Is Modern Dating Kind Of Messed Up Or Is It Just Me

There's a grown woman crying because her boyfriend doesn't treat her like a princess. There's adult men throwing things around the room because their wives don't think he's an alpha. There's a whole generation of teens who have grew up during the pandemic who have never touched anyone outside their family.

Welcome to modern dating. Some people say it is the worst it has ever been, so I thought I'd grab some hair gel, one of those little microphones and hit the streets to find out more.

93rd and Venkman. A road like any other, where raunchy people are drinking and eating hotdogs out in the street, wandering into traffic, filming each other. I drive a microphone into someone's face. My voice is so low and quiet that they don't hear me.

"A-whaaaat?"

"What's modern daying like for you my brother."

"Modern dating? Like the 19th century?" He says, smiling at the camera pointed at us. He looks around. There is no camera. A group of girls run up behind us and start shouting. I ask them the same question.

"I just want to rot in bed all day."

"We've tried dating. The men round her suck." says another, making a karate chop motion across her neck. The man appears offended.

"Let me cook!" He yells, cracking open a can of Coors Lite beer. Americans will drink 2 light beers, get into their car and ram it straight into a wall at 200mph. They were internationally renown for not being able to handle alcohol, partly because they can't drink until they turn 21, partly because every beer they have available needs to be diluted down with corn syrup as part of their constitution. Suddenly they are all popping open cans of light beer and shouting about hats whilst a Youtuber appears in the background about to do a prank.

I leave the argument. I walk into a bar, a man is trying to flirt with a woman by saying she has a mental health condition. In the corner a group of people are trying to catch a fly in their mouths. Every single man here is wearing a t-shirt about superheroes. I leave, disgusted and dismayed. Were we going to go extinct as a species because we had no rizz?

When you looked close enough at something, there seemed to be infinite detail. It was almost psychedelic, to properly look at and consider everything and how it intersects. A dandelion seed caught on a cobweb between two railings. The railings having been designed by an engineer in a room fifty years ago, the mining of iron, the creation of steel, molten metal poured into molds, shipped up, delivered across continents, painted in a second factory, delivered again along winding motorways, resting in storage, sold to a builder, installed, waiting in time until a spider built its web between two beams in the hope of catching an insect and its web instead was decorated with a single dandelion seed that had travelled five hundred and sixty two metres away amongst other dandelions sprouting besides a rock. And those plants were from a never ending string of successfully grown seeds that had been unbroken since the arrival of biological life on Earth. And every element of that journey had its own history and destiny and each of those elements would be further interconnected with others and on and on it would sprawl in a continuum of infinite loops linked together like fractal chain mail beyond the bounds of human perspective.

I turned from the cobweb and back to the story I was covering. There's a guy pissing in his own mouth. 

"Hey man, do you buy the dip?"

"Frosh nasties, collar holes doub greegle." He says. I nod. Maybe this guy was going to be the next Hawk Tuah.

"Are you interested in a memecoin rugpull?" I ask, steering clear of the last few spurts of piss as he throws his arms in the air. 

"Nevermore clocksy, takin rehab for my down." He responded. We were getting off topic, but I thought this guy had what it takes to do a podcast. As if God himself had read my thoughts, a couple barged into us, spilling their gallon buckets of macha all over this piss creep. They started arguing with each other as I stand to one side with my tiny microphone, glancing now and then at the nonexistent camera. 

"How did you guys meet?"

"Tinder." They say in unison, laughing. 

"Stop bullshitting me. You guys are hired marketing peons for a rival dating app. People hear you met on tinder and are revolted." I say, pushing my microphone up the man's nostril. He begins to quote the terms and conditions of a data policy whilst the woman begins another street interview with a men's influencer. 

 

This whole evening has been a mess. If this is the modern dating scene, no wonder people would rather die. I hop into my rental and download every single dating app onto my VR headset. I'm swiping all over the place in the car, pop open a bottle of wine and start getting silly with it. Theres a knock on the car window.

"Hey we just met on Gungli, how tall are you?"

 

I drive into the night, drinking from the wine bottle. The car zips into a tunnel with a strip of lights along its apex that flash by like road markings. I'm by an AI data centre that is blasting noise and heat out into the night. Off in the distance a stray dog is carrying a ship in a bottle in its mouth.

