Man Searches For Love, Fails

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So I’ve been living up here in Belfast for about two moths at this point and life is…eh. It’s alright. Not much has really been going on other than just adjusting to living in a city. I’ve found that I may be too overtly polite for life in a concrete shit show. On the third day after moving in I went to an off license down by the Holy lands in the middle of the day and upon buying a six pack of sweet sweet Heineken, I said “Have a nice day” to which the cashier laughed.

I live a few streets up from the Holy lands, an ironic pit of debauchery. Moved here around the 14th of September, the trek was a real bitch. I had to get up at like the crack of dawn to get a bus outside the house. I was alone in the house, parents were away…somewhere. I can’t mind. Had to carry a suitcase, satchel, backpack, tripod and a camera bag about half a mile.

Honest to fuck it was some of the most excruciating labour I had to carry out in my life. Only thing that could possibly rival it would be that time I had to go on a fifteen-mile trek carrying a tripod half the size of me and a fifth the weight, alongside my lucky satchel, shovel and camera bag. A good portion of that was up hill too, among the mountains, in the rain. I felt like I was carrying a goddamn crucifix. But the ordeal was worth it, you can see the results here.

Things went from bad, to worse. I had to carry the luggage an extra quarter mile when I arrived at Dungiven, then had to wait for the bus for an hour. At that point I knew for a fact that I couldn’t carry all this shit around Belfast. I could barely handle a five-minute walk, let alone twenty. Arriving at Belfast I got a taxi to the flat, cost me about £4 which I think is pretty reasonable.

Waited outside the flat for about forty-five minutes. The girls above my flat were playing Abba out the window, all the while giving a few concerned glances down to me. I don’t blame them, I was dressed pretty dodgy. Literally all my clothes were in that suitcase, so I was forced to wear my work uniform, hoodie and a jacket that couldn’t fit in the bag. Honest the fuck the way I looked that day still gives me shivers. Like the jacket and trousers didn’t match and…y’know what? Let’s move on.

Across the streets were a bunch of GAA heads, chugging cans at eleven o’clock in the morning and marching down the street with a loudspeaker purporting their god-awful music. Occasionally they’d beckon; “UPA RA” alongside other profanities. There’s a lot of guys like that up here, a lot of contenders to be this year’s Paddy Jackson.

My roommate arrived a good bit after I did. A pitiful creature, five-foot-tall with the skin that has the texture of a rotten potato with the complexion of a dead fish. Legends say that he was once a man, centuries ago. He had been wandering alone on a country road and had encountered a Leprechaun who had been mortally wounded, lying alongside the road. The Leprechaun pleaded for help, but the man- an upper middle-class snob- simply laughed and preceded to hurl racial slurs and other profanities as he defiled the poor creature.

Such heinous acts were met with swift justice. For the upper middle-class snob was cursed to roam the world as a Golum like creature, skin peeling off like a snake, spider eggs among the skin creating a hive of red blotches, a face that would turn both men and women infertile. But the worst of all was the fact that he had shrunk exponentially in both stature and social presence. He had been cast out from society, wandering the wilderness of Maghera for centuries. He had become a miserable, pitiful creature full of scorn and resentment. He had become the Acne Ridden Manlet.

It is said that if a man were to kill the manlet, he would receive his curse. Hence why no one had put him out of his misery. He longs for death, which is why he resorts to verbal attacks- a feeble attempt to draw enough scorn to strike him down. Which is what I imagine he was trying to do when he arrived, because he was quite a snarky bastard that day.

I told him I had quit my job the week before, the next few days would be my last. He berated me for being a moron, short sighted and vain. Then he preceded to tread among my actual insecurities and I slapped him in his stupid face. He was very offended by that well deserved assault.

Honest to fuck I was not in the mood for that kind of behaviour. I quit the job because of a multitude reasons, namely that it was very far away. Travel fees alone would cost up to half a day’s wages, and that’s if I was lucky to work more than five hours. It was straight up uneconomical to continue working there. But my mental health was acting up again and that was one of the main reasons for my departure. The staff were pretty good and the job itself wasn’t overtly difficult, it was just an issue with me.

