Retrieved from Vice. com, advice column “Hey Ron.”
SHOULD I MARRY A MANSLUT?
I'm turning 30 in a few weeks. My marriage countdown clock is doing that beeping thing time bombs do when they're closing in on zero. I’ve been dating the perfect guy. We've known each other for a long time, but we just started taking things to the next level. He's smart, funny, and great in the sack. Plus, he's close with all of my friends, so it's easy for us all to kick it together. The problem is, he's a little too close.
I fell in love with him three years back when I saw a shirtless pic of him on my girl’s phone. Since then, he's had his way with most of my girlfriends. But none of them understand him like I do. Am I making a mistake trying to turn this man into a one-girl guy? Even though he ran through my crew, nothing would make me happier than having his baby and being his wife.
I hope I may be given the freedom to infer from your letter your American ancestry. And given the nature of your background---that is of your American educational institutions---you may be forgiven for not having that familiarity with my books, especially with my Pamela and Clarissa, or the History of a Young Lady, that familiarity which marks the educated, honest lady. For had you read those two books you would have known very well of that dangerous but all too commonly received notion that a reformed rakes makes the best husband. Unfortunately, members of your generation nowadays tend to receive instruction on love and courtship not from the example set by the noble Miss Clarissa Harlowe but from the popular antics of the vulgar Miss Kimberly Kardashian.
I urge, therefore, that you venture on a careful reading of my Clarissa, wherein you will learn of the tragic sequences of countenancing this notion. In order to finish reading Clarissa you are recommended to make all the proper arrangements as will be necessary for your self-removal from modern society for a period of about six months, that is in forgoing all interaction with any electronic gew-gaw, such as IPhones, or YouPhones, or whatever else these shiny toys be called.
Finally, I would be remiss if I spoke not of the deep impropriety of Mr. Slime-Ball’s method for seducing the fair sex, namely by transmitting pictures of his naked chest---and, no doubt, his rallying face---to the ladies’ phones. Indeed this may be a common enough practice among various people known as hayseeds, clodhoppers, and all those of general oafish nature. Yet, I hope you will agree with me, this behavior is hardly fit for a gentleman. If, after finishing my Clarissa, you are still not convinced of the evil of the libertine personality, and insist in the future in trying to reform rakes, I advice that, at minimum effort, you henceforward prefer only those suitors of less uncouth disposition.