WANTED: ONE FRIEND [OR SEVERAL] WITH VAGINAS IN SEARCH OF MY COCK. NO REFERENCES NEEDED.

BY DAY? AN ADMINISTRATIVE ADJUNCT. BY NIGHT? A CERTIFIED FUCK BUTT.

CHARLIE SHEEN said it best when asked by some stupid slag of the chattering class why he fucked hoes, "I don't pay for them to come over. I pay for them to leave."

And so it goes that we're in the CHARLIE SHEEN ZONE (CSZ). Or rather we're in that place beyond the CSZ. We're in the zone where you don't want to pay for them to come over, you don't want to pay for them to leave, and you sure as hell don't want to pay for all of that blow and the blowjobs. In short, you just do not want to pay. It's a modern fucking muddle worthy of OL' DIRTY BASTARD: you want pussy for FREE.

But you can only lie so much about Porsches and not being married anymore before the realities of dotcom dating come home to roost; it's as much, or more, work than doing things the old-fashioned way: drinks, dough and dull stories about ex-husbands.

Solutions?

Goddamned right there are. Or are there? We thought to try it out and see. With the able assistance of our friends at ADULT FRIEND FINDER we listed ourselves as looking for friends. And "COCK SOCKETS." But mostly cock sockets. Our profile contained salient facts about ourselves that included detailed descriptions of our luxury autos, our legal practice, the mansion and the 8-inch cock. We gave preference to broads who favored quintuple teamings and we waited for the FUN TO BEGIN.

DAY ONE: Nothing.
DAY TWO: a 52-year old German woman who wanted to travel. We sent her cock pics inscribed with the legend: WELCOME TO PARADISE.
DAY THREE: a 28-year old who wanted to be gang tackled. She also thought it would be HOT to have two cocks in her mouth at once. Not being a fan of disguised gayitude and not having any waxpaper around we blocked her emails.
DAY FOUR: Nothing.
DAY FIVE: A lurking sensation that this was the gayest thing in the world that we were doing. And an appreciable decline in things like "sense of shame" and "self-esteem."
DAY SIX: A prospect. Married. 33 years old. Wants to be bum tumbled. NOW. We meet her at a coffee shop with an easily accessible exit (just in case). She's so highly doable that's she's done almost immediately.
DAY SEVEN: Outside of patting ourselves on our backs? Absolutely fucking nothing.