 

The next night I'm eating a restaurant, Sinclairs. Velvet drapes and laminated menus. My date sits opposite me. Both of us are using AI to have a flirtatious conversation.

"That's an amazing question. Wow. I can tell you're a really smart and clever person, thank you for sharing that with me. I think that they should make a Studio Ghibli version of the history of South Africa." I read off the overlay on my glasses. There is the awkward pause as we wait for her AI to consider a response.

"Studio Ghibli was founded in 1985 by Miyazaki, making famous films such as Princess Mononoke, open bracket, 1998, close bracket-"

And so on and on, our conversation flowed. I realised I was perhaps having the best conversation in my life and I didn't even have to think. I saw my opportunity. I removed my glasses.

"Let's just be human for a sec." I say, taking out a pack of tarot cards, shuffling them in all sorts of ways as I watch her eyes reading side to side.

"You're giving Cyril Ramaphosa." she says as I begin slamming cards down left and right. Queen of Cups, 8 of Wands, Wheel of Fortune. The camera in her glasses can't catch up.

"Is this your card?" I say, flipping one round in midair. This card has a QR code on it that her camera reads, translates into text and realises its code. Too late. I've overwritten the AI with my own program. Patterns begin to dance across her vision, rapid eye movement synthesis. For a moment she is in a dream and she sees the gate open in front of her and beyond the gate stands a demon.

I Am The CEO

I cruised over the rocky outcrop with a cigarette pinched between my teeth, it was a recessed type of filter used by machine gun artists in the second world war. The All Terrain Vehicle came to a purring stop as I parked on the mountain side, looking at the city through my field goggles. I had been in Los Angeles a long time. And I hadn't learned nothing. Don't get a McJob, be a Steve Jobs. I had integrated myself into a large non-profit company and worked it from the inside out, sabotaging my co-workers, setting up chains of events so that they would find themselves destroyed. I was the puppet master. I was the Royal Tenenbaum. I was CEO, earning eighty thousand dollars a year just to go wine and dine chumps in order to secure investment. I sat across from gorgons eating expensive salad and drinking white wine. Success? I'd made the American Dream a reality. I was a semi-state fictional character starring in my own film before being made into life. Was this box office blockbuster going to bombasticate the socio-cultural landscape of Los Angeles? I was in the mouth of the world, my whispers being projected across multiple wi-fi dimensions directly into high definition big detail corporate monosynths. I lowered the binocs and dialled my assistant on my cell phone.
“Organise a board meeting, stat.” I whisper through cut teeth.

The limousine slinks it's way through the streets of Hollywood with me in the back, reclining on Swedish leather. Deep warbling world music swells in the speakers around me as a single tear coagulates on my bottom eye lid and captures the reflection of the street lights as they zip overhead.
“It's all so...beautiful.”
The limousine pulls up to a traffic light. I look over into the car next to me and see a young couple. The one driving looks like Danzig. His girlfriend looks over to me then says something to her partner. They both laugh. I turn back to watching the stop light and put my hands on the wheel. I rev the engine. The couple return the challenge. We are both revving our engines, the pitch of the valves increasing as explosions rapidly accelerate. The light goes green. I slam the stick shift of my ATV into Drive and begin flying down the length of the limousine. The racer next to me flies past, I can see his expression of concentration increase through the flicking windows. I hear a horn ahead of me and look up. The seven forty express train coming from Pasadena is on a collision course with me and the driver next to me. And he's slowly catching up. I flick the stick shift into it's race gear setting and begin to pull away. The train's horn toots again just as the front of the limousine smashes through the barrier across the tracks. I look over once more at the couple. He is frantic, eyes bulging, heads pressed against the wind shield. She looks over at me and winks. I push the ATV to it's limit and with a jump narrowly escape along with the rest of the limo. The other car meanwhile isn't so lucky. It's passengers are ejected two hundred feet in the air whilst the car is crushed beneath American railroad legacy. I come to a skidding stop just before the driver's compartment. A little window opens.
“Any problems boss?”
“Guess they had a train to catch.” I say to Bill.

