Column:

Romance chat not up to par

By Dan Friesen

Published May 2, 2006

As often as possible, I watch sleazy sensational relationship shows. Of course, the best is "Shipmates." The problem is that the show is on at 2 a.m., and unfortunately, I am "on call" to masturbate from 2 to 5 every morning. When I get that call, I know that means no "Shipmates."

"Blind Date" comes in a not-so-close second, followed by "Elimidate." In a distant, but respectable, fourth is "Cheaters." "Cheaters" is on earlier, and it is on a channel I can pick up on my not-cable-ready television. Thus, I watch it the most.

Anyway, because the show is locally syndicated on The WB, it airs locally oriented commercials. The network creates a freaky amalgam that made me terrified of its target demographic. An ad for repossessed vehicles leads into one for penile enhancement then to a notice about an upcoming gun show and then right back to the penile enhancement. I don't want to meet the guy trying to buy a gun without the waiting period so he can commit a series of grisly murders, motivated by his shame from having a small penis, only to lead the Coast Guard on a chase into international waters on a boat he bought for cheap at a police auction.

One ad stood out. It was for the Liveline, a free telephone chat/romance service.

Now, in the interest of full disclosure, I must admit that I have called a couple phone sex lines in my day, primarily in more depressed days. I completely understand the motivation to call 1-900-BIG-JUGZ. That I understand. What I don't understand is calling a service to subtly flirt with random (supposed) locals. See, I can go to a bar and flirt with a lady. Or a party. Or a protest. Or the library. Or a College Republicans meeting. What I can't do is go up to that lady and ask her to graphically describe exactly what she thinks is cute about my wang. At certain times in my life, I have been willing to pay that little bit extra.

As these thoughts danced through my mind, a revelation came to me. Maybe these really are local people who like phone sex and don't want to pay for it. In retrospect, I realize that this is exactly what the former advertising majors responsible for the commercial wanted me to think.

Well, dear readers, your intrepid columnist could not allow this curiosity to go unresolved. I decided I had to do a little investigative journalism, and maybe get some free phone sex out of the deal.

The first thing you do upon calling Liveline is record an introduction. I used a fake name: Luiz. I must admit my introduction left a lot to be desired. It was one of those non-committal, meandering "I'm just here checking this thing out," kind of messages. Very poor form.

The shocking part about Liveline is that there are a few chicks on the line. The not shocking part is that there are 50 times as many dudes who all shared my agenda, just without the admirable journalistic pretenses. All the women were busy, so I just hung out waiting while I played some online poker. After a half hour, I got on the line with a sassy minx named Cammi. I asked her what she was wearing, and she was OK with it. I then asked what color her panties were, whereupon she called me a pervert and hung up.

What gives? Do these people really enjoy talking socially with anonymous strangers they will probably never meet? How pathetic. I'm going to wank to some Internet porn, take a nap and wait longingly for death like any human with dignity should.