Black, white, or yellow,
Let's all get together
Through the stormy weather
Because before there can a rainbow
There's a storm
That's a line from my band's (the Bouncing Bear Mountain Experience) new record. I wrote that song, and I think it says a lot about me. I'm looking for a earthy goddess who can really dig a smooth, crunchy groove. Looks and age are not important - it's what's on the inside that counts, and on the inside everyone can be a funky Buddha - it's just a matter of deprogramming our gender/race/creed hate brainwashing and realizing we're all part of the same big cosmic orchestra! I live in the mountains with other members of the band (about forty in all), so you would have to bring your own transportation. We raise our own goats, corn, and vegetables
up there, so don't worry, food won't be an issue - besides, Bear and Feather are two great vegan chefs. Hope to hear from you soon!
I had one woman respond to this. Every day. Twice a day. For three weeks. She even started sending responses from different email accounts to try and throw off my spam filter. I wish I had saved them, but seeing them in my inbox overwhelmed me with a sense of horror, so I deleted them. Right now she has undoubtedly moved on to stalking the members of Widespread Panic, much to my gmail account's relief.
Friday, November 7, 2008
Marine with PTSD - 24 (Denver, Iraq)
Reply to: pers-872513491@craigslist.org [?]
Date: 2008-10-09, 10:44AM MDT
I'm a Marine with 19 confirmed kills (13 of them for sure combatants) and, as my title suggests, I am suffering from PTSD. My therapist suggested, and I agree, that a girlfriend might help me with some of my problems.
I am currently medicated and learning to walk again after an amputation. I don't work (I'm on disability) or drive (can't on the medication) but those are things I hope to change soon.
Living with PTSD is hard. I wake up screaming, not knowing why. Little things frighten me. When it rains, you might find it pleasant. For me, I remember being on patrol in Baghdad when I felt a nice cool rain - not realizing for several seconds that I was actually being showered with blood and viscera from a truck bomb that exploded two miles away. You might like fireworks. When I hear them, I'm reminded of the time a suicide bomber walked into a mosque and detonated the device under his jacket. I can't forget the sobs of that rag-head mother searching through the bodies of mangled children trying to figure out which one was her son no matter how much I punch myself in the back of the head. I drink. I get in fights and always feel bad about it afterwards, but I can't apologize because the other guy is usually in the hospital. Sometimes I zone out for hours, and when I come to there are tears on my face. I miss the Corps. I spent 12hours a day there in a sniper's nest on a pylon of the Euphrates River bridge, terminating whatever dumb camel-jockey crossed the line after curfew. I saved all the slugs I got a kill-shot with, and have made a necklace from them if you don't believe me.
Any girls out there up for a challenge?
Location: Denver, Iraq
PostingID: 872513491I am currently medicated and learning to walk again after an amputation. I don't work (I'm on disability) or drive (can't on the medication) but those are things I hope to change soon.
Living with PTSD is hard. I wake up screaming, not knowing why. Little things frighten me. When it rains, you might find it pleasant. For me, I remember being on patrol in Baghdad when I felt a nice cool rain - not realizing for several seconds that I was actually being showered with blood and viscera from a truck bomb that exploded two miles away. You might like fireworks. When I hear them, I'm reminded of the time a suicide bomber walked into a mosque and detonated the device under his jacket. I can't forget the sobs of that rag-head mother searching through the bodies of mangled children trying to figure out which one was her son no matter how much I punch myself in the back of the head. I drink. I get in fights and always feel bad about it afterwards, but I can't apologize because the other guy is usually in the hospital. Sometimes I zone out for hours, and when I come to there are tears on my face. I miss the Corps. I spent 12hours a day there in a sniper's nest on a pylon of the Euphrates River bridge, terminating whatever dumb camel-jockey crossed the line after curfew. I saved all the slugs I got a kill-shot with, and have made a necklace from them if you don't believe me.
Any girls out there up for a challenge?
