I Like My Women The Way I Like My Kebab

For amusement, I once posted a personals ad on craigslist with the title, "Does This Sound Like You?" The entire text of the ad was composed of the following -- "awooga awooga..." And although (sadly enough) I got a number of responses for an ad that consisted solely of the sound of a tugboat, it does not even begin to compare to the brilliance of the ads from They Call Me Naughty Lolita, Personal Ads from the London Review of Books. Below are some of my favorites.

I write the best literature this country's ever seen. Then my spell-checker tell me to kill, kill, kill. No sudden movements with highly-strung F, 38, Reading. Box no. 3627.

I once found the perfect match in this column, but it turned out to be an ad I'd written two years earlier that they'd forgotten to publish. Still, you have to admire my consistency. Man, 43. Consistent. Admiring. Admirable. Box no. 4321.

I like my women the way I like my kebab. Found by surprise after a drunken night out and covered in too much tahini. Before long I'll have discarded you on the pavement of life, but until then you're the perfect complement to a perfect evening. Man, 32. Rarely produces winning metaphors. Box no. 5623.

List your ten favorite albums. I don't want to compare notes, I just want to know if there's anything worth keeping when we finally break up. Practical, forward-thinking man, 35. Box no. 8089.

Only the good die young. And sea-monkeys. Providing you flush them. Reclaim those years of bitter disappointment, waiting for the turgid little insects of your life to blossom into entertaining webbed-toed critters, with good, honest cephalopod (35). Underwater kingdom and X-ray species available from box no. 5789.

I have known only shame. Then, last week, I experienced surprise. Man, 37. Box no. 4126.

Will you sleep with me? Knowing is half the battle. Man, neither the time nor the inclination for subtleties. Box no. 2574.

Using advanced quantum mechanics and some bits from an old Breville sandwich toaster, I have been to the future and witnessed its glories. They say men will never be able to hover like wasps, but I tell you they haven't witnessed our many bounteous unions with the delightful Wasp People of Ruislip's as yet undiscovered caverns. Join me, and let us be the first to offer up our bodies and secure majestic wask-like hovering abilities for generations to come. Man, 63. Possibly ingesting medicines that shouldn't be taken orally. Box no. 2268.