My job recently transferred me to Miami from St. Louis for a month to start up our Southern branch and I ‘m having a hard time fitting in. It’s not so much the fact that my hair can’t take the humidity (though it can’t), just that I can’t really find a crowd of guys who I want to date or even hang out with. I’m used to a conservative type, and I guess they would call it down here a “gringo.” I’m not racist or anything I’m just used to a certain type of guy and want someone who is like me. I don’t know how to describe it, but I feel like everyone here is something other than 100% American. I’m no flag-waving Confederate, but geez can you tell me where I can find a nice boy-next-door type who knows who Bob Dylan is?
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Wow — equal-opportunity dater you are not, huh? Well, these next few weeks are going to be rough on your pussy, because when your bosses sent you down here, they were actually transporting you to the land of interracial dating. One of the best things about Miami is that it's a melting pot of different cultures, so you get the chance to savor the flavors of many different kinds of men. But since you like your bread white, you might have a problem, Lucy. I do understand why you want to stick with your own kind, because a big part of a relationship is having common interests and shared experiences. But, I also think that one should let a variety of swimmers wade in their dating pool. Life is all about experiencing things that will make you more interesting when you’re 80 years old and telling “When I was young” stories from your rocking chair. In between sips of your mint julep wouldn’t it be fun to tell your granddaughter about how you took your twat on a virtual trip around the world in 30 days?
You may think that you only like one type of guy, but how will you know until you try? It’s time for you to take your sexual experiences from white rice to jambalaya and our city is full of penises that are Latin, Caribbean, European, Asian, Australian….well, you get the idea. And get this, you’ll learn things about other cultures that your boy-next-door can’t teach you. You don’t have to marry Mr. Venezuela, just let him put his tostone in your tuna casserole. What I’m saying is, expand your legs and you’ll expand your horizons. Your pussy will thank you for the ride. But just in case you’re stuck on stupid and have no intention in getting your cooch some affirmative action, I’m at your service. My first thought was to tell you to find the nearest John Mccain headquarters, but all of those stiffs are in Minneapolis for the Republican National Convention. So until they get back, buy a dildo and name it Brad. That should do.