Y’know, I’m getting older. Perhaps it’s time I found a woman to settle down with and start a sensible life. A woman with wide hips, so we can have seven or ten children without her pelvis cracking. A woman who’s nice to children, donates 10 percent of her income to charity, volunteers her time to repair the social failings of society, and all that other tedious garbage I wouldn’t be caught dead doing myself, even if you paid me twice my usual salary.

Or perhaps I think marriage is dumb and would just like to get laid more often. Let’s not dwell on which of these two possibilities is most likely. Regardless of my motivations, it’s important we do this “girlfriend” thing right. Most of my relationships have lasted less than a month for a number of reasons, so I’ve created this questionnaire to warn potential lady victims of what they’re in for when they commit to hogging on my bone regularly.

1) See how I used the classical term “hogging on my bone”? That’s just awful, isn’t it? Well putting up with crap like that is the first test, and it’s non-negotiable. I will be a douche well into eternity. Extra credit: Tell me what you think “hogging on my bone” means. Show your work, including any long division or other mathematical equations that led to your answer.

2) I come from a long line of men who will never, under any circumstances, dance. At a party? Nope. At a wedding? Not even if it’s full of strangers. In a trendy club? No, I’ll be down the street drinking whiskey for $8 cheaper at a dive bar full of degenerates who can entertain me with stories of their failures. For a full list of places where I won’t dance, read “Green Eggs and Ham” and just cross out the last few lines. Does refusing to dance make me more or less of an eligible bachelor? If you answered “more”, please fill out Form B, which is titled, “How are you not married yet? You’re everything a man wants.”

3) One time I made spaghetti, only to realize I was out of parmesan cheese. So I unwrapped a slice of American cheese and used that instead. I tore off little squares of American cheese to combine with each mouthful of spaghetti. It was actually really good, and I now do this every time I eat spaghetti at home. Are you still interested in dating and possibly spending the rest of your life with me? If so, why?

4) I’m a grown man who collects toys. Have you finished laughing yet? Good. My collection is sizeable. By “sizeable”, I mean my apartment has three large closets, and the boxes for my toys take up two of them. My clothes are all smooshed into the smallest closet, to the point where it can be challenging to get shirts out each morning. What is your reaction to this?

The toys are also displayed quite prominently in my living room, inside two glass display cases that are each six feet tall. I’m planning to buy a third. Does this change your reaction? If so, how?

Most of the toys are hand-painted by graffiti and street artists, so roughly 10 percent of them incorporate curse words in large, bold lettering. My three largest toys have the f-word painted on them using a stencil. These particular toys are displayed on a shelf that puts them at perfect eye level for a young child. I’m not interested in changing the shelf they’re displayed on, for feng shui reasons. How does this make you feel?

5) Like most people, when I get drunk I tend to lose the filter between the awful things my brain thinks up and the things I actually say out loud to other human beings. Unlike most people, I have no soul, making my brain’s raw data exponentially more horrifying. For reference purposes, imagine the Holocaust, but replace the Nazis with strippers dressed like clowns. Actually, that’s probably an improvement. I guess it depends how much you hate clowns.

Point being, I act like an obnoxious douche while drinking. Example: Let’s say a sober friend is driving me somewhere. I will spend the entire time drunkenly leaning out the window shouting, “You’ve got AIDS! Woooooooo! AIDS, you’ve got it! High-five, AIDS face!” How would this non-fun drinking problem affect your view of me?

6) I write this column. Believe it or not, a man writing a childish, profane alt-weekly newspaper column for 11 years straight can raise a few red flags for discerning ladies. Many of them find it “embarrassing”. It also tends to make them suspect drug abuse and self hatred that eventually leads to violence against oneself or others, but that’s not a dealbreaker in Los Angeles or the Twin Ports.

For consideration, please submit this application at whatever business is advertising on this page. If they give you a weird look, angrily shout something about the government and run away. Thank you for your interest.