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About New Plymouth

Me? I tried it once. Once! Profile said “lumberjack lookin’ for fun.” Got a flood of weirdos—some chick sent a pdf of her “sex resume.” Three pages, single-spaced! Had charts! I burned my phone after that. Too much. Hate the oversharin’, the desperation. “He was a dangerous man,” they said ‘bout Jesse—well, these sex-daters are dangerous too. To my sanity. Another gal asked for my “kink list.” Told her I like woodworkin’ and silence. She unmatched me. Good riddance.

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Anyway, I’m a N (whatever that means, right?), and I had a bunch of stuff to do. First stop? The local café on Queen Street. Best flat whites in town, no cap. I’m chugging my coffee, and boom! My mate Dave walks in. He’s all like, “Bro, did you hear about the rugby game last night?” I’m like, “Nah, what happened?” Turns out, the Waitara Rugby Club totally smashed it! I was stoked!

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