TONGUE IN CHEEK:
The Dirty Lowdown on International Dating
By Dawk Ziti
I am a guy who has more women than he can handle, if you count my mother, aunts, and cousins. I
live in Los Angeles, California, United States (U.S.), where less than 40% of the people are
European. Call me pixilated, but I always wanted to propagate with someone who is similar to me,
ethnically at least, but not to the point of having the same genes. Incest may be fine for fireflies and
proletarians, as well as ancient Egyptian royalty and practically prehistoric Greek despots, but it is
taboo for Italians such as I. Of course, the last group will soon be extinct, but that is
inconsequential, and if you knew my relatives, you would understand why.
Most of the women in the U.S. are obese, and the rest are dense. If you are lucky, you can find one who is both, which is not
much of an accomplishment. Once, I stooped so low as to try to meet women at the local shopping
mall---my favorite hangout---but I received enough cold stares and warm vitriol to last 2 lifetimes. The
ladies at these places are no ravishing beauties, but try telling them that. You would need medical
attention forthwith. Take my word for it: I learned the hard way.
Given the state of the situation in my hometown, I rapidly deduced, as I am quick on the uptake,
after almost 40 years of futility-if you call banging one's head against a wall failure-that I needed to
take drastic measures if I ever wanted to experience connubial bliss. So, on 9/11/01, as my
highflying dreams were starting to crumble, I changed my destiny by coercing my mom's friend---I
am Italian, remember?---into giving me a computer to access international women, and a little
pornography on the side. I never realized how good I had it---before I went online.
I visited a web site called smooch.com, or something similar. I would tell you the exact name, but I
am not being paid for advertising. Besides, my opinion of the site is not favorable. The site should be
called copulate.com, as I almost got screwed.
The first woman, and I use the term jocularly, was Natasha from Ukraine, a very convivial vixen. She
sympathized with my hatred of travel, although she said that her lifelong ambition was to see the
world. She wholeheartedly endorsed my idea to meet in Jamaica, a two-bit country, but which, near
as I could figure, was the closest place to Los Angeles (L.A.) that a U.S. citizen and a Ukrainian
could visit each other legally, which was no consolation. I did not want to be on that worthless island
in the Atlantic Ocean. My hair simply does not look good in dreadlocks.
I made the flight arrangements for Natasha, and the train and ship accommodations for myself. The
day after Christmas, which was a week before our respective departures, I received an e-mail from
Mai Tai Hsu (Hsu is pronounced the same as 'shoe' is, or so I was told; U.S. citizens have peculiar
monikers), a man I did not know, with "Natasha" in the subject line. Merry Christmas to me, I
thought, sensing trouble, and I was right. The letter said that he had received a billet-doux from
Natasha that also listed my address. He wondered how Natasha could claim to be devoted only to
him and corresponding with me simultaneously, which makes him a smart man in my book. He gave
me a long explanation about scammers, which is what he called Natasha, and touted me to a web
site that is dedicated, in part, to exposing them. In short, a scammer is a person, usually a woman,
or a man hiding behind a woman's photo, who most likely is not who she purports to be and is
simply trying to collect money from a dupe in exchange for a plane ticket or other expenses.
Therefore, a scammer is a scrofulous individual who deserves to be sjamboked, and I would enjoy
doing just that, if given the chance. I believe in the golden rule, and always try to do unto others as
they do to me. I get in legal trouble once in a while, but I have loads of fun, and my blood pressure is
lower now than it used to be.
I was glad to get the information from Mai Tai-I had not received any other presents that Christmas,
so I did not look a gift horse in the mouth---before I embarked on a wild-goose chase. I am not much
of a hunter, anyway, so I thanked him. I certainly did not shoot the messenger, if that is what you
are thinking; instead, I invited him to Jamaica, where I seduced him to show my gratitude. He was
better company than Natasha would have been, and I did not have to worry about impregnating him,
although I believe he gave me the clap.
