i hate you, ashley from grouper

Ah, Grouper. The trendy dating app for betches with at least 2 same-sexed friends, no dignity, and absolutely no idea what an algorithm is. Incase you're like uneducated, or maybe just a tad bit above dating random strangers who may very well be super ugly, here is how the people at Grouper want you to think Grouper works. 1. Sign up for a Grouper. 2. This bitch "Ashley From Grouper" Facebook stalks the shit outta you,

passes hardcore judgments based on her own hotness scale, and pairs you with a man-dude who she decides is equally as hot (or fuggly) as you. 3. In no time at all, AshAsh emails you with info for your smokin' hot date (and she's like totally personable and sexy, so it's almost like you made a new friend in the process). 4. You go on your Grouper. The guys are awesome and if Grey's Anatomy wasn't totally useless and about to crash and burn in it's 84th season or whatevs, the boys would totally be castable as some new hot McResidents. You publically make out with them, and then you probably never see them again. Sounds simple enough, right? A date that you have to do absolutely no work for, AND your friends get to come with you? I'm interested... But here's where our story takes a dark turn. Unfortunately, Grouper doesn't reaaaaaaaally work how they want you to think it works. But lucky for you, the new, more educated (read: bitter), post-Grouper me is here to give you a little behind the scenes. 1. My friend signs up for a Grouper. When her first choice bitties bail on her, she invites me and a couple other bitches in their place. (2nd choice wing-women, huh? Ouch, betch. I'll have you know I am an excellent wing-woman.) 2. That bitch "Ashley From Grouper" does absolutely no Facebook stalking of my friend. Instead, she arbitrarily pairs my friend with any ole' Y Chromosome within a 10 mile radius who's tryna get his dick wet with some buddies. 3. Approx 7 months later, my friend receives an email from that bitch "Ashley From Grouper" telling her that she finally got around to booking us a rez with our future mancrushes. Sorry for the wait girlies, but that shitty ass karaoke dive bar was really hard to land a table at, and it'll totz be worth the wait! 4. We go on our Grouper. There are a total of 6 patrons at the bar - you know, because it's a total hot spot (thanks for nothing, Ash). We find our boys - a table of 3 dudes, mid 20's, hot enough to bone if wasted, you know the type. The only thing that stands between us and our new fuck-buddies is a table of 3 adult men - 1 in a newsies cap, 1 in a fedora, and one who's Transitions glasses haven't quite made the adjustment to indoor lighting yet. We approach the table of hotties and are received by three beaming grins. They point us back to the three amigos...our Grouper matches! Now let's backtrack a bit. Had "Ashley From Grouper" ACTUALLY stalked my friend on Facebook, as the myth goes, she would know that my friend is a hot bitch with a disease-free vagina (and I'm not just saying that because she's my friend and probably one of the only people who will read this - hay girl!). But clearly that bitch "Ashley From Grouper" did NO such stalking, and instead came to the conclusion entirely on her own that my friend is the Chlamydia-ridden Devil himself and deserves all the bad things in the world. One good thing did come out of this Grouper. I found out that my friends are waaaay less bitchy than I am. So that's kind of refreshing to know I have nice friends. I learned this because while I immediately shifted into fight or flight, emphasis on the flight, I quickly realized I was balls deep thanks to the fact that my friends apparently have some kind of mild human decency...bitches... Anyways, from there on out, my night pretty much directly followed a simple progression through the basic 5 Stages of Grief: DENIAL AND ISOLATION. I am not on a date with 3 UCI professors. I am not on a date with 3 UCI professors. I am not on a date with 3 UCI professors. ANGER. WHY THE FUCK AM I ON A DATE WITH 3 UCI PROFESSORS. YOU GRADUATED COLLEGE IN THE YEAR 2000?! THAT'S PERFECT, I'M 85% SURE MY FATHER WAS IN YOUR GRADUATING CLASS. BARGAINING. If only I had lit a cig at the gas station on my way here and died in a tragic gasoline fire...... DEPRESSION. My life is meaningless. No one will ever love me except for my new friend, Fung-Mai. Not like it really matters, we're all going to die of cancer eventually anyways. ACCEPTANCE. Maybe I'll just drink until I pee the booth...or make-out with Newsies over here...in some alternate universe that's almost like making out with Christian Bale, right? So anyways, it's back to Tinder for me. Back to where you know exactly what you're getting yourself into...Until the hot dude you matched with messages you a bunch of eggplant emojis to symbolize his dick. Maybe I should try to meet guys in the real world. xo

#Grouper #dating #Facebook #onlinedating