During a long weekend vacation in Southern California, I met this girl on Tinder. We met up at a bar in downtown San Diego to play a game of pool and get to know each other.
She walked in, and my mouth nearly hit the floor. A California blonde with perfect breasts and a peekaboo tattoo on her hip that I could only see as she reached over the pool table during the game. She was fine as hell.
We had a couple of beers and played two games. She told me she was originally from Portland and I tried to get to know her better. I wanted to find out if she was a dumb blonde or a Democrat (not that those two things are necessarily one in the same). While discussing life, she confessed that she went to church at least a few times a month and loved to go shooting at the range on the weekends. We disagreed over welfare reform, but I was able to see past her flaws.
As the night continued, we found ourselves strolling to other bars, and had a couple more drinks. By one in the morning, we were on our way back to her apartment.
The sex was amazing. She was passionate, unlike other Democrats I had slept with before who either just laid there and expected a Republican to do all the work or were just too weird and kinky for my taste.
Around two-thirty, I got up to use the bathroom. On the way back to bed, I looked at her bookshelf, and there it was Hard Choices, Stronger Together, and Living History by Hillary Clinton, A People’s History of the United States by Howard Zinn, and Not That Kind of Girl by Lena Dunham.
At first, I was hoping that she couldn’t read, judging by our conversation throughout the night. But, the fact that she was a millennial, I figured there was a pretty good chance she’s literate.
“That’s funny,” I said holding up one of Hillary’s books.
“I love Hillary, she’s such a strong feminist,” she replied.
“Why?” I replied. “She married the right guy and didn’t leave him after he raped and abused other women.”
She started going on and on about feminism, mentioning the idea that we needed to accept that the world was changing and we now know there are hundreds of genders out there. She even went so far as to talk about why we needed to abolish the nation’s borders, so all people could come to the U.S. if they wanted to and we should embrace the diversity.
I frantically threw out my condom, put on my pants, and got out of there before things got any worse. I called an Uber and thanked God that capitalism had figured out a fast way to get me out of this horrible one night stand.
The next day, she sent another message on Tinder asking why I was so bent out of shape over politics. I tried to explain that I couldn’t remain attracted to anyone who was a social justice warrior, which was sad because the sex was incredible.
“You’re as bigoted as Trump, no wonder you voted for him,” she replied.
Apparently overreacting was my fault. A week later she sent me a text saying “hi.” I never replied. Maybe if it were a nude pic, I would have forgotten about the political debate, but whatever.
Even though she didn’t have blue hair, wasn’t extremely overweight, and had a job, I couldn’t get past the fact that she was a social justice warrior and voted for Hillary. Despite the fact that it was some of the best sex of my life, it was 2016, and I could always find another random hookup who hadn’t voted at all.
This article is a parody of a ridiculous op-ed published in Toronto Life — where a liberal confesses to sleeping with a Trump supporter.
