Rich, Arrogant and Horny:

Looking for Love and Dirty Sex on The Web

By Rob Reuter

(Editor's Note, 2006: Before you ask: no, I can't believe that this dingbat's still out there looking for 'tang harder than a stranded astronaut. Hell, even Ken MacDonald's found a wife by now, and I guarantee you this dude's server costs've been higher than Ken's Ketamine bill by an order of magnitude. But because the guy's creepy persistence has kept this parody viably funny for seven years, I feel like I owe the apparently desperate fucker. So if you know the right Broken Trojan Herpes Horse to launch his way, email me immediately.)

Believe it or not, I will offer $10,000, money that normal men would rather spend on beer, cars or bail, to the person who introduces me to an appropriate trophy wife.

However, if you contact me yourself and I propose, I won’t give you the money. I don’t want some kind of gold digger, for Christ’s sake. However, some good third party should be compensated for their work on my behalf as pimp.

Why am I doing this? Let me just say that my goal is not just to get married – it goes beyond that, somewhere into the theories of chattel and ownership.

Why the Web? Why not pitifully begging for sex on the street?

People think I’m doing this because I have trouble meeting women. That’s why everyone asks me things like: "What’s the matter with you? Have you no respect for women? Haven’t you read the Emancipation Proclamation?"

Well, let me clarify the issue: I HAVE NEVER HAD A PROBLEM MEETING WOMEN. Like I have been bragging to my poker buddies and to Penthouse Forum for years, WOMEN THROW THEMSELVES AT ME. I OFTEN HAVE TO USE ELECTRIC CATTLE PRODS TO KEEP WOMEN AWAY FROM ME. I HAVE KISSED A GIRL, BUT I COULD NEVER INTRODUCE HER TO ANYONE BECAUSE SHE LIVES IN MEXICO.

However, I have never been able to find the one thing that would make me complete: power. Complete and absolute obedience. That’s what I’m willing to pay for. But please understand I’m not trying to buy love, just a person.

My point isn’t slavery, not at all. It’s about coming up with a bizarre sociological argument to justify the fact that I’m begging for sex on an international Web page.

Why marriages are failing, and why ownership is such a good idea.

Current statistics say that there is a serial killer using the Internet to hunt anonymous women every-

Whoops! Wrong statistic. Statistics say that half of all marriages will end in divorce. No one knows how many will end in gunfire. If I am making a decision about another person that could affect the rest of my life, I should take every available means to meet the woman who will give me happiness and pelvis-shattering orgasms, without requesting either of those things in return.

But we don’t use every option we have to find a mate. I just want know that I’ve used every available option to be sure I’ve done the right thing. I’m as romantic as the next guy, but divorce is not romantic. That’s why I want ownership; can you imagine if your car asked you for a divorce? You could just drive it into an abutment and get a new car that was less bitchy!

Who am I? Where are my pants?

I’m a thirty-five year old monogamous Gemini, 5’2" tall. I look exactly like Tom Cruise. I am hung like John Holmes. I can bend steel with my bare hands. I am bulletproof.

I am worth literally millions. I have more money than I know what to do with. However, I learned a long time ago that money will not buy happiness. It will, however, buy cliches.

My penis is tattooed with the phrase, "Not just for peeing anymore!" Sometimes, when I’m bored with my look, I carve on myself with a straight razor while weeping uncontrollably.

I consider myself a white-collar entrepreneur, if you consider the sales of small children off the back of a truck to be an entrepreneurial enterprise.

Like a horse. Really.

Dislikes:

Smoking. I despise it. Lips that touch tobacco will not touch mine. I would allow those lips to touch other parts of my body, but I would not pay $10,000 for it. I would pay $100. Contact me by e-mail.

Closed Minds. I hate people who are locked into one way of thinking and never consider any other way. Note: while I am thinking about it, please see my specific physical requirements for my mate lower on the page. These requirements are ABSOLUTE, and deviations WILL NOT BE TOLERATED! Yeah, closed minds. Hate ‘em.

Likes:

Sex and wife beating. And sex.

I also love kids. Children are smarter than we give them credit for. Just last week, a seven-year-old convinced me to invest in his beginning lemonade business. When I went back to the corner he was gone, and contrary to what he told me, there were no "Jack Meoff’s" listed in the phone book. That little scamp! What the hell, it was only $75,000…

In addition, I believe in honesty. Don’t you ever fucking lie to me.

Other interests:

Alternative medicine, aromatherapy, hypnosis, the powers of crystals, the wisdom of David Koresh, and karaoke. I believe in UFO’s. In fact, I am the captain of a UFO. Call me Captain Zord, Commander of the Martian Navy.

So, what’s wrong with me?

• Lengthy "rap sheet."
• Skin condition, occasionally contagious.
• Lust for strong drink, but not a drinking problem. I can’t have a drinking problem. I still have money.
• I think that fire is really pretty.
• People say I’m overly critical of my bad self.

Contact Information:

I am going to demand that you send me a picture before I agree to talk to you. Remember that personality is important, but not so important as physical attraction. Upon seeing you, I must have an immediate and irrational need to commit sexual acts with you that would embarrass Hugh Hefner.

People always say: "Come on! Looks aren’t as important as a good personality in the long run!" These people are stupid. A good personality is worth its weight in gold, but it also doesn’t weigh anything. And it’s not worth ten g’s.

My requirements are simple, and can be broken down into four simple words: big cans, small butt.

Regarding the cans: the bigger, the better. They say that more than can be fit into a champagne glass is a waste, and I agree… but remember that I drink a lot. If you want my undivided attention, provide me with medical records showing you had an iron bar welded to your spine so you can stand up straight.

Regarding the butt: I’m not that concerned about the butt. This is merely to weed out women who have big cans merely because they’ve maxed out the fat calls in every other part of their bodies.

A good rule of thumb is: If you are 5’11", you are an amazon freak and should leave me alone. If you are 4’11", unless you have a flat head you should consider a geek gig at a traveling circus. If you are between these two heights, you should contact me only if you are regularly mistaken for Pamela Anderson, Sandra Bullock, or that chick on the cover of the August, 1993 issue of Juggs.

C’mon; I’ve shown you my picture on this site, show me yours! You can get a picture put on a disk at Kinko’s! It costs you a buck! You cheap slut! I will knock you into next month if you don’t-

In Conclusion...

Sorry. I’m sure some of you think that I’m a closet ax murderer, and that’s unfortunate. We’ll never know if it would have worked out, will we? Just relax, have faith, send me that picture, and remember: you can’t swing an ax in a closet. You’ve got to use the right tool for the right job.

There is something I want you to really think about before you send me your picture: does it represent the "real you"? If so, obtain a different picture immediately. I don’t give a damn about anything but the sex, lady. If you ain’t naked with hooters that could cause a total solar eclipse, you ain’t getting a call back. Be creative! Saddles are cheap, and Kinko’s can eliminate those pesky gleams of intelligence in your eyes.

I just want everyone to realize that I understand I am being very selective, but remember: This is my money, and I believe that a selective consumer is a happy consumer.

*This offer is void if human cloning is perfected prior to proposal of marriage.

Latest Issue Table of Contents

April, 1999 Issue Table of Contents

Running Amok   Do We Really Need a Title?   Start Your Own Business   Breaking Up... For Corporate Stiffs

Moon Over Easter Bunny

Rich, Arrogant and Horny   The Final Word   Warning: Hazardous to Idiots   Reservoir Rats

The American Jerk™ and all contents © 1999 - 2005 by Rob Reuter and Paul St. Fakename, Esq., © 2006 by Rob Reuter.