To be honest, it's Friday and I'm not sure I can do justice to the whole saga. (If you want to catch up, reading through his tag page will be educational.) So suffice it to say that he sought out to capitalize on his reputation as a misogynist and lothario, this site pretty much cemented it, which was hilarious to television executives (because Hollywood is run mostly by guys who want to be misogynist lotharios) and eventually he got a TV show on Showtime (which I keep meaning to subscribe to) called, you guessed it, I Can't Believe I'm Still Single.
Proto-douche and I Can't Believe I'm Still Single author Eric Shaeffer is back to annoy us all with his blog. When a reader wrote in, "The reason you can't find a girl is on account of getting fucked in the ass by doms," Schaeffer offered this response: "The joys of giving over are obvious and plentiful to those of us straight guys who dabble. For those of you who don't or wish to judge, you might want to get your facts straight so you don't poison the world with anymore bullshit. We have way to much contaminating us already." Oh, and for those of you that aren't sure just who is and who is not engaging in hot trans-actional funtimes, Schaeffer explains it to you after the jump.
Hey, remember that wannabe i-banker douchebag Alexsey Vayner and his insanely braggy resume video? Do you recall Eric Schaeffer, the failed writer/director who hates women and blogs about how he can't believe he's still single? Well, what if they met and married and through some breakthrough in medical science had a baby? He would probably grow up to be something along the lines of Atlanta's John Fitzgerald Page, who in addition to working in corporate finance, being a part-time trainer, and being available for work as a "costumed character" or a "stand-in," also somehow finds the time in his day to be a colossal, mindbogglingly douchey douchebag to girls he meets on Match.com!
Eric Schaeffer, the world's worst man, the man who cannot understand why no woman will marry him, the jerkiest jerk in jerk town, is on his book tour to support his opus, "I Can't Believe I'm Still Single"! Our Special Correspondent For Sexy Midwest Trends report things are going poorly: "I just walked through the Barnes and Noble on the first floor of my office building in Chicago (it's the DePaul University book store) and Eric Schaeffer had just finished reading to a group of about ten people next to the revolving doors. I noticed one large-breasted, blonde gal (very fake looking) and a ton of dudes who looked exactly like him. It looked like a really awkward event." Hey, by the way, have you ever looked at his book's page on Amazon?
Publicist Kelly Kreth had long fantasized about boning the author of I Can't Believe I'm Still Single, noted emosogynist perv Eric Schaeffer. So it's really no surprise that, when she finally managed to cram herself into his busy dating schedule, she found him charming. Another thing you should know about Kelly is that her idea of third-date banter is "If you gag and vomit I will force you to lick it up."
The article in the Times today about "inappropriate yoga guys," as immortalized in one of the funniest YouTube videos we've ever seen (seriously, watch it and see if you don't spit out your coffee when he does that Ujjayi breath), rips off all our blinders and reveals the shocking seamy underbelly of the yoga world. Just kidding, nothing in it will particularly shock any lady who has ever a) taken a yoga class that wasn't women's or prenatal or b) familiarized herself with the work of Gawker bete noire Eric Schaeffer, who prowls gyms looking for spandex-clad ladies at their most vulnerable. But we wonder if even he has pulled some of the heinous stunts described in this article.
Remember Eric Schaeffer, the eating-disordered emosogynist who can't believe he's still single? You know, the guy we used to think was the most immature scary-deluded narcissist we'd ever encountered before we met Robert Olen Butler? Well, we had him on ignore for a while, which means we missed this SuicideGirls interview a few weeks ago. "I'm on the hunt bad," he tells Erin Broadley, who characterizes his memoir, which is partly about getting blow jobs from hookers, as "a personal and illuminating work that never shies from being up front and honest about looking for romance in a decidedly less and less romantic world." Okay! Anyway, that's not all our Eric has to say for himself.
Beginning next week in San Diego, and ending in October in New Haven, literary mastermind, yoga practitioner and extremely tiny and single ball of hatred Eric Schaeffer will be on book tour! As we know from experience, his readings are just something to see. So whether you live in Mendocino or Boise, you too can lose your dignity listening to the misguided pit of sadness that is Eric's hatred of women and self. Also! Eric's MySpace has a question for you! It is: "Have Your Bought The Book Yet?" Actually, no, mine hasn't, honey, but maybe their has?
So Eric Schaeffer's making the rounds, promoting his book, and his interview with Nerve is mostly nothing new. "I've been in therapy for years. My spiritual path has been one of self-reflection," and "It's hard to find really smart, funny women who are confident and have a job or an aspiration that's inspiring to me," and "Special-massage girls will give you love because it's just the nature of who they are and what they're doing." But then there's this: "I ended a book deal from a major publisher in New York because the woman who runs the publishing company, when my dick was in her mouth, had her checkbook out and said, "I will buy your book now." Come again? (Or please, please, never come again, but, you know, clarify?)
For most of his reading at the Chelsea Barnes & Noble last night, I Can't Believe I'm Still Single author Eric Schaeffer was in his charming first-date mode, all bashful grins and 'aw-shucks, little old screenwriter me? Did I mention I dated Molly Ringwald once?' But occasionally, Eric would get to the clause in one of his run-on sentences that contained a zinger. He'd narrow his eyes and shoot a barbed insult at a pathetic divorced fattie whose life had been brightened when he'd viewed her Nerve profile, or he'd diss a dirty whore who'd had the gall to waste Eric's dating time by not being upfront about her oral herpes, and it would hit you: This guy really hates women. It's not a joke. This is a sociopath who preys on the dating desperation of aging New York ladies and then writes delusional screeds about them in order to feel better about himself. This guy is a Peter Braunstein who hasn't snapped... yet. The audience for Eric's reading was full of women. After all, who hates women more than women do?
Eric Schaeffer. Ugh! We almost can't even type the words. We're being serious and real right now: Eric Schaeffer represents the worst in men. He is every dick who's ever mistaken the fact that we were getting paid to serve him cocktails for "ooh, she wants me." He is every predatory asshole who has ever offered us a backrub when we were too young and dumb to understand how drunk we were. And, perhaps most importantly, Eric Schaeffer is the world's best argument for women's-only yoga classes. We were seriously, seriously never going to write about him again, but then Salon's ladyist-beat reporter Rebecca Traister sat down with the man, the myth, the internet-fame radar-blip and asked him about "the Gawker thing." It went sort of like this:
Daily, we check to see how many people have read our blog. Whether it's growing, ebbing, flowing... It consistently grows a little every week in its readership, which is great. The other day the number suddenly spiked, like, a bazillion percent. Like many thousands of people above the usual number. We imed the tech people at Gawker Media who run the site and asked if maybe the counter was broken. They informed us that no, it was working fine and that maybe we had been posting lately about something that had gotten people really riled up. We weren't really sure what they meant. We turn on the computer; write a few posts about Radar and how Cindy Adams is senile, check our RSS feeds, answer our hatemail, and we're done. You know, the minimal.
Love is all about making sacrifices. We love you, and that's why we subjected ourselves to a brief skim through an advance copy of Eric Schaeffer's magnum opus, I Can't Believe I'm Still Single. Yes, the book. Yes, Eric Schaeffer has a book. DON'T BUY IT. Seriously, don't! You wouldn't buy, like, a coat made from the skins of Guatemalan infants, would you? Well, buying Eric Schaeffer's book would be sort of like that, ethically, only worse. And besides, since we're excerpting some of the ickiest bits after the jump, you totally won't have to.