I learned my lesson and went to a web site that absolutely promised to be the best, and I met
Tanya, 22, who did not have an ax to grind. Instead, she performed a marvelous hatchet job on her
imaginary rivals-all the women in the world-as she proceeded to recite her autobiography, bit by bit,
through the course of 3 letters a day for 2 weeks. If her life had been interesting, I would not have
I finally grew tired of being cozened, as I am not a masochist, believe it or not-I have always thought,
though, that you only hurt the one you love, but I draw the line at physical pain, even if it is only a
dotted one-so I joined a club that vowed to eliminate any mountebanks who materialized. The first
fox, or should I say, vixen, who I fell for, Daria, was a charlatan of the deepest dye, but Elena, the
Russian woman who perates the site, which is a veritable cyber guide for
Russophiles, and her very capable staff, intervened. Notwithstanding that contretemps, I was still
confident that my luck would change, as even the blind could see that the women who signed up and
ran their profiles on this site had pulchritude, perspicacity, probity, and dignity, not necessarily in
order of importance. I took a 90 day membership. I have yet to be disappointed, except that now, I
have nothing to complain about, and nobody exciting to write about. I still have hard feelings about
Daria---she was a babe---but since I met Lisa, everything has changed---for the better, I am surprised
Lisa-her sobriquet; her real name is not printable---from Moscow, had the rare combination of
honesty and sincerity, which separated her from 90% of the women who were on the lesser dating
systems. Lisa was 20 when I first wrote to her, and although I am approximately 40, she was not too
much more mature than I. I would rather rob a cradle than a grave, as necrophilia does not turn me
on---anymore. Lisa had 2 outstanding points that attracted me to her. In the interest of decency, I
will not mention them here. We decided to meet in late September, in Los Angeles*, of all places,
which was convenient
*You most likely will not be so fortunate. You practically have to win a lottery, and a rigged one at
that, to get an Eastern European woman into the U.S. For a further discussion of the U.S.'s
discriminatory policies, contact me, which is easier said than done. I am too busy tilting at
windmills to be found, except on holidays, and I am accountable to no one.
for me, as I loathe traveling, other than by automobile or foot. When the fateful day arrived, I popped
a few tranquilizers and then took a long, eventful automobile ride to the airport. Finally, I stood in
front of my beloved. I wanted a hug; she shook my hand. We got in the car, and I noticed that Lisa
was crying. I figured that the tears were from joy. In reality, the seat belt was too tight.
One day, Lisa and I were driving around, and she said, "I would very much like to get married." I did not stop
to ask her whom she had in mind; instead, I zoomed into a church, perhaps a little too fast, as I
barreled past the parvis, plowed through the ceiling-to-floor stained-glass window, and crashed into
the first few rows of pews. No harm was done-to my car-as the savior was watching over me; I had
chosen a good co-pilot.
I backed up the vehicle and parked. "How 'bout here?" I asked, adding, "This church looks
ecumenical." Lisa shrugged, saying, "It's as good a place as any," which was not an enthusiastic
endorsement by any means. We spied a sartorially whimsical man by the sacristy door giving us
the once-over. He looked like a creep, but we were desperate, and approached him nevertheless. He
beat us to the punch with "May I help you?" "Do you work here?" I inquired, matching him tit for tat.
Neither of us wanted to be the first to break down and actually answer a question. "Kind of," he
replied. "That is, I'm here a lot, but I don't get paid much." "You're a stalker, then, or a groupie," I
joked. He was not amused. "Who wants to know?" he asked. "We're would-be parishioners, I
guess," I responded vaguely. "We're lookin' for Reverend Goodpastor." "I might be him," he replied,
nervously fumbling to light a cigarette. "State your business," he ordered. "We wanna get married," I
blurted. "Want to, or have to?" he queried skeptically, blowing smoke in the face of Lisa, who is
We left there posthaste and decided to go to Hollywood to take a walk. Two men quickly
approached us and made an ithyphallic proposition. I rejected it cursorily by stating that I am
heterosexual. Everywhere I go, I am plagued.
We got in the car and drove around aimlessly for an hour and a half, burning hundreds of dollars of
valuable gasoline like water, except that, in L.A., the latter is more expensive, although the taste is
equipollent. Sightseeing is overrated.
In case you are interested, and if
not, you are in the wrong place and have wasted a lot of time, Lisa is gone
now - oh, she is alive, but she is back in Russia, as her visa expired and the U.S.
makes no exceptions for people from her country. As a result of my relationship with her,
evanescent and unsatisfactory though it was, I am hailed as an expert on international dating in my
neighborhood, which is not a great honor, but I take what I can get. At least once a day some
guy* asks me, "Whadda ya know about foreign women?" I usually reply that "all females
're a lien to me," and leave it at that.
* Not his real name. I devised an alias so that I would not have to pay him. If I could do the same to avoid income taxes, I would be on cloud 9, and better off, too.
