THE RELATIONSHIP THAT WASN'T

Call me old fashioned.  I was born in a time when sexting did not exist, and we had to go to the store and buy a stamp, then use the post office to mail each other Polaroids of our wonderful, wonderful genitals.  And your boyfriend only showed them to his friends, he didn't post them for the world to see after you pissed him off when you dumped him!  You always wanted to be famous, and now you have your wish. 

But now there's this new so-called fad-turned fresh hell sweeping Cluelessville: Internet relationships.  These are not real relationships.  These are electronic pen pals.  You see, having a boyfriend/girlfriend in reality means that you have a flesh and blood person that you make physical contact with, share intimate physical moments with and occasionally knock the ol' boots.  It does NOT include telling her to diddle herself on her bed through a computer monitor. 

If you have never been in the room with each other, you are not in a relationship.  How easy is it so say you're macking mad bitches just because you've spoken to various females on Internet message boards?  How fair is this?  How is it possible for people to be "intimate" living 2000 miles away from each other?  Telekinetic sex?  I need SOMEBODY out there to explain me the logic behind this.   Sure, you have a "connection" with all the words you shared.  Words are words, you can be whoever you want on the Internet when nobody is there to call you out on your actual shit.  It's not the same when you're alone.  None of you have no idea right now as I type this at my handy-dandy lil' laptop I'm actually wearing a zippered gimp suit and a mask that used to be my dad's face.  To you, I'm NiceGuyStud87 on Fagsfordates.com.  Am I really?  Who knows?  And that's my point.

Let me lay this down for you one more time: that girl you talk to on a camera in Tucson?   She's not your girlfriend.  You have only ever seen her sit in an office chair and flip her hair back and forth 87,000 times in the last for months.  You have not held hands.  Been on a date.  That too-soon reach for the breast that sends your palms into cold sweats.  Dry humped your way into drunken first-time sex where you slammed her head on an iron bedrail and her dog licked your asscheeks in mid-coitus.  All that good shit.  Until you do, your pen pals.  And we ALL have more than one pal.