Uncut

As we trudge on through the cutthroat dating life of our twenty something’s, many people acquire distaste for certain names, ones that come with foreboding memories of lovers past. I on the other hand play no such name game, for as my favorite playwright famously questioned, what’s in a name?

I do see some reason in the concept however; my distaste comes not in the form of a name but via the location of a place, the large and diverse stomping grounds of Pennsylvania. From Philadelphia to Pittsburgh and a bunch of shitty towns in between it seems my list of conquests has taken the scenic route through this terrible state.

No, I am not saying I slept with an Amish man, I know you’re all thinking it; luckily my list seems to have averted Lancaster all together. Although in retrospect I probably would have been better off with a nice Amish guy to take me around on his horse and buggy than most of the losers I actually ended up with.

I suppose we will start with the first and worst offender, from the city of bridges, the tragic story most know by now. The detailed post on that endeavor was forcibly removed with blackmail, but what more could I expected from a man who faints at the weight of his own unfaithfulness? Interestingly enough his band has a song all about the joys of the keystone state, citing the cheesy line “you have a friend in Pennsylvania.” Clearly this song does not apply to me, find out more about why below.

You would think over the years I would let hailing from PA become something of a warning sign, but even most recently I made the same mistake. This one came from the other side of the monstrous state, in an area just outside of Philly where the slightly more civilized live. He was spacey but genuine, a bit of an odd ball but seemed pretty harmless. Then I found out he fucked like a Chihuahua. Constantly yapping, and even profusely licked my neck…I do not find canines the slightest bit attractive. But he seemed nice, and into me, and wanted to take me to breakfast so I tried to be understanding. Next thing I knew said “nice” guy up and moved to LA without even bothering to give me a heads up. I found out the semi-relevant information a tweet.

There were plenty of others, from here and there; who all wound up being schmucks in the end, leaving me to believe the state was more or less cursed.

Moral of the story is in Pennsylvania even the good ones can’t be trusted, and if you are unfortunate enough to live there, follow my advice and find an Amish guy!