Years ago, before Princess Girlfriend came and snatched me from the cesspool of singledom, I was broke, and there was a girl I wanted to impress enough that sleeping with me seemed like a excellent idea. Wily hunters set traps, in which they employ some sort of food for bait, and utilize animal calls. My bait would be mahi-mahi fillets with a soy-ginger glaze served on a bed of cous-cous (the cous so nice, they named it twice), my trap would be my crappy Brooklyn apartment, and my animal call would be a playlist of seductive music I'd painstakingly crafted. All was in readiness. More »
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