That scowling prick on the tube who prefers his inscrutable fuck-you book to gurning over you? That's me. The asshole at at the bar who looks like he wishes the world had one neck so he could wring it? Me too. And for the record, I'm also every man who delivered a retort of such withering scorn that it made you clench your ass and laugh at the same time. No, Worm is not nice; Worm is not nice at all.

What I am, though, is charismatic, compelling, and stimulating. Being with me is like living your life five times as fast and for twice as long. If you don't like being stimulated, I'm not for you; no doubt there's a church supper somewhere that can accommodate you instead. But if you do like stimulating stuff, you've scored.

Stimulating on what dimensions? Well, how many have you got. At one level it's intellectual; I work in the area and that shit gets me high. But the other shit gets me high too––the real shit––and I'm all for blending the symbolic with the concrete in this instance. That said, if an action is looped into a dopamine circuit, I'm there; so I'm happy to sip from your cup, too. And we will, of course, share a hedonistic philosophy of the flesh.

You'll be some combination of attractive with reflective, cynical, intelligent, unhappy, or complicated. You'll be creative too, though not necessarily in an obvious way. You'll like older men, though I'm in fairly peak physical shape, so if a dad bod is what you want, you're in luck: 99% of the men my age who aren't me have one, so the numbers are in your favour. Probably you're in your late twenties or early thirties, but I'm not counting. You'll also be bored and looking to not be bored.

So message me. We'll go for a drink, we'll have a meal, we'll fly to the fucking stars. The sky is the floor, not the limit. But first you you have to make it happen: I've made my pitch––now you make yours ...