- it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests
Christ. I got about fifteen responses to this, which common decency will not allow me to share. Let's just say being a racist psychopath capable of hair-trigger violence is a big turn on to a lot of women though, for some reason, an encyclopedic knowledge of the Similrillion is not. Go figure.
Response!
----- Original Message -----
From: trescha gwennyth XXXXXXXXXX@gmail.com >
Date: Wednesday, October 8, 2008 2:43 pm
Subject: Need a Female Companion for World Travel - 28 (Denver) d
To: pers-871298429@craigslist.org
** CRAIGSLIST ADVISORY --- AVOID SCAMS BY DEALING LOCALLY
** Avoid: wiring money, cross-border deals, work-at-home
** Beware: cashier checks, money orders, escrow, shipping
** More Info: http://www.craigslist.org/about/scams.html
How you doing? My name's trescha, I luckily stumbled across your
post right now. For some info about me, I?m 26 and a few weeks now, and i just
movedhere six months ago. It's very hard to find a loyal man now a
days. So i thought i'd try craigslist. If you are interested in getting to
know me... shoot me an email. Have a good day
Good afternoon Trescha. I hope the day finds you well.
I would like to know more about you, yes, though there are a few caveats before
we can consummate this encounter.
First, you must consent to a brief search by my man Mandalay. I was against this notion of his but he insisted, rightly explaining that my half-brother Cecil may send assassins after me disguised as beguiling young women met on the internet. Who knows, concealed under your fine muslins or nestled in your ample bosoms, what weapons you may have hidden in ambush.
Second, I must insist upon a sample of your DNA. Years of pure Old New England breeding have left my family gene pool...how should I put this...shallow. There is not one of my living relatives, for example, that does not suffer from gout, albinism, or hemophilia. Luckily, my mother was of Mediterranean origin, so I do not suffer from any of these maladies, though like a curse I still possess the recessive genes that may, if combined with those of another carrier, lead to idiocy and mongolism in our potential offspring.
That aside, tell me about yourself. Were you a graduate of Yale, or just Princeton? How many companies have you owned? How many men have you slain in mortal combat in the wet, turgid night neath' the gibbous Port-Au-Prince moon? What celebrities have you been romantically linked to? I look forward to your response.
From: trescha gwennyth XXXXXXXXXX@gmail.
Date: Wednesday, October 8, 2008 2:43 pm
Subject: Need a Female Companion for World Travel - 28 (Denver) d
To: pers-871298429@craigslist.org
** CRAIGSLIST ADVISORY --- AVOID SCAMS BY DEALING LOCALLY
** Avoid: wiring money, cross-border deals, work-at-home
** Beware: cashier checks, money orders, escrow, shipping
** More Info: http://www.craigslist.org/
How you doing? My name's trescha, I luckily stumbled across your
post right now. For some info about me, I?m 26 and a few weeks now, and i just
movedhere six months ago. It's very hard to find a loyal man now a
days. So i thought i'd try craigslist. If you are interested in getting to
know me... shoot me an email. Have a good day
Good afternoon Trescha. I hope the day finds you well.
I would like to know more about you, yes, though there are a few caveats before
we can consummate this encounter.
First, you must consent to a brief search by my man Mandalay. I was against this notion of his but he insisted, rightly explaining that my half-brother Cecil may send assassins after me disguised as beguiling young women met on the internet. Who knows, concealed under your fine muslins or nestled in your ample bosoms, what weapons you may have hidden in ambush.
Second, I must insist upon a sample of your DNA. Years of pure Old New England breeding have left my family gene pool...how should I put this...shallow. There is not one of my living relatives, for example, that does not suffer from gout, albinism, or hemophilia. Luckily, my mother was of Mediterranean origin, so I do not suffer from any of these maladies, though like a curse I still possess the recessive genes that may, if combined with those of another carrier, lead to idiocy and mongolism in our potential offspring.