Thankfully the mental health aspect had pretty much cleared up like a week before I was leaving. At that point I’d gotten a handle of things, both at work and in my head. Sometimes I wish I still worked there, mostly because the job I was leaving it for fell threw so I was essentially rat fucked financially. But the lecturers advise that if you are working never to go more than eight hours a week, otherwise your studies will suffer.

It’d be nice to have money though.

Upon moving in the manlet dropped the bomb shell that he wouldn’t be moving in until four days later and he wouldn’t even be living here until fucking Uni started up a week later. So I’d essentially be living by myself for like a week and a half. Not gonna lie, it was pretty lonesome. Spent my days walking around, applying for jobs, occasionally bumping into people on the street- but other than that? Nothing.

I considered becoming an alcoholic after drinking about three dozen beers over the course of two days, but then I realised that I’m too cheap to become addicted to anything. There’s a good few things I resent about my Father, namely how cheap he is. Turns out I inherited that alongside his anger management issues.

Life in the decent quality two bedroom flat is pretty good. I have a tendency to steal my room mate’s food which really pisses him off. The reason I do so is because I want to, I’m hungry and I don’t respect him. Honest to fuck when he yells at me it’s as if a child is yelling at me for stubbing it’s toe- like, what are you going to do?

Turns out he’d import excessive force. He says if I keep eating his food he would start breaking my shit. Now that’s a major over reaction and completely vindicates me of any wrongdoing. If anything, it grants me the moral high ground.

I tell you it’s difficult to live with this creature without having the swift urge to brutally murder him. But I know that’s exactly what he wants, so I avoid it. I do most of the cleaning duties, not out of a sense of altruism but because I genuinely don’t trust him to clean the flat properly. Honest to fuck I watched him wash up once and I thought “…how the hell did you work in a café for three years?

It takes one filthy bastard to make me the clean one, I’ll give you that. But despite his many shortcomings, his own writing isn’t half bad. You can read his published short story here.

Uni is going pretty well. Having a little issue making friends because I’m, well, me. Still need to unlearn some toxic anti-social behaviours I gained from school. I think the main issue I have is trying to convince people that I am not insane. Which you would think would be easy, considering I’m not, but I just give off those vibes.

I, like most people, am on a quest to become a better version of myself. It’s taking too goddamn long. I think that’s a problem with lot’s of people, which is why they want to find someone to kill the time with. Which brings me to the main issue at hand.

The Acne Ridden Manlet arrived home one day and declared he was interested in getting Tinder. I fought back an urge to laugh, for reasons that are obvious. Still, the delusional bastard persisted. Downloaded the app and filled out his bio.

He’s ridiculously picky. Like, I’ve seen some of the women he’s swiped left on and I was appalled. He’s like a man roaming through a desert who refuses to drink anything other than capri sun. Honest to fuck I nearly fell out of my chair when he told me he got a match. It was on par with Trump becoming President.

Out of sheer boredom I downloaded the App. I’d done so before twice, a friend of mine had talked me into doing so when we were both quite drunk and romantic. But the morning after lead me to delete it, what was once warm and fuzzy was now cold and sticky. I expunged it like a cancerous mole.

The friend of mine, let’s call him the Chinless Wonder, was always disappointed in hearing I did that. He said the app was doing wonders for him. I mean, he wasn’t getting laid of course. He’d simply use the app as a means to aid his self esteem.  Seeing that women deemed him fuckable (most of whom were blonde Polish women) it really boosted his self worth. Most of the times he’d pop up to some doll and she’d instantly reject him, to which he’d retort; “damn bitch, you live like this?

I’ve had tinder for about two weeks now and it has done wonders for my Misanthropy. Honestly didn’t know I could be more repulsed by people. I’m swiping through hordes of women and I’m thinking “really? That’s your best picture?” and occasionally I’d almost boke due to their abhorrent fashion sense.

You flip through it and you think “Aye, aye, aye, naw, naw, naw, that’s a guy, naw, naw, aye, aye, aye, naw, that’s a dog, naw, aye, aye, aye, naw, underage, underage, underage, underage, naw, naw, naw, those are literally nudes…aye”. I liken it to my own version of the Two Minutes of Hate from 1984, but a tad more misogynistic.

