I’ve tried them all:  eHarmony.  Match. The bar scene.  The bar scene at 4 am closing time.   “This is when the women show up right?”  The bar scene at 4:30 am.  “Where are the women?  What do you mean you’re throwing me out?”  The back alley scene at 5 am.  “So it’s 20 dollars, right?”  The police precinct scene at 5:30 am. “How was I to know she was a cop.  She’s good looking though.  Is she single?”

But like many of my fellow bloggers I have yet to find true love.

Then one day while casually skimming through an encyclopedia staying at least 50 feet away from Olivia Wilde per the restraining order I noticed an article on the so-called “International Date Line.”

“That’s it” I said to myself.  I’ll go to the International Date Line and finally satisfy the longing of Manhattan Infidel’s heart.  If I sent Olivia Wilde a text of my penis but I sent it from more than 50 feet away have I technically violated the restraining order?  I think not.

Let me just warn my fellow bloggers.  I went to the International Date Line and I was very disappointed.  Not only did I not get a date but most of the Date Line is in middle of the Pacific Ocean.

At first this didn’t bother me.  Hey, we all know cruise ships are called cruise ships for a reason.  So I set out to book a suite on one of those floating singles bars.

Unfortunately there were no openings on existing cruise ships.  I was banned following the incident involving a ship’s purser, a tub of jello and a commonly-used “date rape” drug.

Not discouraged by this I bought an inflatable life boat and set out on the high seas for a rendezvous with love.

Despite high seas and bitterly cold temperatures I was warmed by the thought of love  Okay I was cold but my heart was warmed by the thought of love.  Okay it was so ass-bitingly cold that my penis froze to my thigh, I developed frost bite on my hands and I had no internet connection on my dinghy so how was I to update my blog? Download porn?

After running out of fuel on my outboard motor I drifted for a few days still searching for a date.  Eventually my lifeboat was rammed by a school of whales.  On the verge of drowning I was able to climb on board one of the whales and use him as a temporary life raft.  (Yes, I know all about the “blowhole” but let’s not talk about it.  I’m still trying to repress that memory.)

The whale and I traveled south, eventually ending up in the Asmat region of the Southwestern Netherlands New Guinea.  After paying for my ride with one last trip to the blowhole I arrived on solid ground at last.

The natives were happy to see me and danced around me chanting something about “dinnertime.”  After speaking to the tribal chief I was informed that I was the first white person they had seen since Michael Rockefeller.

“We like white people” he said.  “When properly roasted they taste like a banana.”

While respecting the rich cultural traditions of indigenous people I had no desire to be a buffet.  I asked the chief if there were some way out of my predicament.  He said no and it seemed like I would soon be eaten.

Having lost all hope I resigned myself to my fate when one of the natives noticed that I was carrying a picture of Olivia Wilde. They immediately stopped their preparations to eat me and inquired if I in fact knew Miss Wilde.

“We love her” said the chief.  “We watch House all the time.”

“Yes.  Yes I do know her” I said. “Would you like to meet her?”

At those words they stopped their preparations to eat me.  And that was how Olivia Wilde saved my life.  Being an honorable man who keeps my promises a craven coward who will say anything to avoid being eaten I now find myself back in New York City, allegedly to bring her back to the tribe.

And Olivia, if you are reading this thank you for saving my life.  I have more photos of my junk I want to send you.

(646)