That aside, tell me about yourself. Were you a graduate of Yale, or just Princeton? How many companies have you owned? How many men have you slain in mortal combat in the wet, turgid night neath' the gibbous Port-Au-Prince moon? What celebrities have you been romantically linked to? I look forward to your response.
Need a Female Companion for World Travel - 28 (Denver)
Reply to: pers-871298429@craigslist.org [?]
Date: 2008-10-08, 1:19PM MDT
Hello ladies. My name is Anton Kimble Blackwater, and I am in need of a companion.
Though I have accomplished much in my life, and have trials still yet to overcome, I have become acutely aware in the late hours of the night of a challenge I have not yet confronted, namely the matter of my legacy. Thus, I am seeking a female companion to accompany me on my sojourns throughout the world.
But first, about me:
I was born to a wealthy American rubber magnate of the Old New England stock and a Spanish wet nurse, twenty-eight years ago in the little Iberian village of Sacanza. Oh, to see my father talk of my mother, how his cheeks flushed and his eyes alighted with adoration in recalling their star-crossed romance... but that is a story for another time. Alas, she did not survive my birth, though her spirit accompanies me always.
Childhood was a halcyon time. Summers I spent riding horses in the Andalusian hills. I wintered with my tutor, the wise and venerable savant known only as Hanno from the gnostic college of Alexandria, in the dune-swept expenses of Tunisia, following caravan trails of Berber merchants and Ba'hai mystics. My father could not bear to leave Spain and the place of my mother's burial, so I would not see the land of my ancestors - America - well into my adult life.
At age nine tragedy struck. My father, while ballooning to Zurich, was killed in a fall resulting from an accident of suspicious origins. My father, you see, had sired another child with a West Indian Mulatto during his idle years as a poet in the Americas. This hellish woman had tried everything in her power to obtain his seed and thus produce a son who would one day inherit his fortune, and when seduction and blackmail proved ineffective, she had my father
ingeniously drugged. She had her way with him, and in nine months my half-brother Cecil was born. Under his mother's tutelage, and exposed at a young age to the anathema rites of the voodoo churches, my half-brother grew to be a wicked man. Even at so young an age, I suspected he had a hand in my father's baffling death.
My suspicions proved warranted when, in a series of devastating maneuvers, many of my father's assets were suddenly seized. That which Cecil could not claim legally he took by force, using bands of mercenaries comprised of such low-blooded, half-caste mongrels as former members of the Kenyan Mau Mau, the Tamil Tigers, and various Creole street gangs. Fearing for my life, my father's most loyal servants smuggled me through Cecil's dragnet. I was given to a kindly Basque family, where I was raised as a peasant to hide my true identity from my half-brother's murderous intentions.
At sixteen, nostalgic for my old North African haunts, I joined the French Foreign Legion. If I may re-purpose a phrase once stated about the Royal Navy, the legion was little more than wine, sodomy, and the lash. After many adventures, and many friendships made and lost, I was discharged and left to make my own way in this world, my Basque parents having been killed in one of the bombings typical to that region. Luckily, I had Hanno's wisdom and my hereditary aspects about me, and within a few years I ran a successful charity, a multi-national company, had written two novels, and had triumphantly quested for relics of arcane lore, the values of which are beyond estimation.
I am seeking a woman of similar interests - travel, adventure, and the mysteries of antiquity. If we should happen to meet on a "date" please understand there will be a third party, my man Mandalay. I found him begging on the streets of Mumbai, hawking nubile slum-girls to decadent tourists for a guinea a piece. Being five years his senior, I adopted him and raised him in the tradition of the Gurkha mystics. He will not leave my side, even for such an intimate occasion as a "date" - something that, while overbearing, has saved my life many times over. I think you will find Mandalay to be a severe but mirthful man - he tells an Assam parable about a monkey, a tiger, and a fig tree that leaves me in stitches every time I hear it. Any woman responding to this post should be a wealthy heiress of verifiable Anglo-Saxon ancestry, skilled in the martial arts, the occult, cryptoarcheology, and international finance. Tactical expertise in helping me reclaim my birthright from half-brother Cecil a plus! Please, no fatties.
