Tinder, to many, is the future. It’s the future of dating, it’s the future of sex. It’s the future of how the humans will be attracted to each other and mate so the species keeps on ticking. A gazillion articles have been written on it all across the Internet. It’s the perfect example of leveraging the binary magic of mobile technology for the most basic primal need: Have sex.
Here at BroBible, it’s also a source of great storytelling. Since pretty much anyone who is single and under the age of 40 uses it, there is social currency in the collective Tinder experience. People create cheat codes to get girls numbers, play “would you rather?” to land dates, pretend they’re fictional characters, are brutally honest to get left swipes, project amazing imaginary scenarios with potential partners, and, occasionally, and like complete assholes. These stories just write themselves.
Back in December, a writer by the name of Hunter J. Pennington independently published a book on Amazon called “Balls Deep: Confessions of the Tinder Swindler.” It’s the first book we know of about a dude’s experience on Tinder. The premise is pretty simple: Pennington went around America hooking up with girls on Tinder. And then, with complete disregard for all polite “don’t kiss and tell” rules, wrote about each hook up in a book. It’s more or less a memoir of his sexual encounters that were sparked via Tinder. Think Tucker Max-esque “COOL STORY, BRO!” tales that involve the world’s most popular dating app.
The stories of his shameless TinCounters — all extremely sexually graphic and too squeamishly misogynistic to post on this website — read like this:
As the title suggests, this girl got the best of me. It was one of the only times I felt as though I had been defeated on Tinder. Even though I busted a hearty six nuts by the end of our TinCounter, she won, I’ll admit it. As you can see from the rest of my stories, I don’t know the meaning of shame. The TinCounter started out so innocently; I got matched with an artsy, little, anorexic, blonde who went to North Carolina. After three normal back and forth messages, she decided to go all bat shit crazy on me and escalate it, saying, ‘What’s your number? I have something to show you.’
Having been around the block a few times, I figured that she was A. a freak wanting to send a stranger naked pics; B. A dude who was fucked in the head and wanted to send me a big black dick over iMessage; or C. A freaky chick who had a boyfriend she was mad at and wanted to get back at him by sending naked pictures to a Tinder gigolo, smoke, suck, and fuck him. Luckily for me, as most multiple choice answers, indeed, it was C. I give her my number and she begins sending me tasteful titty pics, with her smiling, and making all these duck lip faces.
Being the boner machine I am, I invite her over. Seeing as I don’t travel and she’s a good forty-five minutes away, she took some coaxing. ‘Well, I would but I can’t. I have a boyfriend.’ Me: ‘What do you mean you have a boyfriend? Obviously you don’t like him if you’re sending me all these naked pictures.’ ‘Well, I’m just mad at him. Normally, I wouldn’t do that at all.’
You get the point. Let’s just stop right there.
This afternoon Hunter e-mailed us about a group text he blasted out to all 18 of the girls from his Tinder encounter, informing them that he wrote a book about them. The girls — all strangers who don’t know each other — proceed to destroy Hunter over the course of a couple dozen text messages.