However, I have received three times the amount of matches of the Manlet so far, so that’s nice.

Everyone I know who has it uses it for free, but surprisingly there are about 2.5 million suckers out there who actually pay for the service. All so they could get more likes and so their profile can be seen by more people. Honest to fuck if you’re paying for Tinder then you might as well be paying for sex. At least then you’d get your money’s worth.

Tinder itself is a billion-dollar company, one of the many sites bought up by who practically has a monopoly on this market. There’s 230 million people all across the world who have Tinder. 70% of Millenials have it, the vast majority of whom use it simply to boost their self esteem. Very few think they’ll actually get laid via the app, even fewer think they’ll get a serious relationship.

A good chunk are literally just there for the meme and it shows.

Despite this there’s a lot of studies showing that Millenials just don’t fuck. They’re fucking less than their parents and grandparents claim to have been fucking when they were their age. Now there are two possible answers to this quandary; one is that Millenials, with an overexposure to new technologies and cultural shifts, have become alienated with each other in such a way that mating becomes a lot more difficulty. Or, maybe people in the past were just lying about the amount of sex they were getting cause they’re insecure as fuck.

I don’t know, my money is on the latter.

Honestly I’m just sick to death of this whole Generation talk thing. You can’t clump together a huge population of people just because they were born in a ten or twenty year radius of each other and say “you’re the same” people are a lot more complicated than that. It’s why I think Adam Conover’s marketing presentation on why Millenials don’t exist is single handedly one of the most under appreciated pieces of content to glisten the internet since cat videos and porn.

As far as the success rate of Tinder users, well, it’s not going too well. A Reddit user used the app for about a month and collected some data of his experiences. Over the course of thirty-one days he got fifty-three matches, thirty-eight of whom he talked to via WhatsApp, twelve of whom ghosted him, nine who set up an actual date and only four who showed up.

One month, fifty-three matches, four dates. That’s some shitty numbers right there.


Of course, a good chunk of this data is anecdotal, other peoples experiences on the app are probably very different. What we do know though is that the way men and women use the app is remarkably different.

Men tend to be less picky with who they swipe right with, the mentality being that the further you cast your net then the more chances you have of getting a match. I do exactly that, not in the hopes of getting a match- I just want to max out my likes just so I can fuck off. Women on the other hand tend to be a lot more picky with their choices. Preferring guys who fill out bios, have lots of photos and fit their checklist.

Despite this women seem to have a higher rate of matches, possessing a 10% success rate while men had a measly 0.6% success rate. The app facilitates a vicious cycle to this behaviour. Men spend ten hours on Tinder a week, women only about nine. Men will cast their nets further while women will swim out further to sea.

It’s also worth noting that Gay men get wayyyy more matches than straight women. The jury is still out on Lesbians though. One out of five relationships in America began with the two people meeting on a dating site, while that number is up to 70% for same sex couples.

There’s a lot of interesting data that can be gathered through this app. I’d be interested to learn how different ethnic groups interact with eachother. Because I guarantee you if I saw a Northern Ireland flag or even got a whiff of Loyalism I swiped left on that bitch so fast it might have burnt of my thumb print. Obviously if there was a tricolour or a funny Republican joke in the bio I’m swiping right.

But pulling ourselves out of the Northern Ireland perspective for a moment, I’m curious how people of different races would interact with eachother. Dating profiles are notorious for bringing out the worst in people in regards to racial prejudice. Honest to fuck I’ve had a few dodgy conversations with people who say they’re not attracted to anyone who isn’t also white.

I never understood that. A person who only finds people within their own race attractive is like a kid who only eats McNuggets. I like women of all colours and creeds, you could say I’m a very diverse misogynist.

Tinder is undoubtedly a phenomenon, far more successful than its competitors. It limits choice down to the purest emotional sense. You gotta embrace that monkey brain of yours if you want to succeed. That and fill out a bio, include as many photos as possible, actually message people and try not to come off repulsive.

Hard thing for a reddit user to muster, I know. Even harder for an Acne Ridden Manlet, or me for that matter. But we try none the less.

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