icebag

The jokes write themselves, folks. I was particularly drawn to Michael and Angela, in the same way that I find myself slowing down for fires and auto accidents. What have we got here? Angela is an American woman with the personality of a steam hammer who has likely driven off every eligible male, including those not yet born, within 100 miles of her home, so she's casting her nets wider. Men her own age the world over soon determine that they can just throw themselves under a bus and get it over with rather than allow Angela to tie them to the nearest flat surface and fornicate them to death, so she has run out of options. She gets a nibble all the way from Nigeria(!). Michael lives with his Momma at age 30. He wants to be a businessman in America. He's willing to sleep with a vegan leather handbag to get the greencard action going, and going from Momma to Angela is going to be seamless for him, with the added benefit that he can have sex if he can get the bag over her head long enough. Michael likely thinks she's rich because she can afford a plane ticket to Lagos. His friends are laughing their asses off at him because they know all Michael has to do is promise the sex in exchange for the money which he will need to come to her, tell her he has lost access to the account she wired the funds to, wash rinse repeat. Angela wants intercourse. If the liason with Michael fails, her next stop will likely be the Mogadishu Community College and Lube, because young and dumb and hung is out there, she just needs to keep digging. Ricky is a moron. His face is on a poster on the wall in every nightclub ladies room in Columbus. Melissa is a construct by an unholy alliance between Dow Chemical and Larry Flynt. People do not naturally look like that. There is healthful living, and then there is failed medical experimentation. She's looking to land a dumb American with a reasonable bank account before gravity starts to work. And Paul...ah, Paul. He's going to show all his buddies on the men's rights boards that an incel CAN find sexual nirvana in the Amazon rainforest, where you don't even have to go three feet out the back door to find a place to hide the body if the girl doesn't agree with you that you're God's gift to her. His idea of an appropriate gift to the "woman" he claims to want to marry is a metric shit-ton of stuffed animals, to include the always romantic stuffed poo emoji. He's so convinced she's promiscuous he demands that she submit to a pregnancy test and STD screen the first time they meet and starts beating the drum the minute he arrives for his second visit because she texts other American men? He thinks she's sleeping around. If she's normal and the previews are correct, she is, and why the hell not, since he trusts her so implicitly. That's an hour of my life I'll never get back.