PostingID: 871298429
Though I have accomplished much in my life, and have trials still yet to overcome, I have become acutely aware in the late hours of the night of a challenge I have not yet confronted, namely the matter of my legacy. Thus, I am seeking a female companion to accompany me on my sojourns throughout the world.
But first, about me:
I was born to a wealthy American rubber magnate of the Old New England stock and a Spanish wet nurse, twenty-eight years ago in the little Iberian village of Sacanza. Oh, to see my father talk of my mother, how his cheeks flushed and his eyes alighted with adoration in recalling their star-crossed romance... but that is a story for another time. Alas, she did not survive my birth, though her spirit accompanies me always.
Childhood was a halcyon time. Summers I spent riding horses in the Andalusian hills. I wintered with my tutor, the wise and venerable savant known only as Hanno from the gnostic college of Alexandria, in the dune-swept expenses of Tunisia, following caravan trails of Berber merchants and Ba'hai mystics. My father could not bear to leave Spain and the place of my mother's burial, so I would not see the land of my ancestors - America - well into my adult life.
At age nine tragedy struck. My father, while ballooning to Zurich, was killed in a fall resulting from an accident of suspicious origins. My father, you see, had sired another child with a West Indian Mulatto during his idle years as a poet in the Americas. This hellish woman had tried everything in her power to obtain his seed and thus produce a son who would one day inherit his fortune, and when seduction and blackmail proved ineffective, she had my father
ingeniously drugged. She had her way with him, and in nine months my half-brother Cecil was born. Under his mother's tutelage, and exposed at a young age to the anathema rites of the voodoo churches, my half-brother grew to be a wicked man. Even at so young an age, I suspected he had a hand in my father's baffling death.
My suspicions proved warranted when, in a series of devastating maneuvers, many of my father's assets were suddenly seized. That which Cecil could not claim legally he took by force, using bands of mercenaries comprised of such low-blooded, half-caste mongrels as former members of the Kenyan Mau Mau, the Tamil Tigers, and various Creole street gangs. Fearing for my life, my father's most loyal servants smuggled me through Cecil's dragnet. I was given to a kindly Basque family, where I was raised as a peasant to hide my true identity from my half-brother's murderous intentions.
At sixteen, nostalgic for my old North African haunts, I joined the French Foreign Legion. If I may re-purpose a phrase once stated about the Royal Navy, the legion was little more than wine, sodomy, and the lash. After many adventures, and many friendships made and lost, I was discharged and left to make my own way in this world, my Basque parents having been killed in one of the bombings typical to that region. Luckily, I had Hanno's wisdom and my hereditary aspects about me, and within a few years I ran a successful charity, a multi-national company, had written two novels, and had triumphantly quested for relics of arcane lore, the values of which are beyond estimation.
I am seeking a woman of similar interests - travel, adventure, and the mysteries of antiquity. If we should happen to meet on a "date" please understand there will be a third party, my man Mandalay. I found him begging on the streets of Mumbai, hawking nubile slum-girls to decadent tourists for a guinea a piece. Being five years his senior, I adopted him and raised him in the tradition of the Gurkha mystics. He will not leave my side, even for such an intimate occasion as a "date" - something that, while overbearing, has saved my life many times over. I think you will find Mandalay to be a severe but mirthful man - he tells an Assam parable about a monkey, a tiger, and a fig tree that leaves me in stitches every time I hear it. Any woman responding to this post should be a wealthy heiress of verifiable Anglo-Saxon ancestry, skilled in the martial arts, the occult, cryptoarcheology, and international finance. Tactical expertise in helping me reclaim my birthright from half-brother Cecil a plus! Please, no fatties.
- Location: Denver
- it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests
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