I wouldn't usually post things like this but some of these are funny, and they are REAL. Taken from a Scottish lonely hearts page...
Grossly overweight Buckie turf-cutter, 42 years old and 23 stone, Gemini,
seeks nimble sexpot, preferably South American, for tango sessions,
candlelit dinners and humid nights of screaming passion. Must have own car and be willing to travel. Box 09/08
Aberdeen man, 50, in desperate need of a ride. Anything considered. Box06/03
Heavy drinker, 35, Glasgow area, seeks gorgeous sex addict interested in
pints, fags, Celtic football club and starting scraps on Sauchiehall Street
at three in the morning. Box 73/82.
Bitter, disillusioned Dundonian lately rejected by long-time fiancée seeks
decent, honest, reliable woman, if such a thing still exists in this cruel
world of hatchet-faced bitches. Box /41
Ginger-haired Paisley troublemaker, gets slit-eyed and shirty after a few
scoops, seeks attractive, wealthy lady for bail purposes, maybe more Box
84/87
Artistic Edinburgh woman, 53, petite, loves rainy walks on the beach,
writing poetry, unusual sea-shells and interesting brown rice dishes, seeks
mystic dreamer for companionship, back rubs and more as we bounce along like little tumbling clouds on life's beautiful crazy journey. Strong stomach essential Box 12/32
Chartered accountant, 42, seeks female for marriage. Duties will include
cooking, light cleaning and accompanying me to office social functions.
References required. No timewasters. Box 3/45
Bad-tempered, foul-mouthed old ******* living in a damp cottage in the arse end of Orkney seeks attractive 21-year old blonde lady with big chest. Box 40/27
Devil-worshiper, Stirling area, seeks like-minded lady for wining and
dining, good conversation, dancing, romantic walks and slaughtering dogs in cemeteries at midnight under the flinty light of a pale moon. Box 52/07
Attractive brunette, Maryhill area, winner of Miss Wrangler competition at
Frampton's Nightclub, Maryhill, in September 1978, seeks nostalgic man who's not afraid to cry, for long nights spent comfort-drinking and listening to old Abba records. Please, Please! Box 30/41
Govan man, 27, medium build, brown hair, blue eyes, seeks alibi for the
night of February 27 between 8pm and 11.30pm
Who said Scots Romance is dead!
Jockey, I was so impressed with those that I went and found some more:
Ads placed by men:
Bald, fat, short, and ugly male, 53, seeks short-sighted woman with tremendous sexual appetite.
Mature gentleman, 62, aged well, noble grey looks, fit and active, sound mind and unfazed by the fickle demands of modern society … Damn it, I have to pee again.
Unashamed triumphalist male for the past 46 years. Will I bore you? Probably. Do I care? Probably not.
Bastard. Complete and utter. Whatever you do, don't reply -- you'll only regret it.
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.
Romance is dead. So is my mother. Man, 42, inherited wealth.
Save it. Anything you've got to say can be said to my lawyer. But if you're not my ex-wife, why not write to box no. 5377? I enjoy vodka, canasta, evenings in, and cold, cold revenge.
To some, I am a world of temptation. To others, I'm just another cross-dressing pharmacist. Male, 41.
This ad may not be the best lonely heart in the world, nor its author the best-smelling. That's all I have to say. Man, 37.
My finger on the pulse of culture, my ear to the ground of philosophy, my hip in the medical waste bin of Glasgow Royal Infirmary. 14% plastic and counting -- geriatric brainiac and compulsive NHS malingering fool (M, 81), looking for richer, older sex-starved woman on the brink of death to exploit and ruin every replacement operation I've had since 1974. Box no. 7648 (quickly, the clock's ticking, and so is this pacemaker).
7 million is good for me. Most days though I plateau at around 3 million. Any advances? Man with low sperm count (35 -- that's my age) seeks woman in no hurry to see the zygotes divide.
Sinister-looking man with a face that only a mother would love: think of an ageing Portillo with a beard and you have my better-looking twin. Sweetie at heart, though. Nice conversation, great for dimly-lit romantic meals. Better in those Welsh villages where the electricity supply can't be guaranteed. Charitable women to 50 appreciated. Box no. 0364.
My other car is a bike. Eco-friendly bio-diverse M (29). Smells a bit like soil and eats too much soup, but otherwise friendly (you're not seriously going to put that burger in your mouth, are you?).
