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I wrote this poem a couple years ago about speed dating:

It was quite a while since I’d been on a date,
Up ‘til then, I was resigned to my fate.
I’d given up parties, and hanging with slobs
For a bachelor’s life: I was holding three jobs.
So I heard of speed dating, I’d give it a fling,
Maybe I’d get a chick under my wing.
That sure would be nice, just to break the routine,
So I bought some new duds, and was looking quite keen.
I got to the place, it was a small sleazy bar,
The stupid valet put a dent in my car.
Our disorganized hostess forgot half her notes,
A relief to the shills with forged tags on their coats!
She announced, “in five minutes, the party will start,
So listen up, don’t try to cheat or act smart.
Pick a number, and sit yourselves down at a table,
We’re going to do this as best as we’re able.”
First was a blonde who was soused to the gills.
She slurred to me “so, what do YOU do for thrills?”
I proceeeded to tell her, but as I sat there,
Her zombie kicked in: she fell out of her chair.
Next was a redhead who looked like a man.
She was beefy and burly, her skin was quite tan.
“What do you do?” she rasped, like she really should know.
“Because I chop down pine trees, way out in the snow.”
The next girl mustn’t have got many guys
With her Frankenstein hairdo and Dracula eyes.
She turned to me, asking if this was exciting,
But this monster-babe was anything but inviting.
Next was some outlandish chick from Japan,
All of eighteen---and she wanted a MAN?
The type she was seeking, she hadn’t a clue.
The way that she dressed, she belonged in a zoo.
The girl after that one just didn’t look right.
Her voice was a croak, and her face was a fright.
I though to myself, “am I out of my tree?
Or is this girl in front of me, really a he?”
With the last girl, I couldn’t even communicate.
She’d already passed out, with her face in her plate.
Couldn’t tell what she looked like, but she must’ve had taste,
As she slept so sweetly in her tomato paste.
At the end of the farce, our hostess was happy.
“You got what you came for, so stop looking sappy!
You all wanted to date, quick as a dash,
But I’m going to leave here, with most of your cash.”
So, I tried on speed-dating, if nothing for size.
I’m older, I’m poorer, still lonesome---but wise.
Save your money, or go to the fair for a thrill.
‘Cause speed-dating’s no more than a crooked cash-mill.

i loved your poem .

Too bad it rang of so much truth.

Two questions.

did you really get a dent in your car. I avoid valet parking at all costs.

The second one is LA REALLY that bad as far as dating?

I WAS thinking of someday moving there but it seems no better than Dallas where I live near.

Both crap for dating.

Sorry about your car.

But what are the chances of a 51 year old guy dating successfully in LA?

Don't feel bad for the car, I had to make it rhyme.

Hey I have an idea... the military says a couple of nuclear warheads have gone missing, so why not blackmail the city? "Gimme a gf or else... BLOOEY!!!" >:-D