About once a month I receive in the mail one of my favourite subscriptions (and there are several to choose from…I am a bit of a magazine whore), the London Review of Books. Along with the New York Review of Books, these two are at the top of my favourites list because the articles are about such a wide variety of topics, and reading it makes my brain swell up, all smart-like.
After I’ve read one scholarly article, I reward my now smarter brain by reading the Personals. These aren’t like any other personal ads I’ve read. The London Review of Books personal ads are fucking AWESOME. They make my laugh. Out loud. Alone.
I thought I’d share a few of my favourites from the latest volume with you. (Images added editorially by yours, truly.)
“English lecturer, 44. Modelling himself on the Fonze in an entirely non-ironic way since 1979.”
“If we hit it off and embark on a serious relationship, I must insist that you don’t throw surprise birthday parties for me when I’ve just been turned down for the role of Leroy in my local church drama group’s production of Fame. Man, 63, harbouring a more lateral standard of psychological episode triggers.”
“When life gives you lemons, don’t make lemonade—instead squeeze it into the face of your cheating arse of a husband then cut the legs of every pair of trousers he owns. Sensitive F, 45. eady to move on and begin her life afresh with man willing to provide time sheets and supporting documentary evidence for every minute of his time out of the house.”
“When replying to this ad, please spcify which type of beverage I should excessively consume before we meet. Woman, 46. Far too used to the standard of LRB-reading men this column throws up, yet now prone to red wine migraines that make self-hating first date sex less bearable. Baileys types are a definite no-no (I get a yeast reaction to dairy).”
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“I went to university to learn how to write ads like this. Woman, 32.”
I think you just snagged them another subscriber. It’s worth it for the personal ads, alone.
Whenever I see Henry Winkler, I think of this PSA
70′s PSA
I want to meet them, both the men and the women. Especially the woman who cut the legs off of every pair of trousers her husband owned.