You're a brunette, 6', long legs, 25-30, intelligent, articulate and drop-dead gorgeous. I, on the other hand, am 4'10", have the looks of Herve Villechaize and carry an odour of wheat. No returns and no refunds at box no. 3321.
Ads Placed by Women:
Blah blah, whatever. Indifferent woman. Go ahead and write. Box no. 3253. Like I care.
Your stars for today: A pretty Cancerian, 35, will cook you a lovely meal, caress your hair softly, then squeeze every damn penny from your adulterous bank account before slashing the tyres of your Beamer. Let that serve as a warning. Now then, risotto?
Attention male London Review of Books readers: 'Greetings, earthling -- I have come to infest your puny body with legions of my spawn' is no way to begin a reply. Female, 36 -- suspicious of any men declaring themselves to be in possession of a 'great sense of humor.'
I'm just a girl who can't say 'no' (or 'anaesthetist'). Lisping Rodgers and Hammerstein fan, female lecturer in politics (37) WLTM man to 40 for thome enthanted eveningth.
Love is strange -- wait 'til you see my feet. F, 34, wide-fitting Scholl's.
Ads placed by men:
Bald, fat, short, and ugly male, 53, seeks short-sighted woman with tremendous sexual appetite.
Mature gentleman, 62, aged well, noble grey looks, fit and active, sound mind and unfazed by the fickle demands of modern society … Damn it, I have to pee again.
Unashamed triumphalist male for the past 46 years. Will I bore you? Probably. Do I care? Probably not.
Bastard. Complete and utter. Whatever you do, don't reply -- you'll only regret it.
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.
Romance is dead. So is my mother. Man, 42, inherited wealth.
Save it. Anything you've got to say can be said to my lawyer. But if you're not my ex-wife, why not write to box no. 5377? I enjoy vodka, canasta, evenings in, and cold, cold revenge.
To some, I am a world of temptation. To others, I'm just another cross-dressing pharmacist. Male, 41.
This ad may not be the best lonely heart in the world, nor its author the best-smelling. That's all I have to say. Man, 37.
My finger on the pulse of culture, my ear to the ground of philosophy, my hip in the medical waste bin of Glasgow Royal Infirmary. 14% plastic and counting -- geriatric brainiac and compulsive NHS malingering fool (M, 81), looking for richer, older sex-starved woman on the brink of death to exploit and ruin every replacement operation I've had since 1974. Box no. 7648 (quickly, the clock's ticking, and so is this pacemaker).
7 million is good for me. Most days though I plateau at around 3 million. Any advances? Man with low sperm count (35 -- that's my age) seeks woman in no hurry to see the zygotes divide.
Sinister-looking man with a face that only a mother would love: think of an ageing Portillo with a beard and you have my better-looking twin. Sweetie at heart, though. Nice conversation, great for dimly-lit romantic meals. Better in those Welsh villages where the electricity supply can't be guaranteed. Charitable women to 50 appreciated. Box no. 0364.
My other car is a bike. Eco-friendly bio-diverse M (29). Smells a bit like soil and eats too much soup, but otherwise friendly (you're not seriously going to put that burger in your mouth, are you?).
You're a brunette, 6', long legs, 25-30, intelligent, articulate and drop-dead gorgeous. I, on the other hand, am 4'10", have the looks of Herve Villechaize and carry an odour of wheat. No returns and no refunds at box no. 3321.
Ads Placed by Women:
Blah blah, whatever. Indifferent woman. Go ahead and write. Box no. 3253. Like I care.
Your stars for today: A pretty Cancerian, 35, will cook you a lovely meal, caress your hair softly, then squeeze every damn penny from your adulterous bank account before slashing the tyres of your Beamer. Let that serve as a warning. Now then, risotto?
Attention male London Review of Books readers: 'Greetings, earthling -- I have come to infest your puny body with legions of my spawn' is no way to begin a reply. Female, 36 -- suspicious of any men declaring themselves to be in possession of a 'great sense of humor.'
I'm just a girl who can't say 'no' (or 'anaesthetist'). Lisping Rodgers and Hammerstein fan, female lecturer in politics (37) WLTM man to 40 for thome enthanted eveningth.
Love is strange -- wait 'til you see my feet. F, 34, wide-fitting Scholl's.