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I'm a tortured soul with no discernable sense of humour and an innate distrust of happiness. My career is as unfulfilling as it is underpaid, but I'm not so deluded that I think another occupation would be any less dire, so I'm resigned to a life of thankless servitude. Equally scornful of film, music, art, theatre, opera, ballet and all the other empty pretension that humanity insists on producing because it simply can't sit still and shut up, I occupy my non-working hours with ennui and vague longing. A social drinker in the sense that, without drink, I can't be bothered to be sociable, I consider parties a foretaste of Hell. Close friends are, for me, those who respect me enough to leave me alone. Finally, I detest long walks, sport, puppies and kittens, roaring fires, candlelit dinners, beaches, moonlight, balmy afternoons and scintillating conversation with an intensity that sometimes frightens even me.
If you are the kind of bright and bubbly woman that has a brilliant career, speaks eight languages, has an enormous number of astonishingly close friends and plays flugelhorn to international concert standard, then please don't ruin my day by getting in touch. On the other hand, if you're the sort of person that regards life as a faintly annoying prelude to eternal oblivion, you've got nothing to lose by dropping me a line. At worst, I can help make the interminable wait marginally less tedious (though perhaps no more pleasant). I also faithfully promise not to burden you with emotional availability, good manners, simple human decency, commitment, support or personal maturity of any kind.
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There! With a profile like that, I'll have to beat the wenches off with a shitty stick.
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