Lisa was neither a fortune hunter nor a clinging vine. She was a strong woman: as proof, she gave
me a black eye when I tried to spoon with her. She was not the least bit dependent on me, either,
You may surmise that the saga has ended, but you are wrong, as always. For a nominal fee, I will
provide a heart-rending update, and for more money, I may even tell the truth. Moreover, someone
has bowdlerized the disquisition herein; I confess that I was the culprit, and that my purpose was to
save the naive reader from abashment. Thus, if you are mature, or just curious, and yearn to view
the expunged passages, the paramount focus of which is a caustic commentary on politics and
sex -- strange bedfellows, eh? -- much of which is altogether exquisite, and some of which, frankly, is
better, for a price, you can have the 84 page, unexpurgated discourse, which, by the way, is 215 k,
whereas this account was merely 34 k. The difference between the 2 versions is obvious: 181 k.
Furthermore, on page 80, you will learn the real reason that I invited Lisa to the U.S. In no other
document can such a juicy tidbit be found. The cost is straightforward: an arm and a leg, your
firstborn, or $2,000,000.00* in U.S. currency -- give or take a few
pennies -- the
*Of course, the price is significantly higher if you want a printed copy. I have to eat.
of which I strongly prefer for hedonistic, as well as practical, reasons. I love the sight of money, and
I cannot buy compact discs with your appendages - at least, not over the counter.
This exposition---if you are too dense to realize the magnitude of what you have just read, then I
will spell it out for you -- meticulous and preposterous though it is, represents a unique but overvalued
contribution to the study of romantic relationships and the field of balderdash. Therefore, accept no
brummagem or prosaic imitation; or, go ahead and buy one, but do not blame me when your spleen
is accidentally, and somewhat painfully, removed by 2 starving bindlestiffs and their pet pit bull.
Finally, examine the pictures and you will learn something. In the
last one, Lisa blithely demonstrates how to garner free food, or maybe she is just
thirsty. Take note of her technique: she learned it from Bill Clinton's former
intern. In the second depiction, I am the first silhouette from the left and Lisa
is the third, or vice versa. Who cares, anyhow? Lisa and I are obviously
extremely photogenic. In the first portrait, Lisa is on the left, and I am on the
right. Two blowhards were sitting next to us, but I edited them, for aesthetic
reasons. Also, you will observe that my arm is not around Lisa. To this day, I
still have not felt her up, and as I live in L.A. and she in Moscow, the odds of
my rectifying that are, unlike the waistline of the typical U.S. citizen, pretty
Do you have a
story to share? We want to hear from you!
Click here to Send
In Search of the
Russian Gem/ Russian rose
By Andrew Bishop: "For you who have experienced the
crooks and crooked, you defiantly know what I am talking about. Many
lost dollars earned in my dreaming youth, spent for an address that
has little truth..."
Just a Start - A letter to My
by Rick Gilman: "From
the beginning, I thought Irina was a bright girl, and sweet
too. And of
course I though she was very pretty - a brunette with lovely
green eyes, very slim..."
JUST RELEASED! New
E-book by Elena Petrova:
"How To Find And Marry A Girl Like
may well turn out to be the best purchase I have made... I hope not
too many of my competitors find this book!"
how to find, court and finally marry a
beautiful Russian woman!
This is the
only book written by a beautiful Russian woman married to a
western man - for more than 5 years! - and who is also
the owner of a highly successful Internet dating agency.
Find out once and forever what
Russian women are really looking for, why
they are looking for it and how
you can give them exactly what they want!
Get responses on your
letters to beautiful Russian women - 9 out of 10, GUARANTEED!
With "How To Find
And Marry A Girl Like Me" you'll learn knock-out techniques
that will instantly boost your success rate in dating Russian women
- online and in real life. You will have more beautiful girls that
want to be with you than you can handle!
And not just ordinary
girls! They will be beautiful, intelligent, but most of all - honest
and sincere! You will be the one to take your pick!
wasting your time and money in search for a Russian wife... Get
it done - painlessly, easily, and certainly! Moreover, have lots of
fun along the way!
too can marry a girl like the one on the picture... Click
New Ebook You Cannot Afford To Miss
can be complicated... it doesn't have to be! You
can jump start your love life - or you can keep wandering in the dark; the
choice is yours!
When it comes to dating, most men make the
same silly mistakes with women - over and over, with disastrous
Do you want to do BETTER than
99% of other guys? Click
|Check out our NEW,
(Click on the