Rejected Match.com Dating Profile – – – – – – – -> A Slam Dunk

Hello, ladies.  Hello, there dimwits.  Hello there once again ladies.   So I made this Match.com profile and it got rejected.  Nothing like hopping onto a dating website to make a love connection, and receiving the first rejection right out of the gate.

SUBMISSION REJECTED.

Whatever, it’s their loss.  That’s what I typed in the comments section of their online customer service form, and then signed it, “Suck on a fat one, you dongs.”

I didn’t get a reply, so I figured I’d give it a shot here on the Dimwit Diary.   C’mon fate, whatch’ya got for me Universe?  The Captain’s on the rebound and he’s looking to score a put back.  Fingers crossed.  Here goes nothing…but hopefully something.

Dimwit Diary Match Dot Com Profile

Hello.  My name is Chris and I enjoy wearing Aspen cologne.  Some of my other favorite fragrances are Brut by Fabergé, Claiborne Curve, Cool Water, Burberry, Tiffany for Men, and Stetson Black.  I guess if you were to categorize me by any one cologne, it would have to be Stetson Black – the sexy, sophisticated fragrance of the American West, with a blend of warm spices & fresh woods.

I have many hobbies and interests.  I enjoy frisbee golf, hacky sack, drum circles, clog dancing, planking, spelunking, spackling, bird watching, barbecue sauce, laser tag, hosting Tupperware parties with my crazy, yet lovable Aunt Leanoa, Segway tours, horse riding, horseshoes, horseradish, horse whispering, horses, dynamite bass fishing, Home Depot, Marco Polo, Ralph Lauren Polo, Polo Chicken, Mexico,  long walks on the beach, Dentyne Ice, flash mobs, flash animation, Flash Gordon, Jeff Gordon, Gordon Ramsey, pickles, reciting trivia facts on the Bailundo Revolt of 1902, building sandcastles, White Castle, my friend John Castle, curly straws, roller skating, ant farms, organic farms, horse farms, horse races, horse shows, horse jockeys, horse basketball, horsing around, horses, jalapeño peppers, Scattergories, allegories, John Tesh, and performing my infamous Tickle Me Elmo impersonation at fancy dinner parties, just to name a few.

I am a real movie buff.  I have purchased over 1,000 illegal copies of DVDs from a Chinaman down the street, but my all time favorite movie is “The Legend of Bagger Vance” starring Will Smith.  While I tend to enjoy most genres of movies, my favorite movies are the ones that depict the story of down-and-out golfers who discover the meaning of life through a mystical caddy.   Yours should be, too.

I was ready to give up on dating all together after the previous girl I dated turned out to be on America’s Top 100 Wanted Criminals, and I had to turn her in after we finished eating a delicious dinner at Buffalo Wild Wings, then I saw her face plastered on all 70 of their giant ass, flat screen TVs.   I was through with dating, but a friend of mine told me to try this dating site out to “Score you a put back, home slizzle.”  I still wasn’t convinced, however.

I’ve never been much of a balla’ as my favorite rap artist, Bubba Sparxxx, likes to spit mad rhymes about, but I’m ready to get back in the game after moving back in with my mother at age 35, and holding many late night conversations with her while playing five-card Cribbage, sipping citrus lavender hot tea, and sharing inspirational, heartwarming tales of triumphant love and fuzzy romance.

I am looking for a boo who is nice, down to earth, has great penmanship, a winning smile, a passion for turtlenecks, can recite all the lyrics to Ice Ice Baby, prefers Jack Link’s Original Hickory Smokehouse beef jerky, has sandy blond hair, enjoys playing teacher / naughty school boy role playing, has shaved legs, trimmed mustache, a daring personality, witty charm, and can do a hilarious, British accent like my Garmin GPS.

If you have any questions, just ask me.  I’m currently unemployed and usually just sitting around the house all day watching videos of bizarre animal mating rituals, so chances are I’ll be able to get back to you pretty quickly.

Hit me up, buttercup.  This balla’ is ready to make a slam dunk.

* Serious inquiries only *

A Letter To My Mother – Free Spirit & Wieners

April 20, 2013
Saturday, 1:31 PM

771 Dimwits and counting…

Mother,

I didn’t know which of the 16 email accounts of yours to send this to, so I decided to post it here.   Hopefully it finds you, and hopefully it’s during a time when you just got back in from the warm sunshine and time spent admiring your flowers that you enjoy more than anything.

