Rafi Abramowitz is a comedic storyteller that publishes a free short story every Sunday. He lives in Brooklyn with his large ego and considerable emotional baggage. 

    Rafi Abramowitz is a comedic storyteller that publishes a free short story every Sunday. He lives in Brooklyn with his large ego and considerable emotional baggage. 

Application to The Bachelor

I’ve never seen The Bachelor. Why spend my precious time experiencing the difficulties of an impossibly handsome man choose between impossibly pretty woman, when I can simply get rejected by them in real life? Because that would lead to negative body images, that's why. Watching models cry is far better for my self esteem.

So why am I volunteering? Because this is America, goddammit! Home of high divorce rates and quick solutions to complicated problems. What type of sucker would I be to eat correctly, spend six hours a week at the gym doing squats behind farting housewives, ditch the mindless T.V. for books and culture, when I can sit in front of the couch all day and watch other people experience the excitement? I’ll tell you what kind of sucker I would be - the kind that actually cares about myself. What a loser! But that’s not what you’re looking for, is it? A smart guy with good qualities? You want hulking men and busty women who are too dumb to hold conversations; words get in the way of the good stuff. And by good stuff, I mean "fall in love", by which I really mean "fuck then divorce at the end of the season." This is America after all. Holla!

So. My qualifications. My love life is like my fleshlight - I don't have one. Too real? Sorry, I know how your show avoids actual emotions. Let me try again: I go on dates and have fun times. Better?

On a happier note, I now have braces. “Come on, Rafi. Women love braces!” First of all, stop talking to me. Second of all, I’m not in the seventh grade anymore. I’m a grown hairy assed man. It's a cute ass, too. Firm, like a ripped chinchilla. I also have a trimmed beard that has the complexion of burnt chocolate chips, my eyes are blue like berries, and my berries are blue like the sky. Get it? It was a good joke, but it’s not true. My eyes are hazel, like nuts. And my nuts are … Well, they’re still blue. (If I was slamming muff on the reg don’t you think I’d have better things to do than apply to a dating show?)


What else? I think Hillary Clinton would make a better actress than a president, since she’s somehow convinced all of us that she’s human. I’m an Orthodox Jew (I know, my nose is really small). My toenails look like moldy cheese (and not the good kind). I like dogs, which is why I’ve dated a few in the past. That’s not very nice, I know, but I honestly don’t care because I’ve dated so many girls (no I haven’t) that you have no way of knowing to which out of the baker’s dozen (five) girlfriends I’m referring.

So. What happens now network man? Or are you a woman? Are you single? If you are, and you’re under the age of 30 or know a dark closet where I can pretend that you are, hit me up. You have my information. Who knows? Maybe we can save ourselves the trouble of standing in a circle and get right to the messy divorce?

That’s all for now.

Rafi.

The King's Memory