Comrade X's Adventures in Online Degradation

O my Comrades, let me tell you a story, a story of what happened to Comrade X on one of his many meetings with the many insane women he met online. This one happened some years ago, but it is still fresh in his memory. It went like this:

I received a message from a woman with a vaguely Russian-sounding profile name, and I responded. Over the course of the next week or two, I received many other messages which did not refer to the messages I myself was sending, but existed in a kind of online limbo, referring only to themselves. Sensing that this person either wasn't reading my emails, or wasn't entirely sane, I stopped responding, only to receive a hasty reply of "Where are you? Why aren't you writing me? Aren't we going out on Thursday?" Needless to say, I was shocked, as going out on Thursday was never mentioned and going out at all was furthest from my mind, as I had assumed that the person I was "corresponding" with was merely a spambot sending random messages designed to get me to buy unspecified products.

But being the adventurous Revolutionary that I am, I decided to check out the revolutionary potential of this individual. She picked a place to meet, a bar on a cross street where there is a bar on every corner. I arrived, looked at the first bar full of people spilling into the street, looked at the second full of people listening to live music, looked at the third full of people sitting at outdoor tables having very animated conversations, and thought, "This looks like a lively spot." But then I looked at the bar we were actually meeting in. Dark. No visible sign. Foreboding. I entered, and the only person in the place was a woman whom I didn't recognize. Yes, it was her. Nothing like her profile picture, of course. Heavily made-up. All signs already pointing to disaster.

Two seconds into the conversation she's already off and running, barely stopping to breathe as she jumps manically from one topic to the next. The monologue went something like this:

"Yes, I live just down the street -- I have two kids -- no, I just left them there, they're old enough, they can call me if there's a problem. No I don't own a house! The older one is eight, so they're fine. Eight and four. I was an actress in New York. I have a friend who's an agent in LA and he says that they're desperately looking for heavy women over 40 to fill roles, so I could have a real career down there, I just need to lose 40 pounds. I had one in New York, but I gave it up. I moved out here. I go to college now. I study Russian. I don't know, I just like it. In New York, a Japanese millionaire told me that I was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen and would pay me a million dollars to become his mistress in Tokyo. I was a hand model. He said I had the most beautiful hands ... I was a great actress. Everyone wanted me. I was on Broadway, almost. I've been on over 200 first dates in the past two years. I rarely have a second one. Oh, let's go to that bar up the street! Oh, wait, I can't, the bartender there would die. I had a passionate love affair with him a year ago and he's not over me AT ALL. He said he'd kill himself if I didn't marry him. He probably would kill himself if he saw me with another man. Oh, I just can't go there, I hate drama. Did I tell you I was an actress? I was on Broadway, almost. And a model. I'm going to the bathroom -- you pay the bill and we'll go across the street."

At this point, I thought that it would be a good time to skip out, but I wanted to go to the bar across the street, so I didn't leave. HUGE mistake. This is the conversation that ensued there, AFTER she morphed into a complete psychotic (no, she wasn't actually psychotic initially, just deranged). Really, a total change of personality, from megalomaniac to vicious pit bull:

(Staring at a black velvet painting over the bar with some planet and a unicorn and a wizard on it): "Do you like that painting?"
"Not really."
"I LOVE it!"
"Uh, why?"
"It's beautiful!"
"It's perhaps ironic, at best."
"No it's not."
Turning suddenly to some random woman: "Hi, I know you!" Some minutes of conversation pass between the two of them as she turns her back to me and finally the other woman walks away rather quickly, looking confused. Then: "See that table full of guys?"
"Yeah."
"I want to go talk to them."
"Uh, okay."
"Don't you care?"
"No. Why should I?"
"Maybe they'll fight you for me. Everyone wants me."
"Really? Go on over and test your theory."
"Why are you being so aggressive?"
"I'M being aggressive?"
"I can't believe you don't even care about me going and talking to those guys."
"Why would ... "
"I love this drink! Order two more."
"No, I think I'm done."
"Well, I'm getting another and YOU'RE paying for it!"
(Mumbling.) "I'm paying for it already."
"What?"
"Nothing"
"Why can't you be nice?"
"What?"
"I'm going over to that table."
"I ... "
"Let's go to another bar!"
"Shouldn't you be getting back to your kids?"
"Fuck them! Why are you telling me what to do with my kids?"
"Well, it's late and ... "
"They're fine. Let's go to another bar."
"The one where the bartender is going to kill himself over you?"
"What?"
"You know, the one ... "
"Are you making fun of me?"
"Uh, yes."
"You are the rudest man I've ever met! I'm going to the bathroom. Order us two more drinks and we're going to another bar."

It was here, when she lurched off and staggered towards the women's room, that I finally decided to make my quietus. Why did I stay so long? Who knows. And believe me, there was WAY MORE of the above kind of conversation, I just can't remember it all. It has been a number of years now, but the stuff I remember I have attempted to faithfully record here for your entertainment and edification.

"Is everyone on these online sites insane?" I thought then. I don't know, but I didn't stick around to find out.

What a bitch!