StyrofoamMan535

Letter from potential dater, StyrofoamMan535, to the F’n Rad Dating Site

Dear F’n Rad Dating Site:

Without a doubt, I am the one.

There will be chills.

Gender: Male

Sexual Preference: Pansexual

Interested in: any other working genders holding coffee cups, office orgies

Religion:  Satanism

Body Type: medium build, some small rolls due to donut consumption. In any work meeting, I am the close-shaven, clean-cut man in the back row along the wall, preferably near the closed blinds; I balance carefully, sitting with my chair tipped, expertly leaning on the back two legs. My relaxed appearance and positioning are key. Yes, I dress like any other working man, wearing business casual office attire, although on certain occasions, on the right front side of my starched, ironed shirt, there often appears a jagged, yellow trail that bears a striking resemblance to egg yolk, and my wrinkled khakis may be creepily baggy and slightly unkempt, appearing somewhat damp.
Hair: carefully placed, moist bedhead

But my appearance is no matter. What matters is what comes next...my slick moves, and the way I reveal my ever-so-subtle, demonic expertise.

Interests: at exactly ten minutes into any meeting, I release my true skill. Yes, perhaps we should call it a gift, an innate talent. Ever so slowly, I gently begin running my fingernail along the side of my Styrofoam coffee cup. And then, the real, torturous fun begins. With my thumb nail, I continue to cut into the cup, digging in for the long haul, soon becoming engrossed, making that scratchy, god-awful, spine-tingling, nail-against-Styrofoam sound for the duration of the meeting.

At first, you gaze around, but right at that moment, I skillfully pause, and you can't catch me.

When you look away, I begin sweating. Then, cunningly, with adept mastery, I continue making ultra-artistic patterns on my cup’s side with my fingernail, taking in the bitter sound, watching you squirm to the music of screaming infant seals. Grinning sideways, I then watch the heads around me begin to turn.

All over the room, confused, lost souls scan the meeting crowd, desperately looking for the source of the sound.

Perhaps you begin to glare my way again.

And then, all at once, you see my finger twitch, and you know it’s me, the genius King of Unrecyclable Art – nail digging into foam – both music and etching in one, a design of the devil, a chorus of horror.

Some of you won't be able to handle the pressure. As you feel the weakness, you think this: if I can't beat him, join him.

At last, you give in to the circus.

You begin running your nail along your own cup, and we create a little spine-tingling duet. Then we both receive evil-spirited looks.

And yet again, with precise timing, I pause.

And you get the blame.

Then, like me, you begin to feel like you could spend all day with that fucking cup.

Just think about the sound, the subtle terror. Gives you goose bumps.

And rest assured, after my choice maneuvers and competent display of thumb and index dexterity, more stares will come my way, and your way, and then another hell hound will join us, and another, and the followers will be endless, until we can't stop, and we won't stop, and all we want is more, more, more.

Contact info: listen close. Listen closer. Look around the room. I’m always there. Never forget the sound. Never, ever forget.

I will make your skin scream.

StyrofoamMan535

P.S. By the way, I'm single, and I like thunderstorms and long walks in the park.

-- C.A. MacConnell