In our ever-evolving technological world, it becomes more and more likely that you will give online dating a chance. After all, we shop for most everything online using a highly selective screening process, so why should a potential mate be any different? Since ShopWiki does not participate in human trafficking (we tried for a bit, but those scrappy mail-order brides are notoriously tough to ship), you'll ultimately be forced to leave us for one of those matchmaking sites like eHarmony or OkCupid (just be sure and come back, hear?). At these sites, you'll be presented with a number of dating options, and sometimes the playing field can seem overwhelming. Here is where we come in.

Now, you're of course going to find a number of potential suitors who populate their profiles with photos of their life-sized treasures, whether they be dolls or stuffed animals. How are you to know which person is a keeper? To find out more, check out our guide and bag yourself the honey that's right for you!

The Tease	The Brooder
The owner of a life-sized plush dog is a like a honeybee, always flitting from one flower to the next. Eternally young at heart, the Tease doesn't like to get in too deep - but is always up for a good time!	If you're dying for a sensitive artist type, look no further than a date who proudly has this attractive life-sized corpse bride on display in his or her living room. Expect lots of heart-felt poetry from your Brooder - til death do you part!
The Nester	The Royal
The Nester will take care of you - body, mind, and soul. You won't find another as devoted and nurturing as the date with a life-sized Berenguer baby sleeping cozily in the corner. Trust me, this one's a lifer, so be sure you're ready!	A suitor who has a My Size Barbie Throne as the focus of his or her home is definitely someone used to being the center of attention. The Royal is entertaining and gregarious, and you'll never be at a loss for conversation topics - just ask about him or her!

The Warrior

A force to be reckoned with, the Warrior never backs down from a fight. Confident and adventurous, a man or woman owning a full-sized suit of armor will be a loyal and trustworthy partner - if you can manage to win the battle!

In honor of MacGyver creator Lee David Zlotoff's announcement that he intends to make a full-length movie of the classic 1980's hit show, today's Hunk Friday post is obviously dedicated to the man himself, Richard Dean Anderson.

I have composed a poem for the occasion:

Man of brains, even though he had brawn,
Angus was his name, and gentle as a fawn.
Could there be a problem you can't solve?
Grand man, your knowledge does ever evolve.
Your Swiss Army Knife was your most faithful chum,
Virilely you stood alone, but if only I had been the one!
E'er I'll smell the sweet perfume of your feathered hair,
Raspberry shampoo that helps plug that sulfuric acid leak over there.

I walked down Main St. just past the library in the ancient capital of the NWO, Orange, Old New Jersey. I had just finished conducting business with a client. She had searched for decades for an authentic Dr. Henry Jones Kotobukiya figurine from early in the millenium. I had three (thanks to my connections at the Revered and Most Holy Council of Shopwiki). She paid handsomely for the figurine and after I had paid my business fees to the Beloved Council of Shopwiki, I made about 17,462.58 Yuan. Enough to finally get me a liter of gasoline to extend my life by another 3 years beyond capacity.

I rounded the corner to Lincoln Avenue when I heard shuffling in the dark alley behind the Post Office. I pointed my middle finger at the void and scanned with my SuperMega BlackBerry. The reading came back as two humans with 33% Methcrackoine content combined. At those levels they were probably just spammers or Myspace tweakers. I continued on, as I passed I heard them moving.

"Hey, how old are you?" one asked in a raspy rattle. Awww CRAP!!!! "What ethnicity would you say that you identify with the most?" the other one chimed in in perfect sequence. I started to run without looking back, I knew what they were.

"Would you like to take a quick survey? It will only take 2 minutes!" the raspy one yelled out, picking up his speed in pursuit.

"We just want to ask about your satisfaction level!" the other yelled.

Advertisers. The dregs of society. And these were the lowest of the low: Focus Groupies. In the year 2012 all advertising had been banned when extensive global research and the subsequent proofs from the knowledge base of the Alien Overlords showed that there were no direct correlations between sales and advertising. Most of them found quasi-validation as bloggers and "educationalists", but the majority slithered into the underworld with the Mole People or out into the vast wastelands of New North Canada and Minnekotia. Out there they formed large bands that roamed the countryside compiling databases and demographics info, sending Hunter/Seeker teams into civilization to update their files and mailing lists. "We would like to know what radio stations you listen to!" old Raspy asked again, hoping that I would stop just enough for them to water-board answers from me. I knew their game, after they had squeezed out all the useless information from me, they would drill out my brain to ensure that nobody else got the info and that there were no duplications in their system.

My training at the Revered Shopwiki Academy had only reached Simple Disarming and Completing the Sale techniques. I hadn't yet been given clearance in deadly hand to hand close quarters combat. I ran down an alley hoping to lose them, only to discover that it was a dead end. I turned around and pushed my back against the wall. I wasn't going down without a fight.

They stopped a few yards from me. Raspy pulled out a drill while his partner rolled back the sleeves of his pink Armani shirt. "We give you coupon at end of survey," Raspy wheezed out. His partner tittered and stared at my head with googley eyes.

Just then I heard glass breaking above me.

"That's: We WILL give you coupons at the end of this survey!" I heard an angry and fed up voice scream down. "TASTE MY PAIN!" A blur came crashing down on Raspy, crushing his body and ruining his wool three-piece suit and throwing his trendy retro style eyeglasses by my left foot. I saw a flash of steel and Raspy's friend flopped to the ground in two halves.

I looked at the hulking mass before me. It was mostly machine parts, but I could see the basic outline of a human form.

