When I recently discovered you could track people using tinder, I've been filling the spank bank with all sorts of horny imaginary shit as I watch you move about like Leisure Suit Larry with an anus full of Viagra on my Open Street Map.

I can see you now. Sipping awkwardly on a $22 cocktail at a bar you'd never usually go to with some mentally unstable manic depressive who seems to have expanded considerably since her profile shot was taken and who started the conversation by asking if you knew "where to get any good benzos".

But you're still keen and you know it.

So sip up bunge! You're in. And when I inevitably track you to the seedy crack den where you end up bumping uglies, I'll be thinking about you doing skanky shit and softly stroking my gooser like the shady, immoral, shameless cunt that I am.

SAY MY NAME!

Alan J. Boltlaw
Cyber stalker and accomplished pervert