Headline of the day: “Thai Bride Admits Feeding Ex-Husband to the Tigers.”
In that Fox interview, Bush supported the House Republican move to link the first increase in the minimum wage in a decade to permanent repeal of the estate tax. You know, when a country’s ruling party is that cynical, when it holds the interests of the poorest workers hostage to the interests of the wealthiest non-workers, voting against them just isn’t good enough. This is the sort of callousness that sparks revolutions. We need heads on pikes, people. We need to build barricades, and I will personally donate raw material for the first one.
Why yes, it is from IKEA, how did you guess?
More London Review of Books personal ads:
Leave me alone with your father for an evening and by the end of the night we’ll have gotten drunk together and have nicknames for each other and be scheduling in a football game. Give me the weekend and we’ll be lovers. Man in denial, 35, determined to bring everyone you know out of the closet before crawling into it himself and nailing the door shut from the inside. Box no. 11/02My complete LRB personals here.
The Schrödinger’s cat of personal ads. Box no. 11/08
My way or the highway – the two are very often the same with asphalting loon, 53, mixing his own bitumen and coarse aggregate surfacing solutions at box no. 14/03
I celebrated my fortieth birthday last week by cataloguing my collection of bird feeders. Next year I’m hoping for sexual intercourse. And a cake. Join my invite mailing list at box no. 14/04. Man.
‘Scarface’, ‘Mad Dog’, ‘Pretty Boy’, ‘Baby Face’ – if I had an underworld crime nickname it would be ‘Screwed by Ex-Wife’s Solicitor and Currently Sleeping in a Caravan’. Man, 42. Screwed by ex-wife’s solicitor and currently sleeping in a caravan. Box no. 14/06
Week 3 – Day 2. Breakfast: small piece of fruit (for example an apple), two crispbreads with one tablespoon low-fat soft cheese and one sliced tomato. Lunch: one wholemeal pita bread with a quarter small pot reduced-fat hummus and crudités, one small banana. Dinner: 47 chocolate cakes, anguish, despair, bile, hatred, a small pot of low-fat fruit yoghurt. Post-divorce comfort eater and sex therapist (F, 38). Box no. 15/03
The Red Devils flew over this ad while I was writing it. Family fun day guy (divorced, 51); monster trucks, motorbike displays, St John’s Ambulance and a beer tent. That’s me, breaking my leg on the Marine Corps death slide of self-hatred and over-compensation at box no. 15/05. I’ll meet you by the face-painting stand.
My advert comes in the form of interpretive dance. Man, 62. Box no. 15/09
When the Antmen unite, all will be their slaves. Man, 46, WLTM woman to 50 for whom this opening line works as a prelude to sex. Box no. 15/10
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