750 new followers in just over a week.  This is crazy, huh?  I’ve got wives reading my stories to husbands, and mothers reading my stories to daughters.  Stories about wieners and Sally Jessy Ralphael’s feathered hair.  Can you believe it?  It’s wild.  I don’t know what’s happening, but of course what’s new. I never know what’s happening, and that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.

You know how your free spirited, kind hearted, adventurous, and yes, your rather mischievous son of yours just seems to go along with life.  It’s gotten me this far, so there’s no use in changing it now.  Well, remember that time you and Dad sat me down right after I graduated college?  You might not remember it, but I do.  It was in the living room, and it was quiet.  If I didn’t know any better, it might’ve been my own funeral that I was attending.

You and Dad wore somber, stern faces.  You told me to sit down, so I did.  On the couch directly across the room, not far away from your somber, stern faces.  I had an idea of what was coming, some sort of boring lecture with me having to say a lot of uh-huhs in between.  I’ve gotten my fair share of lectures from you, and from others, so I kinda get a sense of when they’re coming.

It was a lecture all right.  I know you meant well, and I’m not here to put you down or anything like that.  Mothers do the best they can – well hopefully.  The good ones do anyways, and you’re a good one.   But here’s what you told me.  You and Dad told me to cage my free spirit.  You didn’t say those words exactly, but what you meant was to put my free spirit inside a box, and put him up in the attic with all the other dusty toys.  I was to be a man now.  Stop playing games and get some direction in life.   Some goals, a job, a career, maybe a wife, some kids, and all that other sorta stuff.

Well, I didn’t want to be a man.  From all I saw at the time, being a man meant cheating husbands, divorced dads, drunks, liars, punchers, spitters, and those that like to give lectures about how I’m to play life by the rules, and become a man.

I was 21.  I knew more about being a man than the asshole telling me I had better be a man, after I knew flat out that he had just beat his wife senseless a few nights ago.  My friend told me.  He was in tears.  And now that man had the gull to tell me I had better become a man.  Well, I had the gull to shut my mouth and say “uh-huh.”  I knew more about being a man than him, and sometimes as a man you gotta know when to shut your mouth and say uh-huh, because it’s not worth the fight at the time.  There are other ways to go about winning a fight without shouting, and cursing, and more fighting.  So I left it at that:  Uh-huh.

I guess this is my usual, long-winded, rambling just to tell you this, and then to follow it up with a little more rambling to wrap things up.  I never put that free spirit in a cage.  I never boxed him up.  I kept him free, and I guess that’s why people like my stories about wieners and Franzia boxed wine, and all that other stuff.

They’re free spirits too.  They’re dimwits.  There’s a whole mess of us out there, and they enjoy someone who can spin a good tale, tell a whopper of a story filled with craziness and madness, but also full of love and hope.  Those are the two most important ingredients to a story, because without love and hope, you might as well just read from the dictionary.  The thing with telling a good story is you gotta have a free spirit to be able to tell it, so that’s why I kept him free.  That and it just never made all that much sense to me why anyone should keep anything in a cage.

Thanks for being a good mom.  I usually never tell you that, maybe even never.  Probably because I’m too busy telling tall tales instead, but I was just thinking it’s probably nice and important for a mother to hear that from her son.  It’s a lot of hard work raising kids.  Not a lot of credit, late nights, no sleep, and lousy sons who make you cry when they send you letters.

I know you’re crying right now.  Just like when I can sense a lecture, I can usually sense when someone’s gonna cry, too.  I can sense a lot of things.  Some say it’s a gift, but sometimes it’s a curse too.  It can take a lot out of you with all the sensing going on all the time, and no way to turn it off.  Rather than whine about a gift that others would kill to have, it feels nice to make good use of it finally.  Wieners!  HA.

So stay tuned.  Your son is going places that only a free spirit can lead a person, and he’s taking a TON of dimwits along with him!  It’s going to be a fun ride.  It will be interesting at the very least.

Love,

Your son.  The dimmest of all the dimwits.  The dunce.  The doofus.

Chris

PS.  Sorry to include this photo of you with a scrunchy face, that looks like you just caught a whiff of a dog turd, but you didn’t really think the Dimwit was gonna end without a good laugh, did you?  Toodles.

The Dimwits Mom

“Big Love” – Excerpt From A Hot And Steamy Romance Novel

Do you like reading hot and steamy romance novels about pounding hearts and quivering thighs as much as I do?  Doubt it.  But if you do, then you will be thrilled to know that I’ve been working on writing a romance novel of my own.

