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There are two things you can’t avoid in life: death and the end of college. On Tinder, though, there’s a minefield of weird shit you’ll ultimately run into. For the un-initiated, who meet girls like a normal college student by pounding shots at the bar until you wake up naked under pink sheets with a cat licking your open mouth, this is what you can expect:
You’re swiping through Tinder as fast as you can play hot or not and suddenly you’re thrown off of your game by the oldest trick in the book: the group picture. Three 10s that look like they were plucked out of TFM Girls with dresses so short they might as well be shirts and their awkward friend who’s in jeans and on the heavier side.
What do you do? The game of odds says there is only one ugly one and three girls worth the herpes they’d probably give you if you sealed the deal. But stop, no, just swipe left. You’re smart and you’ve seen this shit a thousand times before. We know how this ends. It’s always the ugly chick. Sure, you could just open her profile and see if there’s any selfies in there, but if she’s good enough, it’s the same four girls in every goddamn picture. It’s never the hot ones. Never.
They would flaunt that shit or send you straight to Instagram, but this chick, she knows the game. She knows what’s going on in your pants when you look at her friends and she wants you to swipe right. Don’t do it. Heed Admiral Ackbar and realize “It’s a trap” and just send her to the left and save yourself the disappointment of asking which one she is. It’s always the ugly chick.
Seeing Bible verses or “Lover of Christ” on Tinder is kind of confusing. Like why the hell are you here when every guy is just trying to stick it in you? But give the girl some credit; she knows what she’s doing. She’s trying to tell you she wants a guy who’s well hung and ready to crucify her ass.
Seeing a Bible Verse is like the classy way of saying “I fuck on the first date and this is how I feel good about myself.” It’s too easy for a girl to just write DTF. They have to make everything overly complicated. She knows she’s on Tinder, but when she’s writing her bio she’s telling herself she’s going to hold out for a nice boy this time as she’s waiting for the pregnancy test to register.
I’ve pretty much come to the conclusion that “Lover of Christ” just means that’s what she likes to say when she’s having an orgasm, or for my sake, pretending to so I put my pants back on and go home.
My first thought is “This chick is way too fucking hot to be on Tinder so what the fuck is wrong with her?” And the answer is nothing, because she’s totally not going to message back no matter how funny you are, because this bitch matches everyone. She’s got an ass that you can bounce a quarter off of and she’s flaunting it from every angle so you can get a better mental image for when you jerk it to her later, but her bio simply reads “Follow me on Insta!” And why wouldn’t you if this is what you’re getting.
It’s like the TFM Girls except it’s not being posted by some dude in Austin who doesn’t find it at all weird he gets guys hard for a living. You go to the Insta and suddenly you see the problem: 30,000 followers and a boyfriend. She doesn’t want your dick; she wants your follow and unending stream of likes and compliments so she can feel at ease over the fact that she has the personality of a potato. A potato you’d totally butter and eat and treat the way a woman should be treated and please message me back.
A Trip to the Doctor
Finally, the girl you matched a while ago with the big tits, tiny waist, and Instagram to make sure she isn’t fat has agreed to meet you after a few days of witty banter and you’re taking her to a bar to get her hammered one way before hammering her the other way. It goes just how you planned and suddenly she’s back at your place justifying all the time and effort you’ve spent being a shallow asshole trying to make girls laugh on what is essentially a pet store for women.
She gets dressed, goes home, you talk about maybe getting together again but you don’t because you’ve moved on to better things, or they’ve moved onto you, and it’s all good because Tinder isn’t the dating game and you weren’t trying to make some girl who gives it up on the first date the mother of your children.
A few weeks later and you’re swiping through about a dozen bios that reference Harry Potter and just being friends when you put the phone down to go take a piss and something really isn’t right, and it’s just not coming out easily annnnnnnnnnd you have chlamydia..