in a bag of Cheetos and finally purchased all the items I desperately needed but had been too lazy to pick up for the previous three weeks.

So now it’s back to showcasing the best kind of fuckboi– the kind that exists only as harmless 2-dimensional comedy at the screen of your phone and will never have the opportunity to awkwardly force-kiss you on Essex Street when a cordial Duggar-style side hug would have been generous.

Be sure to follow @tinderfuckbois on Twitter to stay updated on all these fine fellas throughout the week!

False advertising Frank, the man who could have had a decent shot at some pity ass if he didn’t openly disclose upon questioning that he is not in fact blind in any eye and simply has “poor peripheral vision.” Should’ve asked about the Jenners…

John is the type of dude who threatens to skin your dog alive if you don’t go to junior prom with him. Go. Do it for Sparky. 

Donald knows that if it’s not a selfie with a tiger, the next best way to a lady’s heart is one with the first lady, the fiercest lady, Michelle Obama. Fuckboi points for the extra LQ shot that he was most definitely only photobombing.

Hans should really keep his “hans” to himself. Good God. 

Alex, much like Kanye, knows “bitch” is a term of endearment at its core, so why not turn up the romance with a mountainside sunset pic?

I’m getting secondhand depression for Matthew, the 21 year old with dreams of children and little league baseball coaching. Poor thing. 

John is the best kind of fuckboi– one that knows your priorities like he knows all the lyrics to “Livin’ On A Prayer.”

Yes Maxim, feeble white man hiding behind a gun, please clarify your place of work as if it wasn’t already painfully evident. 

Eduardo is a man who knows what he wants and isn’t going to let a glaring set of braces at the ripe age of 22 stop him from owning his sexuality.

I’m worried about Tommy’s health, not only because of his very real allergy to “broke,” but because my human instinct tells me that bulging mass is either an extraterrestrial fetus or something else he should really get checked out. Looks like he’s doing all right though!

 

 

March 15, 2016

About Author

Krista Krista is a fervent nightcore enthusiast with an impressive collection of sloth-themed paraphernalia. When she is not busy convincing her co-workers that Christian rock is a worthwhile art form, she can be found making an ass out of herself in front of important people.


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