The romance novel is titled “Big Love” and it’s a love story about a guy and gal who meet in an online chat room.  They hit it off, chat back and forth for several months.  The virtual lovebirds have only one rule:  no photos or physical descriptions of one another allowed whatsoever.  They’ve committed to testing out the theory that love is blind and that true love doesn’t concern itself with physical appearances.

After several months of online courtship, the two decide to finally meet up in person.  Kevin White, a nutritionist and health coach, is in for a BIG surprise when he finally meets the virtual love of his life, Nelly Barnes, a Wal-Mart sales associate.  The following excerpt is from their first meet-up.  Check it, yo.

Big Love Book Cover

“Big Love”
Excerpt From A Hot And Steamy Romance Novel
by Christopher Hinton

It had been months of correspondence, back and forth emails, phone calls, and handwritten letters.  The time was finally here.  I was going to see her.  In the flesh.  Face to face.  I was finally going to get to squeeze her tight, and if I had it my way, I might never let her go.   My sweet Nelly.  My true love.

I was nervous as hell.  I showed up at the coffee shop as per our arrangement, only I arrived two hours earlier than expected.

I gulped down three cups of coffee and an espresso while I was waiting.  I don’t drink coffee.  I was jitters.  I was a bundle of nerves.  Where is she?  Where is my cute as a button, Nelly, my precious baby lamb?  She was going to be here any second now.  I ordered another cup of coffee and sat back down, waiting.

Not long afterwards, in walked Nelly.  There she was.  It was my bunny angel.  I knew it was her by the way Nelly described the outfit so perfectly in a prior email – she said that she would be wearing black stretch pants and a yellow puppy dog T-shirt with the clever caption printed on the front, “I Ruff You.”

Yes, it was my Nelly all right, but she didn’t look like the girl that I had spent countless hours sculpting, and forming and painting a picture of in my mind.  If I’m being frank, Nelly was about 240 pounds heavier and carried quite a few more extra chins.  The girl in the painting also wasn’t wearing flip flops and didn’t have her hair pulled back into a moo cow Scrunchie.

I’m a putz.  I’m a dope.  A real honest-to-goodness imbecile.  The first thing that shot through my brain and out of my mouth before I had a chance to put a silencer on that nasty, devil of a tongue of mine came spewing out.  I fired a bullet.  Boy, did I ever.

I took one look at Nelly and I screamed “Holy shit!” across the entire way.  They heard me in Alaska.  Christ, they heard me in Japan.  Every person in the joint was looking at me, snapping and stretching their heads around like rubber bands.  I don’t blame them.  I have a bad habit of cursing – I’ll be the first to admit it, my pastor would be the second –  but cursing in public is a vile thing if you ask me, especially when there are children present.

I mouthed an apology to the mothers.  I meant it, I was sorry, but what was I going to say to my poor Nelly?  Sorry wouldn’t cut it.  Not for my sweet pookums, but it wasn’t like I had much time to give it thought.

Nelly gave a wave and walked over to my table.  She smiled, laughed nervously under her breath.  She was all jitters too.  She spoke.  A crackling, mousy voice came out of that mammoth body.  It was much different than the voice I had heard over the phone.

“Hi there, stranger.  So good to finally see you.  Sorry, I’m shaking.  I didn’t think that I would be this nervous.”

I said hi there right back.  Told her it was okay, I was nervous too.  We hugged.  It felt warm.  She had a question in regards to my shouting fit, however.

“So was that a good holy shit or a bad holy shit when I walked in the door?”

I never knew there was such a thing as a good holy shit, but I was relieved to be given a choice in this case.  I chose to go with a good.  It was good.  Nelly was – she was different than I had fantasized about in my dreams, but it didn’t matter.  That’s love.  It’s mad and it’s crazy, and if it’s right, it doesn’t give a damn about a size or a shape.

My Nelly was no ankle-biting poodle, and our love was no tiny, puppy love.  No, Nelly was a big fat ass elephant of a greyhound dog if that makes any sense, and I decided right then and there that it was all right with me.  I must be mad and crazy.  It was love for certain, and after I decided a little bit more, it was even better than being all right.  It was downright ecstasy.

The rest of the afternoon was nice.  We laughed.  We nearly fell off our chairs.  The tongue behaved, settled down and so did the nerves.  I can’t remember ever being happier than I was in that moment.  It had been a long time since I had been happy, which is a sad thing for a person to say, but it’s true.

No more dark and lonely nights.  Nelly was my sun.  She lit up the room, she lit up the sky.  Night time no longer existed as long as she was around. There was only day.

I held my Nelly tight.  It was a good holy shit.  It was a good goddamn.

I found my big love, all right.  I decided I was never letting go.

