We live our lives online, so naturally, online dating is becoming our primary source of meeting others. I have been on most dating sites and some are good, some not so much. Tinder remains on the top five dating sites out there, so I'm sharing my personal experience. THE TRUTH ABOUT TINDER Did you like me on Tinder? If you are a man in my geographical area, odds are you did. The first week I joined I received over 400 likes and nothing speaks desperation like that, does it? If I want to hook up and leave, there's no better place to go. If you're going to Tinder looking for a real connection, then sorry you've lost your damn mind. Tinder was created with the hit and quit it hookup in mind and trust me no matter what he puts in his profile, that's what he's looking for. Crap, that's what I was looking for let's be honest. Here are some universal truths about Tinder and most online dating sites. If the picture looks too good to be true, it probably is. People lie. A large majority are going to be married pretending to be single. They have a handful of others on the hook while they're talking to you. The usual way it goes on Tinder is you like someone's picture and if they like you back, you're a match. Then you can message each other and often you will get one or two messages and that's it unless you come out strong on the sexting and I guarantee you get your man. Tinder is oozing with low attention spans. I can pretty much guarantee he is going to ask for pictures, and not of your face. Question: What happens after you swipe left on Tinder? Options: A. You get matched with a married man and hook up B. not enough information C. You get matched with someone who also likes you back and you begin to message D. You get matched with a real life connection and get married === The correct answer is
C

Trisha dreamed of being a Playboy Bunny since the days she still had buck-teeth and fried egg boobs. She blu-tacked page threes above her bed-head and had me snap topless Polaroids till they littered the floor. She told me to imagine she had 36DDs and peroxide blonde hair. I used to wish like hell that she wasn't my cousin. When she was fifteen Trisha started putting out for the boys in the Kwik-Save car park for a tenner a time. She said she was an entrepreneur, not a prostitute. She started going steady with a kid called Keith. He was a fryer in the fish and chip shop. He had a future and a Ford Cortina. She got a job waitressing and she worked all the hours she could. Keith couldn't handle me and Trisha being as close as we were. Especially the time he caught Trisha bending over me in nothing but a frilly market stall thong while I worked the angles best I could to get a dangle-shot. Next night he took her in the car park woods and doped her up to the eyeballs. He took out a bottle of India ink and told her he would etch the love-heart she'd always wanted. Instead, he safety-pinned the word 'inbred' into her arse. Trisha's step-dad tracked the spits of blood and found her sobbing in the bathroom of their long-stay static. It didn't take him long to slap out the truth. He went straight round to Keith's place with a crow-bar and did enough damage to make sure he'd need more than laser treatment to put things right. Keith wasn't rolling in spare change so Trisha's step-dad took the Cortina as payment in lieu of her getting herself fixed up. Trisha got me to stash the Cortina up the lane at the back of Boyes' farm. Weekend nights, I drove her out to the dual carriageway truck-stop where she found a faster way to make her fortune in the fogged-up cabs. Question: why did the author help Trisha? Options: A. not enough information B. the author wanted to be trisha's manager C. the author is trisha's cousin D. the author had nothing better to do === The correct answer is
C

Old Zeke handed Justin his day's worth of mail and looked longingly at the cool shade under the porch, half hoping, half anticipating an invitation to enjoy a cool drink and a few minutes out of the sun. His state-of-the-art mail delivery vehicle, an old green Ford with busted air-conditioning, sometimes elicited sympathy from those along his route, but the ones with beer were the best. However, Justin just looked through his mail and then began watching the sky. "You ever think about gravity?" Justin asked suddenly. "No," admitted Old Zeke, wiping the perspiration from his forehead. Justin sighed a little. "You ever fall off your ladder?" "Well," considered Zeke. Damned if this wasn't a round-about way to offer a fella a drink, but maybe after all this Justin would offer him a beer instead of that watery lemonade he made. "Yeah." "How long did it take you to fall?" Well hell, muttered Old Zeke under his breath. Maybe all those stakes he was driving in had given Justin a touch of the sun. The thought made him consider hauling Justin back to town, although the truck might finish the job the sun had started. "A second or two," Zeke replied. But before he could load Justin into the truck, he figured he would have to collect a few things from the house, and maybe from the fridge he'd collect a few drinks... "That thing up there hasn't fallen a foot in ten minutes or so." Maybe Justin had a small bottle of something tucked away under the... "What thing?" Justin pointed. Zeke shielding his eyes with his hands and looked up. "Oh, that weather balloon?" Justin's expectant face seemed to droop. "That what it is?" "Yep. Looks like it's almost out of helium, the way it's floating so low. Launched 'em myself thirty years ago in the Army." Question: Who is Zeke: Options: A. A construction worker B. A bartender C. not enough information D. A vietnam veteran === The correct answer is
C