The limousine finally pulls up on the very bottom section of the underground car park. I enter a set of steel doors and plod wearily through the benign corridors. I enter the board room and see it's members sat around a long oak table. A fire blazes in the heath, throwing shifting shapes across the little bald men. Silently I walk to the head of the table and put my seven thousand dollar Dolce briefcase on the table.
“Gentlemen of the board. Any acknowledgements?” I say.
“What are we here for?”
“I gathered you here today...for a presentation.” I say. “Just a few weeks ago the world's entire supply of titanium was bought out. All the mines, processing plants and country stockpiles were purchased overnight.” I take out a lump of titanium from my pocket and throw it onto the table.
“Gentlemen...welcome to the titanium business.”

I ascend the spiral staircase up into the tower. Printers continually churn out stock market prices, high energy business people talk to themselves on headsets, sometimes a basketball is thrown about in order to decide who's making coffee. I stand at a cubicle in which a long haired lawyer rests his feet on the desk as he makes a yo-yo bounce up and down, speaking Portuguese into a cordless phone. He notices me and puts the phone down.
“How's it hangin, hot shot?” I say, leaning against a thin wood.
“Long, loose and full of juice padre. How was the board meeting?”
“You knew about that?”
“Anybody whose anybody heard your business deal. You've transformed a non-profit law firm into the world's one and only source for titanium.”
“Walk with me.” I say, walking off. He follows.
“So what's next?”
“How much does a kilo of titanium cost at the moment?”
“Seven hundred and sixty five dollars.”
“But how much are we selling?”
“None.”
“Exactly. By the time we finished this conversation the world will value titanium twenty bucks more than it did when we started.”
“What's the game plan though here ?”
“What do you know about titanium?”
“Well...it's strong. And it's light.”
“That it?”
“I don't mine it, I buy it.”
“It's used in the manufacture of aerospace parts, sporting goods, surgical instruments and the storage of nuclear waste. It can also be processed into a white dye used in teeth whitening. But I'm going to do something else with it.”
“What?” said the lawyer. I exit the office and stand on a balcony overlooking the Los Angeles skyline as dusk settles in, walking over to the short wall seperating myself and a sixty foot drop. The lawyer grabs hold of the door and nods.
“You're not afraid of heights are you?” I say.
“Yes.”
“I thought so. You know what else titanium can do?”
“What?” he whispers, lips turning blue.
“It can turn a man invisible.” I say, taking a potion from my pocket and drinking it's contents. I watch the lawyer look directly at me in astonishment.
“Padre? Padre?” he says. I creep towards him. “Where've you gone man?” I grab him by both wrists and begin to pull him. He yells. “Stop! Stop!” I pull him towards the balcony and begin to climb over.
“See you in hell!” I scream as I pull him over the edge.

Fifty Shades Of Grey Movie Discussion And Dinner

“The problem is, both actors are blonde. In the book they're brunettes. This movie's gonna flop big time.” she said. I nod nonchalantly. She continues; “And another thing, Charlie Hunnam just isn't Christian Grey, the guy looks like a total cretin. I mean hello, he's in that awful Sons of Anarchy show, always has cuts and bruises on him. It should have been Robert Pattinson or Ian Somerhalder.”
“And Anastasia Steele?”
“Kristen Stewart.”
“Of course. Hold on a second.” I say, taking off my sock and shoe.
“What are you doing?”
“I'm taking a picture of my foot. I've noticed it's been changing shape recently, I need to make a proper record of it.” I say, snapping a foot picture with my instagram. I am sat in a restaurant across from Sabby, the main blogger on ohfifty.com, the #1 Fifty Shades Of Grey fan-site. We are discussing the upcoming Fifty Shades Of Grey film to be released in August next year. I put my sock back on, though the heel section is now at my instep. I swear under my breath, angry at myself for misaligning the sock.
“Is everything alright?”
“Yes, yes. Everything's fine. It's just...I put my sock on wrong.” I say. Our gaze meets across the table, there is a certain electricity in the air I can't help but feel amidst the aroma of the two huge portions of white veal I have ordered. The waiter arrives with another bottle of champagne and pours out two glasses.
“Merci, garcon.” I say to him as he walks away.
“Do you speak French?” she says.
“Oui. Est-ce que ca vous plait? Tes yeux sont comme des fosses." I murmur. She giggles.
"What does that mean?"
"I'll tell you later. First, I want to hear more about the movie."