Funny, Outrageous Reviews – Unicorns & Skulls

Sometimes I get drunk on Franzia boxed wine and submit funny, outrageous product reviews online.  It is awesome.  This installment of reviews is about unicorns and skulls.

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Amazon Review:  The Unicorn Castle Tee

Besides the obvious reasons to gush about the Unicorn Castle T-Shirt – the gorgeous lavender colors, the mighty and magical pose of the unicorn frolicking about in an isolated patch of green meadow field, the warm sparkle bursts of pinks and yellows gleaming from its golden, long spiraled horn, the splash of rainbow colors sweeping across the sky, and of course, the guardian castle nestled soundly in the clouds, as if it were keeping a watchful eye over the pure, white mystical unicorn beauty – I was not expecting to be writing a gushing review about how many compliments I received while wearing the Unicorn Castle T-Shirt at the monster truck rally the other night.  Sheesh.  It was exhilarating!

When I first received the T-shirt as a birthday present from my grandmother, I thought the unicorn was a little feminine and too cutesy for a 35 year old man to be wearing around in public.  However, my good friends assured me that the T-shirt looked great on me even though it was a size too small and fit rather snugly.  They also informed me that unicorns are the hottest new men’s fashion trend this season, and that every guy is wearing them.  They’re always up on those sorts of things, so I took their word for it and decided to wear the unicorn shirt to the monster truck rally that weekend.

As my buddies and I made our way to our seats, I received compliment after compliment, many of which I had never even heard of before:  anal jabber, turd burglar, butt buddy, corn holer, knob jockey, poo pusher, pillow biter, butt pirate, pole smoker, sausage bandit, anal assassin, bone smuggler, fudgepacker, and someone even called me Abigale.

At first, I was growing quite concerned that the compliments weren’t compliments at all.  I thought they might be homosexual slurs by the way all of the burly, intoxicated men were yelling so loudly and gnashing their teeth at me.  They seemed ravenous.  Almost like there was a fire behind their eyes.  But my friends assured me that they were just yelling because the monster trucks were so loud.  I guess the foamy mouthed men really did admire my magical Unicorn Castle T-Shirt, because the compliments continued to be hurled at me for the entire course of the three hour event.  It felt wonderful to be so appreciated!

So my compliment to you Amazon:  thank you for the confidence boost.  I’ve never felt so loved in all of my life.  I would imagine this is a very small sampling of what it must feel like to be a famous actor.  I can’t wait to show off the Unicorn Castle T-Shirt at the gun show this weekend!!!

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Sounds-From-Nowheresville

iTunes Review:  The Ting Tings “Sounds From Nowheresville” CD

Hello, I’ve never done one of these things before so I don’t know who to address this to exactly, but this is Brandon’s mother.  I found this vile piece of filth in his bedroom this morning when he was off to school receiving an education, something the Ting Tings clearly have gone without.

First of all, what on Earth is a Ting Ting?  Is that some kind of drug reference for smoking marijuana joints?  I only hope so, not because I’m delighted to know that my son is more than likely using the recreational substance based upon the 12 foot, life sized cobra snake bong that I found in his closet, but because one would have to be stoned out of their mind to listen to this kind of garbage.

After the graphic shock of seeing a skull faced man and woman with torn, ratty clothes, and disheveled hair, I must say that I was rather intrigued by the cover art as to what kind of Satanic influenced, Devil worshiping music that my son was pumping into his 15 year old, impressionable ears.

And after spending close to an hour trying to figure out how to play the CD in Brandon’s stereo,  and inadvertently stumbling across his extensive collection of chubby chaser porno graphical videos, I can’t say that I was all too surprised by the blast of screeching guitars and garbled nonsense that came pumping out of the speakers.

Our Father who art in Heaven, have mercy on the Ting Ting, thick brained skulls, because I can’t promise I’ll be as kind if I ever get a hold of you two tingleberries.

Here’s some advice:   take a cue from the title of your first track, and remain SILENT from here on out.  Take your music and bury it deep in NOWHERESVILLE where it belongs.  And here’s a final piece of advice:  take the suggestion from the title of your last track, and go get some HELP!   You obviously need it, and so will my son when he gets home from school in another hour.

– Brandon’s Mom

500 Followers – A Thank You

Well slap my ass and call me Sally, fellow dimwits.  500 uber sexy, wonderfully talented, witty, kind, and delightfully mischievous followers.  I can die peacefully now.  Seriously though, slap my ass or pinch me, because that’s pretty cool.

