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But when I visited the local campaign office, ready to volunteer – looking for non-threatening jobs such as passing out flyers or lawn signs – a green-eyed co-ed said that what they needed most was voter registration. In other words, strangers who were willing to bother others strangers at their homes, uninvited. And at the third, a guy in his twenties answered the door virtually naked, holding nothing but a potted plant before his manhood, barely awake. So I researched the online abyss of anonymous chat rooms and found that Yahoo! I downloaded the program, created a fake persona — coffeedrinker123 — and saw that of the thousands of rooms where people were congregating by topic, only one category was organized by location: adult romance.Wanting to hit swing-state voters, I shrugged, warily clicked on Ohio and marveled at the dozens of avatars suddenly scrolling before me, pulsing with life, most of which seemed to be male.This free cam chat is unlike most adult or sex chat sites, in that it costs nothing to enter the room and start chatting or camming with other adults.This free online chat site has been around for over a decade and continues to grow with each passing year. This chat it is relatively clean (As opposed to Sex Chat ).

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On Thursday night in Pittsburgh, I participated in, and won, The Moth's Grand SLAM storytelling event held at a beautiful theater in the city.

I was invited to participate after having won a local Story SLAM last year, and this wild, bizarre story about my canvassing adventures for Barack Obama in '08 sort of brought down the house. If The Moth posts the audio, I'll certainly update this.

I realized what I needed to do: seduce horny, hetero men online into voting for Obama. And so I created a new profile, a voluptuous brunette called Adventurous_Jen_in_Limbo. " I picked a pink font, tried to create the literary facade of a bubbly woman who had stumbled into a romance chat room seeking political conversation, and began my replies, conversations which, disturbingly, the men I lured usually turned erotic and explicit. I inserted a sad face emoticon and typed, "Okay, If I died today, I'd regret many things." "Name one," he demanded.

Now this presented a problem: I had never before pretended to be a woman, nor was I equipped to do so. When I re-entered the same Ohio room, windows popped up immediately, clogging my screen: "Hey baby! They were also conversations which, perhaps even more disturbingly, I was almost always able to steer such that I concluded them by typing the following: "On November 6, if you send me a picture of you voting for Obama, then yes, I will definitely have sex with you." After a month of this, I had built a healthy harem of newly-registered, likely voters who would woo me every time I logged on, seeking confirmation or flirtation. When I first engaged him with my standard line, "Are you registered to vote? "No more so than your question." "Answer mine and I'll answer yours. I thought and typed, "Spending too much time living a digital, impersonal existence.” Trent must have added me to his contact list, because whenever I would log on, there'd be something waiting for me, always something ethereal or mysterious: the image of a draining sink that looked like a human eye; video of an infant that seemed to actually be singing; a single question: “Why do we laugh?

You will find yourself entertained and wanting to come back for more.

We welcome adults here and understand that some of you may be looking for a more mature group of people.

I think instead of referring to suicidal people, we could talk to them more.

I got laughed at once on a suicide hotline, and I'd rather help someone who is suffering than to refer them to peolle who might not be helpful.

And if you've never heard of The Moth before, please explore their stories and podcast. I had never pretended to be a woman until the Presidential election of 2008. on a Saturday morning, I joined a wide-eyed, enthusiastic canvassing group, registration forms in hand and a sprawling list of addresses to hit. See, at the first house, a middle-aged man with a scraggly beard came to the door holding a can of Coors Light in one hand and a mousetrap in the other, seemingly unwilling or incapable of speaking.

I was living in Wilmington, North Carolina, Barack Obama had just secured the Democratic nomination and, inspired by his rhetorical offerings, I had committed myself to work for his election. At the second house, I heard nothing but dogs barking and a baby crying.

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