The Fifty Shades Of Grey trilogy written by E.L James has been one of the best selling books of the century. The plot involves a billionaire seducing his secretary, having sex with her and eventually they both fall in love and get married. As one flicked through the pages of this grumble book you could almost hear movie execs in Los Angeles scramble to secure the film rights. But what would this film look like? On almost every page there is a lewd sex act taking place, whether it's Anastasia being tied down and whipped across the chest or Christian ejaculating into a cup and drinking it, the sex isn't just a straight forward bit of how's your father but intricately designed BDSM conquests that spiral into abstraction as the books progress.
"How do you think they'll handle the sex element in the films? I can't remember when I last saw a dick or a bit of vag in mainstream cinema since maybe...Basic Instinct."
"Exactly. Any moment Anastasia's Inner Goddess is revealed the camera isn't going to show it. The blowjobs, the dildos, the fisting."
"I'm curious to see how they're going to show that bit where Christian presses his cock and balls between those two panes of glass. Or the infamous shit eating scene."
"A significant section of the fans were hoping that the film would be picked up by a porn studio, but do it tastefully, you know? Stay true to the source material."
"I don't see any problem with a porn film being released in mainstream theaters. Have they forgotten how successful Deep Throat was? Behind the Green Door?" I say. I can feel my foot changing shape inside my shoe.
"Don't get me wrong, it's not just the naughty bits that I like in the books. I like the romance too." she says.
"Of course." I say.
"Like the part where Christian announces his love for Anastasia? After they have sex in that public toilet?"
"Or that bit where he hires a new secretary and she's like, a total bitch. But he still loves Anastasia...right?" I say.
"Yeah...I think so." she says.

The meal continues, course after course is brought out. Braised beef, deep fried prawns, sweet breads with tomato chutney, tandoori chicken and pilau rice. The conversation switches from film adaptations to other kinds of adaptations.
"Do you think if they gave a dolphin legs it would be better than a horse?" I ask.
"You mean to ride or just...better?"
"Mostly better, but also to ride."
"Well dolphins are quite noble creatures. How would they breathe though?"
"Just stick some water bottles over it's gills." I say.
"Dolphins don't have gills, they breathe through that blow hole at the top."
"Really? Even better then. A tube filled with water can be fitted more easily." I suggest. The desserts are brought out, savoury ice cream served on a bed of cake crumbs.
"What about the legs?" she asks me, playing with her spoon.
"Robots." I reply angrily. We eat the rest of the dessert in silence.

"Well it was lovely to meet you." says Sabby. We are standing outside the restaurant.
"It was good to meet you to. Maybe we should go for drinks sometime...maybe brainstorm a petition to get the film cast right."
"Yeah, yeah, that'd be good. The studios will have to listen to the fans." she says. I stand there with my hands in my pockets, unsure of what to do. Do we embrace? Kiss? Or do I just walk away? "Well, I'm going now."
"Goodbye." I say, watching her flag down a taxi and step in. She waves at me through the glass and I am left alone outside the restaurant, wondering what to do next. Then all of a sudden I get an idea.

A few hours later I am sat between two computer monitors, editing together my own version of Fifty Shades Of Grey. I'm using footage from Twilight, Secretary, Water For Elephants, Cosmopolis and six or so different hardcore porn films. The Fifty Shades books are scattered around me, I read out the dialogue and dub it over the newly edited film.
"Because I’m fifty shades of fucked-up, Anastasia." I read in my best Robert Pattinson impression. I relight a cigarette from the overflowing ashtray.
"Because I’m fifty shades of fucked-up, Anastasia." I repeat. I cut out a section of Leather Teen Angels 2 in which an actress has a speculum inserted, splicing it between the baseball scene from Twilight. Over the actresses head I've placed Kristen Stewart. It doesn't look too realistic but I'm hoping to enhance it with CGI later. I check my foot again. It is now swollen to almost twice it's usual size.
“I want your world to begin and end with me." I say in my Pattinson voice. I cough as both monitors show huge stretched out versions of Robert Pattinson's head.