(No pics)

Got the “heyy” on Bumble and have no idea what to do now.

Do I be a cheeky ******* and reply “heyy” or what?

Have a feeling if she matched with Chad Pitt she would use a better opener

Wtf is the point of creating an app where the woman messages first if it’s just “hey”

Srs wtf. Was opening it thinking “pls don’t be hey, pls don’t be hey” lo and behold it’s heyy.

Hey how was your New Years

Hey is for horses

how have you lived this long when you don't know what to reply to a "hey"

jesus fukkin christ m8

"Read"

Sorry brah but I don’t see how this is supposed to make her wetLol tempted. Pretty sure I’d get unmatched thoI don’t know what to do with this.

"how u doin bbygirl?"

If she would unmatch you for that, you were never going to fuk her anyway

Hit her with this:

Hiiiiii Kate (Lets call her Kate)))))). I am sooooo welll how about youuu??? Firstly I thank you for writing to me, it is such a blessing from receiving a message from someone like you. Please dont get this to wrong way I say this because I know how aweeeeeesome and coooooooool you are HAHA. Anyways As a former SR-71 pilot, and a professional keynote speaker, the question I'm most often asked is "How fast would that SR-71 fly?" I can be assured of hearing that question several times at any event I attend. It's an interesting question, given the aircraft's proclivity for speed, but there really isn't one number to give, as the jet would always give you a little more speed if you wanted it to. It was common to see 35 miles a minute. Because we flew a programmed Mach number on most missions, and never wanted to harm the plane in any way, we never let it run out to any limits of temperature or speed. Thus, each SR-71 pilot had his own individual “high” speed that he saw at some point on some mission. I saw mine over Libya when Khadafy fired two missiles my way, and max power was in order. Let’s just say that the plane truly loved speed and effortlessly took us to Mach numbers we hadn’t previously seen. So it was with great surprise, when at the end of one of my presentations, someone asked, “what was the slowest you ever flew the Blackbird?” This was a first. After giving it some thought, I was reminded of a story that I had never shared before, and relayed the following. I was flying the SR-71 out of RAF Mildenhall, England , with my back-seater, Walt Watson; we were returning from a mission over Europe and the Iron Curtain when we received a radio transmission from home base. As we scooted across Denmark in three minutes, we learned that a small RAF base in the English countryside had requested an SR-71 fly-past. The air cadet commander there was a former Blackbird pilot, and thought it would be a motivating moment for the young lads to see the mighty SR-71 perform a low approach. No problem, we were happy to do it. After a quick aerial refueling over the North Sea , we proceeded to find the small airfield. Walter had a myriad of sophisticated navigation equipment in the back seat, and began to vector me toward the field. Descending to subsonic speeds, we found ourselves over a densely wooded area in a slight haze. Like most former WWII British airfields, the one we were looking for had a small tower and little surrounding infrastructure. Walter told me we were close and that I should be able to see the field, but I saw nothing. Nothing but trees as far as I could see in the haze. We got a little lower, and I pulled the throttles back from 325 knots we were at. With the gear up, anything under 275 was just uncomfortable. Walt said we were practically over the field—yet; there was nothing in my windscreen. I banked the jet and started a gentle circling maneuver in hopes of picking up anything that looked like a field. Meanwhile, below, the cadet commander had taken the cadets up on the catwalk of the tower in order to get a prime view of the fly-past. It was a quiet, still day with no wind and partial gray overcast. Walter continued to give me indications that the field should be below us but in the overcast and haze, I couldn't see it.. The longer we continued to peer out the window and circle, the slower we got. With our power back, the awaiting cadets heard nothing. I must have had good instructors in my flying career, as something told me I better cross-check the gauges. As I noticed the airspeed indicator slide below 160 knots, my heart stopped and my adrenalin-filled left hand pushed two throttles full forward. At this point we weren't really flying, but were falling in a slight bank. Just at the moment that both afterburners lit with a thunderous roar of flame (and what a joyous feeling that was) the aircraft fell into full view of the shocked observers on the tower. Shattering the still quiet of that morning, they now had 107 feet of fire-breathing titanium in their face as the plane leveled and accelerated, in full burner, on the tower side of the infield, closer than expected, maintaining what could only be described as some sort of ultimate knife-edge pass. Quickly reaching the field boundary, we proceeded back to Mildenhall without incident. We didn't say a word for those next 14 minutes. After landing, our commander greeted us, and we were both certain he was reaching for our wings. Instead, he heartily shook our hands and said the commander had told him it was the greatest SR-71 fly-past he had ever seen, especially how we had surprised them with such a precise maneuver that could only be described as breathtaking. He said that some of the cadet’s hats were blown off and the sight of the plan form of the plane in full afterburner dropping right in front of them was unbelievable. Walt and I both understood the concept of “breathtaking” very well that morning, and sheepishly replied that they were just excited to see our low approach. As we retired to the equipment room to change from space suits to flight suits, we just sat there-we hadn't spoken a word since “the pass.” Finally, Walter looked at me and said, “One hundred fifty-six knots. What did you see?” Trying to find my voice, I stammered, “One hundred fifty-two.” We sat in silence for a moment. Then Walt said, “Don’t ever do that to me again!” And I never did. A year later, Walter and I were having lunch in the Mildenhall Officer’s club, and overheard an officer talking to some cadets about an SR-71 fly-past that he had seen one day. Of course, by now the story included kids falling off the tower and screaming as the heat of the jet singed their eyebrows. Noticing our HABU patches, as we stood there with lunch trays in our hands, he asked us to verify to the cadets that such a thing had occurred. Walt just shook his head and said, “It was probably just a routine low approach; they're pretty impressive in that plane.” Impressive indeed. Little did I realize after relaying this experience to my audience that day that it would become one of the most popular and most requested stories. It’s ironic that people are interested in how slow the world’s fastest jet can fly. Regardless of your speed, however, it’s always a good idea to keep that cross-check up…and keep your Mach up, too. Soooo please respond to me Kate I really wanna talk with you

