Tinder is a Video Game (stand up comedy)

Did you here about this guy on Tinder who got, like, a thousand matches because he replaced his photo with an everything bagel? His profile photo, instead of his face, is this shot of an everything bagel with deli meat, scrambled eggs and just pornographic amounts of melting cheese. What red blooded American woman can resist? The man is a goddamn genius.

Are any of you on Tinder? In case you aren’t, let me tell you it’s awesome. Not like, you can actually use it to get laid all the time, no. At least not when you look like this. [refers to self] Men who get laid all the time using Tinder look like Ryan Gosling, not like a background character in a Ryan Gosling movie, not like third mathlete on the left.

But it’s fun to a…nerd like me because it is a video game. This is how you’re supposed to use it: There are humans, they upload a few pictures, and there’s a little space to write something about themselves. Their photo pops up. Swipe right, on a face, if you like her. Swipe left if you don’t. If two people swipe right on each other, that’s the only time you’re allowed to contact that person. But…if you match with someone, and you don’t message her right away, a little number pops up on the side of the app. A little red number that goes up every time you match with someone.

Aaaand now they got me.

I can’t ignore little numbers, man. I grew up on Nintendo. Numerical scores are like crack to me. So now I have to see how high I can get that number to go. Like I have to find out. I have to get the Tinder high score. But not actually score. Because if I message any of these women, the number goes down.

And by the way, I don’t cheat. I don’t just swipe right on everybody. I still only swipe right for very special ladies whose photos make me want to, you know, settle down and get married.

But I just don’t messaged any of them so the number won’t go down. I tell my friends and they’re like “well then what’s the point of being on a dating app?!” That’s when I flip the table we’re sitting at and run away.

I don’t cheat at the Tinder video game. I do swipe left, a lot. Because I’m a ball of neuroses. Some things on Tinder that make me swipe left are things that would make anyone swipe left. Like a profile will come up, and there’s no photo. Tinder is NOT the place for blind dates. Are you insane? Swipe left. Or worse, with photos but no face. Like every photo is… [turns back]. This sunset and/or grand canyon is amazing. [faces forward] Or like her hair is dramatically covering her face. If you’re that embarrassed to be on here, maybe don’t be on here?

Gotta put yourself out there, gurrrl.

But some of the reasons I swipe left are just fucking bonkers. For example…

If the first letter of every word in her summary is capitalized. — Not that she’s writing in all caps like she’s screaming at me. I LIKE LONG WALKS ON THE BEACH. Just the first letters of every word. What is that?! I mean, people make mistakes. I’m not going to judge someone for typos or grammar. English might not be her first language! Maybe she’s French…and hot. But there’s just no excuse for this specific mistake. It’s not even that she doesn’t give a fuck. I respect not giving a fuck. But people who don’t give a fuck don’t capitalize anything, or won’t write anything at all. Capitalizing the first letter of every word is willful ignorance. And I can’t date that! Can you imagine dating someone who does dumb shit on purpose? Like dating the cast of Jackass. Or Fox and Friends. Swipe left!

I’ll swipe left immediately if she has the same facial expression in all her photos. — If you’ve got the same half smile and dead stare at a party and a baby shower and Burning Man, then you, ma’am, are obviously a sociopath and this is your heavily rehearsed people-hunting face. And that face, half smile plus dead stare, that’s usually the face. It’s never a big smile, it’s always Mona Lisa minus the humanity. “Am I smiling at you? Or do I want to eat your liver?” Because if she’s actually making a face, a single wacky face, in a bunch of photos, well then that’s performance art. That’s her bit. I get it. She’s like Miley. That’s…fine.

Another one is, all her photos are group shots with her girlfriends. — Hey, I’m down with #squadgoals. Girl power is, hands down, my favorite kind of power after natural gas, but! Maybe just one photo to show you’re an adult who can be left alone in public.

There’s…same head tilt and smile (with or without hand on hip) in all photos. — That poor woman, is her neck broke? Does she not have a functional spine? It seems like she’s permanently befuddled, like your dog going “Rrrrrr?” That’s the sound that pose makes in my head. “Rrrrr?” Or it’s like the physical version of uptalk. When people end all sentences like questions. I love your hair? I went to NYU? I need to go to the bathroom? Swipe left.

What else? Oh! Her profile mentions she loves Jesus. On Tinder. — Whoa there. What kind of man do you think I am? Whipping out god is solid third date stuff. First date, common interests and trivia. Where are you from, where did you go to school? Second date, heavy petting. Third date, Jesus.

Next one is, will date you depending on astrology. — Her write up starts with “I’m a gemini and…” Nope! [swipe left] Nope nope nope.

I only have one more and it’s the worst.

I swipe left if she’s got a photo of her helping underprivileged children of color. — Ohhhhhh daaaaaamn. Shit just got real. It’s fine! We’re gonna talk about this. You’ve seen these photos, right? There’s one woman, she’s usually white. She’s obviously middle class or higher. And she’s in a classroom, teaching or just, like, hugging [awkward hugging motions] these black or brown kids who are obviously very poor and foreign. Like, this isn’t Harlem. You can tell from context clues. (And by the way, if it’s East Asian kids and the students are well dressed, well that’s South Korea or Japan. So she’s an English tutor at a prep school. That’s fine. You don’t have to worry about that. I mean, it’s still weird but whatever.) Now, benefit of the doubt, maybe she’s an honest to goodness humanitarian. Except she can’t be that much of a humanitarian if she doesn’t get why this is creepy.

Let me explain, ever seen a photo of Hugh Hefner surrounded by…props? In the form of…6 or 7 leggy blondes? Her helping-the-needy photo is like that. She’s Hefner in a silk smoking jacket. And the kids are leggy blondes. (This metaphor may have fallen apart.) I’m not saying it’s the same! I’m saying that’s what it looks like. Not bad, per se. Just uncomfortably exploitative. She could put up photos of, I assume, her in front of the school or outside, carrying buckets of water, or…in bed fighting off malaria. That’s exciting! Right? And she can totally have photos of the kids because she loved them so much. That’s fine! Have those photos. But don’t put them up…on Tinder, Lady Hef. Show them to me in private, on our third date, after you tell me about Jesus.

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