Once again, a simple thank you didn’t seem to be thanks enough.  I was thinking of another way to show my appreciation for all the wonderful feedback, kind remarks, and marriage proposals that I’ve received this past week.  So how’s about an autographed photo of me wearing obnoxiously short shorts, a pair of old grandpa blue blockers, an official NBA logo headband, and a cut-off T-shirt revealing just a touch of my fatty McFat McDonald’s french fries eating fat gut.

Yep, that outta do it.  Thanks, dimwits.  It means a lot.

Dimwit Diary Winner

So originally when I started this blog, I was going to mainly post musings about my daily life.  Things like my favorite ice cream flavor, how the wind was really windy today, and how this girl I really like named Beyoncé told me that she thinks we’re soul mates.  You know. Traditional diary type stuff, so that’s why I named my blog the Dimwit Diary.  But I’ve come to realize that I don’t really write much about my daily life musings.  My writing is mostly about feathered hair, whether it be mine or Sally Jessy Raphael’s.

It’s probably for the better that I stick to writing outlandish, made-up stories and keep creating Photoshop madness instead of the daily journal thing.  There was a time when I used to write about my daily life, and it was an incredibly drudging read.   Here is an example of one of my old, boring ramblings.

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Dearest Delightful Diary,

Today I went to Barnes & Nobles to do some writing.  Wait, is it Noble or Nobles.  I always get that so confused.  Anyway, dearest diary of mine, sweet leather bound entrusted confidant, it doesn’t really matter if the Noble is pluralized or not.  The reason that I’m writing is to tell you about two things that happened to me today.

#1)  I ordered a grande Americano, extra hot, no cream, and the gal who wrung me up took my name down as Chris.  While they were making the drink, I went to secure a table, and not 30 seconds later, I heard them call out my name.

“Chrissy.  Your drink is ready.”

I thought, now those rude sonsofbitches calling me a girl’s name like that.  I mean, Chris can be a man or a woman’s name, sure.  But clearly I am a man, and to shout out Chrissy in public like that was humiliating.  It brought back all of those nightmarish memories from high school when the other boys used call me Chrissy and told me to tuck my wiener like a vagina, because I’m a little sissy girl.  You know how high school boys can be so mean sometimes.

Well, I went to get my drink and give them a piece of my mind, but it turns out the girl who ordered before me’s name is Chrissy.  Isn’t that hysterical, Double D?!!  I had a good old laugh with the barista over that one, but not before I called her a skanky ho and we got things all sorted out.

#2)  Later in the day, the gentlemen sitting next to me had to go urinate.  He musta thought I looked like a trusting soul, so he asked if I wouldn’t mind watching his stuff.  I told him that’d be fine, unless he was going number two, because I wasn’t going to sit there all day looking at his computer while he squeezed out a turd.  He assured me that he was going number one, and after I made him do a pinky swear promise, I begrudgingly agreed to keep an eye on his stuff.

As I’m sitting there though, I was thinking about how everyone at bookstores asks you to watch their stuff all the time.  It never fails.  I mean, what if I was a crook?  I could have a real field day stealing people’s laptops at Barnes & Noble (I asked the friendly barista; it is Noble and not Nobles.)

I was sitting there for a long, long time.  Too long.  The guy clearly lied to me, probably because he was too embarrassed to admit that he had to take a number two, so when he finally came back, I told him, “Listen here, you mathematically challenged imbecile.  That was a number two, wasn’t it?  You were dropping the kids off at the pool, and don’t try to tell me that you weren’t.”

Of course he denied the whole thing.  We got into a BIG shouting match in the bookstore.  He swore on his mother’s grave that he took a number one and not a number two, but I know better.  I’ve watched a lot of people’s stuff over the years, and that was the very last time I’ll ever do it again.

Oh – I forgot.  One more thing.

#3)  Today the wind was VERY windy and I ate a pistachio flavored ice cream.

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Okay, so maybe it’s not all that boring, but I enjoy writing the variety bits better.   I’ve also enjoyed reading through some of your daily musings whenever I get a moment to do so.

Lots of good stuff coming up on the dimwit docket, so stay tuned.  I’ll be sharing excerpts from a romance novel that I’m writing, more Photoshop tutorials, a ridiculous advice column called “Chris Cares,” and some other general silliness.  Hopefully it will give ya a good laugh, maybe even some coffee spitting, belly-busting fits as well.  The world could stand a little more laughter and I’m just the right kind of simple-minded bonehead to deliver.

Thanks again for reading and following, you dimwitted half-breeds.

Yours fondly,

Chris Hinton
The Captain of the Dimwits