you don't

go nc

You wanna fk?

Y-y-you too

What does your heart tell you?

Hey there. How's it going?

Is this **** really rocket science? You want us to pull your dink out for you as well? Would that help OP?

If so,

Spoiler!

Currently in public space and trying not to giggle like an idiot at this

You delete the apps.

Here is the truth that I lived. You swipe right on thousands of women over the years. Even as a Chad you get maybe a few percent of women swiping right back. You jestermaxx and try to find the sweet spot: what’s too much, what’s too little? You set up dates, 50% of them never respond again after saying yes, because yes means no. Of the remaining 50%, 50% cancel on you last minute with a completely fake excuse. The remaining women you’ve been jestermaxxing show up, mostly late. You jestermaxx in person pretending you’re being alpha by subtly trying to qualify that you’re good enough for this 19 year old barista whose only hobby is Netflix. You fck maybe 50% on the first date, usually on their dirty futon because you don’t want the hassle of trying to get them to leave your place. Second date, 50% flake because yes means no.

You repeat this process for five years and god knows how many chicks telling yourself maybe the next one will be THE ONE. Finally you delete the app after the crumbs of validation no longer mean anything to you, realizing that you were one of her eight dates that week and one of the five that fcked her. Of the random one night stands you have, it was really a flip of the coin on whether they were going to your place or a dozen other Chads’.

Delete the apps

Let it out dude srs. Fuk the rotters who think it is bad or mad stuff to laugh in public.

Lmao. That sort of generic line isn’t going to make her pussy wet. If anything, it’s going to shrivel and dry up like the Sahara desert.

You’d have to be turbochad to get away with that chit

Mate what the fuk am I supposed to do on the toilet then

The fact you think that after her saying 'hey' that you need to say something to make her pussy wet on the first line already tells me enough about how you approach in texting girls. Oh buddy... You want her pussy wet? Then flow it into the conversation about how you carry yourself through words, not in a one line opener because that only works when YOU initiate the chat but in this case, she did.

or better yet fuk it here, it is

''So I'm a pretty nervous guy but I'm a straight shooter when I notice gorgeous looking girls like yourself. I'd just like to invite you to my place however I just don't have any seats available so how about you just sit on my face instead?''

inb4#metoo

or tell her you just make 7 figures

Play chess

That is exactly what you need to do though. This is 2020, not the 1950’s.

Edit: 2021 fuk

Yikes man. You just be one ugly bloke then if you 'depend' on those one liners

Such is life for averagecels

Tempted to send her SR-71 copypasta

hey shawty. lemme holla at you right quick ya know what im sayin. checkin you out over there you lookin kinda good, ya know what im sayin. so i was wondering ya know how about you and me go back to the place, get comfortable, probably sip on some of this henney, you know what im sayin, and after that, you know what im... sayin, we can do the grownup and you can let me clap on dem cheeks, ya hear me?

She’s not black though

Brah you're coming across as a total ******* overly worrying about what to send this sloot

Has penor in username

Calls other people *******

Atleast I’m trying, brah