(James, I wouldn't blame you if decided against putting this up on your website. It has zero to do with Baltimore or violence. The Khan's assessment of his digital matches just sort of got me thinking about one of the last Internet dates I had.)

I spot her in the parking lot. Lord have mercy, I didn't hold no illusions she'd be petite, but.......goddam. She's gotta be four bills. Are those ripples in my drink from her footsteps?

I inspected her pictures closely enough. She didn't have a double chin. Her arms weren't HUGE. I figured she'd just be medium big, and maybe too insecure to post the full body shot. She described herself as curvy.

Don't get me wrong. I love chubby women, I date them almost exclusively, but I at least need to be able to hear the stereo when I'm going down. It's not too late to run away, I don't HAVE to go on this date. "Come on Sexy-T, don't be a coward. Your ancestors hunted mammoths on the frozen tundra, for fuck's sake! Do it for them.", says the voice in my head.

I call the bartender over. Time for some Dutch courage. First dates can be nerve-wracking. Unless you have sociopath-level confidence, a little bit of firewater helps you both lighten up and have fun.

I never set out to get my female companions drunk. That's low class and unnecessary. Just a little bit of booze gives 'em all the excuse they need to act slutty. This is probably my thirtieth or so blind internet date. I'm a pro. Self proclaimed "King of the First Date". Lucky black shirt with black snaps, just like Johnny Cash? Check. Just the right amount of hair grease? Check. Clean socks? Check. These affairs may as well be scripted. They all end the same.

I would consider the night to be a smashing success if all we did was share a few laughs and some good conversation. That's enough for me. I truly just enjoy the company of women. I never bring up sex or talk dirty on a first meeting, never act inappropriately. I'm not a complete pig. These women are someone's sister, someone's daughter, someone's wife. I've never in my life been accused of acting ungentlemanly. I'm also almost 40 now, and no longer a slave to my biological urges. I'm a servant to them, possibly. I know, I know, semantics. The problem is, I don't know how to turn it down. I simply can't say no a libidinous woman.

I stand to greet her as she walks through the front doors. She goes in for the big hug, and I am unable to wrap my arms around much more than her sides. She has a beautiful face, and really is quite nice. We begin talking and I can't help but find her to be witty and well read, my jokes don't go over her head. She even has jokes of her own. Like I said, I'm a sucker for a pretty face. I'll do it for the story, I tell myself. I begin to feel guilty for wanting to back out earlier.

After an appropriate amount of time, I make my signature move, and rest my hand on her leg. Of course, she doesn't move it. While we talk, I look closely into her eyes and see her pupils beginning to dilate. Being an experienced lion tamer, I understand this to mean that other parts of her are dilating as well. She gets up to use the ladies room, and coyly tells me, "You better put two roofies in my drink. I'm a big girl."

I generally prefer women my own age, which this one is. Women in their early twenties seem drawn to me, however, and I'm not exactly sure why. Maybe it's daddy issues.

The thing about women in that age demographic is, they more often than not learned about sex by watching hard core pornography on the internet as adolescents. They're into the whole degradation trip. After fulfilling some of these young ladies twisted sexual appetites, I can't help but feel as if I'm the one who should be covered in shame afterwards. It's a dangerous game. Thirty five is now my cut-off.

As the night wears on, I ask her, "Wanna go to my house and listen to records?". Of course she does. We stop at a park on the way and share a forty ouncer under the moon light. It's cold outside, and I lend her my jacket. Who says chivalry is dead? I truly am enjoying her company, good conversation is not always so easy to come by.

Back at my place, the script is acted out, and being the wise woman that she is, I never receive a follow up call. Not long after that, I give up on internet dating. I work 60 hours a week, and I'm a single dad. I don't have much time for these kind of distractions, and anyway I prefer meeting women the old fashioned way.

Sometimes I wish I were an elk, and didn't have to be in rut all year long.

Conducting the Moral Autopsy 0f a Nation