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Bad Ass Frank just can’t find the Perfect Girl, or maybe he’s too picky?

Bad Ass Frank Says on his blog-

“I will not date, commit to, or become involved with any girl that
does not pass a thorough psychiatric evaluation, a stringent screening
process, and who believes that the only thing more satisfying than not
speaking at all, is not being able to speak because she’s blowing me. I
also have a list of criteria and deal breakers that will be posted in
an upcoming blog. Steel yourself ladies.”

Let’s start with the criteria because, in all seriousness, the list
is very short. You must be intellectually stimulating. You must have an
amazing sense of humor. You must be attractive. You must have self
esteem.

Now, you’d think that was pretty simple to find, no?

No.

There is a surprisingly short supply of ladies with that particular combination of traits. Let me also say that “attractive”, to me, encompasses a wide variety of looks, so don’t think you’re being excluded on that particular characteristic. Truth is, it’s the other three that are more elusive than Snuffleupagus. On the rare occasion that I might find this particular cocktail pre-mixed for me, I simply
wait. Because I know she’s going to have multiple entries on the deal breaker list, which is harsh and lengthy. So, if you’re the weepy, sensitive type, or if we’ve dated before, go watch ‘Marley & Me’ and skip this. I’m just gonna hurt your feelings. Although if you want to understand the traumatic experience it is to date me, by all means, read on.

Smoking is a deal breaker. And not because you stink, have yellow hair and nails, and did I mention that you stink? But because you are stupid. Don’t get mad at me for that. I didn’t make you stupid.
(Note: If you sneak cigarettes behind my back, it doesn’t make you clever. It makes you stupid and a liar)

If you believe in astrology, you are mildly retarded. Don’t get mad at me for that. I didn’t make you mildly retarded.

If you want me to believe in astrology, you are retarded and you want to date a gay guy.

If you have, or have ever had, a penis. I don’t fault you for your gender issues, but chicks who came equipped with a vagina are crazy enough. More confusion does not appeal to me, regardless of how real you say it feels. No, I don’t want to see it either.

If you regularly go see any band or musical act and have fucked, blown, jerked off, or stalked one of the members. I hate to burst your bubble but you are not a “fan of live music”, you’re a groupie.

If you have ever dated anyone called “Bad Ass Frank”. You can’t possibly have good judgement. Granted, he’s hot, and brilliant, but seriously, he calls himself “Bad Ass”. Grow the fuck up.
If you have had sex with anyone you met on the internet unless it was me. You are exempt if you waited at least two weeks prior to giving up the flower. Blow jobs do not count as “waiting”.

I don’t mind if you are on psychiatric medication. I mind only if you are off psychiatric medication. No female should ever be off her medication. If you have never needed medication, I will date you. But I hope you have health insurance, because you will need psychiatric medication shortly.

If you can be defined in any way as “emo”. The only girls who should be emo are below the age of consent. If you think that “life is pain”, you should cut…your head off.

If you are taller than me, you had better be so ridiculously hot that I don’t notice how midget-like I look next to you. Because I am perfectly capable of looking midget-like without your help.

Veganism is not a deal breaker unless you mind this bloody piece of meat on my plate. (Note: That was not a euphamism for fucking you during your period)

If you use “lol” ever, for any reason.

If you have used meth, coke, crack, heroin, or any variation of those drugs in the past five years. I have loaded guns at home. I’m not scared you’ll shoot someone with them, I’m just warning you not to try and steal any of my shit. I will reduce the time to two years if you have two cakes, are unavailable at least five nights a week because of prior “committments”, and have ten people on speed dial who’s last names you can’t tell me.

If you can’t spell, don’t know the difference between “their, there, and they’re”,
or “then and than”, use the word “ain’t” (unless you’re a hot black chick dissing any dude I don’t like by saying “Dat nigga ain’t shit”), have not read a book in the last ninety days, email without the proper use of caps and punctuation, text me using “text talk” (ur a fukn tard), say “dang” or “dangit” (free pass if you’re from the South), think a magazine is “reading”.

If you think that blow jobs are for special occasions I will call you on my birthday.

If you burn incense or smell of patchouli. If I want to smell a hippie I’ll track down Tommy Chong and sniff his ball sack.

If you think your constant complaining qualifies as “telling me how you feel”. It only qualifies as “making me want to stuff a roll of toilet paper in your mouth”.

If you have little to no self esteem. I’m sorry, but you must love yourself. I have a lot of love available. 50 percent of it goes directly to me (I love me sooo much), 25 percent of it goes to my hair (have you seen it? I’d give it 25 percent of your love as well), 15 percent goes to Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups (I still can’t decide if
it’s your chocolate in my peanut butter or vice versa), leaving only 10 percent of my love for you. That means you need to make up the other 90 percent by loving yourself. I do not have enough love to cover both of us, my hair, and a tasty candy treat.

You live alone and have more than one cat. That does not bode well for the future.

If you rarely have an orgasm. I’m already under enough pressure.

You’re over the age of 40 unless you’re hot and rich and looking to subsidize my life. It’s not that I don’t think you’re attractive, it’s just that I think you’re old.

You binge on drugs, alcohol, food, or Sex and the City reruns.

If you’re a whore. I’m not judging you, I’m just trying something new for once.

If you have a gut roll.

If your ass is wider than your shoulders.

If you’re a size queen. (Read Nothin’ Could Be Finer Than To Be In Your Vagina, because it’s not my penis’s fault that you’re loose.)

If you don’t get it.

So there you have it, page one of my 42 page booklet on deal breakers. If you’ve made it this far and none of the above apply to you, then the world has spun off of it’s axis, become populated by faeries, and is made of magic sugar candy. I mean, uh, call me. But since something up there likely does apply to you, don’t despair. You can always overcome it all by having a child, female, and raising her to fulfill my criteria. Then you’ll live vicariously through your daughter, just like all good mothers (I’m setting Fancyfree…anyone?). Please start now because I’m getting impatient. Eighteen years is a long time to wait for my beloved.

Happy New Year ladies…I love you (just not all of you).

 Bad Ass Frank website

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