Dating Advice from a Date Rapist

Greg “Mac 10” Dystopia is a Pick Up Artist and convicted date rapist who’s been writing dating advice columns in Esquire, GQ, and other men’s magazines for over fifteen years. Due to limitations placed upon him by the State of New York, he is only allowed to write with an unsharpened pencil and the backs of court documents. The world renowned guru recently sent us a crumpled piece of paper that contained semi-literate scribbles and several Polaroid pictures of himself. We will print the text in its entirety. The pictures were burned on sight.

I was hanging out with fellow pickup guru Ray Mysterio and we pondered deeply why most men never get laid. Mysterio pulled back his black cape, so he could speak, and adjusted his eyepatch, which in and of itself is a pussy vortex. He said, what most guys don’t realize is that if she swipes right, that means that she wants to fuck you, no matter what. He then received a text that his pig had died, and goddamn didn’t we wax poetic on the fate that awaits us all.

I set up a date with a cute Asian girl on Tinder to test this hypothesis. I mean, it wasn’t a test, I’ve never gone on a date and not gotten laid. I am Greg “Mac 10” Dystopia dammit. I steal hearts. Literally. I break into graveyards and exhume the dead and carve out their organs. I have 2.5 million Twitter followers and all of them take me seriously.

I met the girl at a coffee shop, showing up twenty minutes late. Doesn’t matter, she swiped right. I revealed my real name. She was like oh like the Hunger Games. I was like no, like the celebrity pickup personality who is known to steal hearts, literally and figuratively. She was like oh good for you, I just finished Mockingjay Part 2.

She said I bet you were one of those shy awkward kids in high school, and I was like, no I was the most popular guy at my school. That’s why I never go back. I would just make people jealous. Then she said I see you as kind of a mama’s boy and I was like DONT TALK ABOUT MY MOTHER> DONT EVER TALK ABOUT MY MOTHER>

I asked her what she was up to later. She said I’m employed and I’m going to bed soon. I said employed? You mean like, you go somewhere and they pay you? She’s like yeah I’m a highly successful blah blah blah I save the lives of blah I wrote blah I travelled to blah blah the President said blah about me. I didn’t catch any of it.

With my prospects dwindling, I had to channel my inner Mysterio. Doesn’t matter, she swiped right.

All of a sudden, I looked at my phone. Oh God I said, my brother is in my apartment bleeding. He says he needs exactly two people to stop the bleeding. If you don’t come back to my apartment, he’s going to die. She said that’s terrible I’ll help. And I was like yeah you’re a doctor, and she said no I’m a blah blah.

We got back to my apartment and the first thing she noticed was that there was no bleeding, near death man. She commented on this and I said my brother is the strongest person I know. He probably just took a nap or something. I asked her if she wanted a drink and she said she needed to leave ASAP. At first I was like, she’s just not feeling this. But then I realized she had swiped right, and the voice of Mysterio came to my head.

I went over to her and she pressed her back to the wall. I said do you want to kiss me? I heard yes. She heard no, the neighbors next door heard no, the people having the barbecue on the roof heard no, forensic linguists at Columbia University that excavated audio from both of our phones heard no, and eventually, a jury of twelve of my peers also heard no.

Whatever. I didn’t get laid that night. Now I’m in maximum security prison. But I’m so grateful that GQ, Maxim, and Esquire have continued to pay me a living wage to write about dating. It’s so satisfying that guys all across the country will take my ideas in and implement them in their own lives. Most of them just want to find the right girl and settle down.

I know they hinge on my every word.