"They was gonna kill me..." I blubbered.

"They WERE going to kill you," it corrected me as it turned around and pointed a huge sword at my face. My eyes went from the tip of the blade, to the cybernetic arm, to the piercing eyes. I looked down and saw that it wore a name tag. Hello, my name is... "LENGLI" was scrawled in blood red.

"It's YOU..." I whispered in awe.

I cannot recommend the Oxford Pocket Proctector highly enough. Before I bought one, I lived in constant fear of my ink pens leaking and the stain soaking through my shirt pocket. Let me tell you, that's no way to live!

Since my friend Eugene clued me into this little invention, things have been quite different. My shirts are impeccable and I have more privacy since Mother's not busting in to do laundry at all hours. I now walk into my Dungeons & Dragons gaming night with my head held high, and all my friends at the Renaissance Faire tell me there is new confidence in my step.

The Oxford Pocket Protector. It's as easy as 3.14159265358979323846264338 3279502884197169399375105820974944592307816406286208998628034825 3421170679821480865132823066470938446095505822317253594081284811 1745028410270193852110555964462294895493038196...

Allow myself to introduce...... myself. I am Herr Dr Merkwürdigliebe, or Dr Strangelove here in my new country of Amerika. You may have seen the movie that stared me playing me. After having spent all that time with Stanley Kubrick, I said to myself I'm a smart guy, I'm a doctor - I can do what Stanley does! So now I've shifted my career focus from building doomsday devices to Hollywood. In between my lunches and dinners at Spago, I produce movies. Slaughtering livestock didn't work out as hoped.

I must confess, I'm continuously surprised by the regular decline in movie quality. Let's look at a new release, "Made of Honor". Besides the question that likely came to you as it did to me - will they spell "honor" with a "u" for British release? - is the realization that we've seen this before. Yet another take on My Best Friend's Wedding blended with the title from Maid in Manhattan (I think they found a title first and wrote the movie around it). So let me guess, instead of Julia Roberts pursuing the guy about to get married, it's the guy pursuing the girl about to marry. But how are you going to get a bunch of guys to dance around in a circle like the women do in every chick flick?!? Blahh..... Half a star out of five.

You may say it's far too easy to make fun of chick flicks.  How true!  But that doesn't make it any less fun. To be fair though, let's look at the newest Marvel picture: Iron Man with Robert Downey, Jr. First of all, kudos to Robert for making films between different periods of incarceration. We raise our martini glasses to you, Bobby, nearly every day over lunch at Spago. Back to pre-reviewing trailers, slurp. Since this is a Marvel comic and not a hokey DC Comic, we give you a star. Let's face it, Marvel can at least create a character that isn't flat (Superman anyone?), but after the X-Men trilogy, they degraded with Fantastic Four and ended miserably with Spiderman 3.  I've lost faith, and I'm sure Iron Man will not be a bomb I learn to love. Two stars out of five.

What is it about Dylan McKay that made millions of teenaged girls collectively swoon as one? Was it the swagger? The "it-hurts-too-much-to-speak-so-I'm-just-going-to-stand-here-and-brood" raspy voice? The hot car? The tortured perma-wrinkles on his forehead (I was convinced that if I stared hard enough I would eventually be able to see into his soul)?

The most famous faux teen ever to grace the halcyon glow of the television screen, Dylan McKay was a legend - nay, an icon. Guys wanted to be him, women wanted to be with him. Rumor has it the real reason Shannen Doherty left the show was because she was put in traction by a gaggle of jealous teen girls after her character, Brenda Walsh, cheated on Dylan on a study abroad to Paris. It nearly six months for all of the welts to go down, by which time it was too late: Doherty had already snapped.

Years later, the allure is still there, transcending time. Luke Perry may be a strapping 68 years old, but Dylan McKay is forever preserved as a sprightly quadragenarian tearing up the Pacific on his surfboard, the sunset reflecting off his perfectly spiked hair.

Though Kelly Taylor might have said "I CHOOSE ME", we here at Overlooked will never let him go. Always and forever, sweet prince. Always and forever.

I'm sitting here now, in my changing room. I can hear the audience. They're restless. They're impatient to see the greatest Marlene Dietrich impersonator that ever graced the stages of Off-Broadway. It seems so long ago, that night that changed my life forever.

---

It was a hot and sweaty summer night, the kind where everyone's drunk and cruising in their pickup just to stay cool. Drunk driving wasn't a problem there because if you passed out, you'd just wake up in the morning and walk into town to get gas.

I went into town with a couple of the farm hands, Red and Tex. Red was a hard man: he'd spent most of his life traveling from farmstead to farmstead digging out stumps and working over livestock. Tex was different. He looked as young for 42 as Rex looked old for it. Tex was supple and gay, like the first springtime shoot. He always had a joke in mind and always managed to get the ladies to dance. Tex was a tractor driver; he could maneuver a tractor like he was leading a town-lady at an Oklahoma two-step. We were all men. Bronzed, rugged, American.

We walked into the arcade with pockets full of change. We'd spend what was left of our foldin' money here after hitting up ole man Jenkins' hooch shack.

As soon as you walked in the smells hit you: the cigarette smoke heavy in the air, the smell of fried taters and hot dogs from the eat-shack, the stale sour sweat of the high score. Rex slapped me on the ass and pointed over to a new game - Big Rigs: Over the Road Racing.

There were a couple of Riverdale kids hanging around it, dressed in their varsity jackets and smelling of the latest French perfumes from the town drug store. We hated them as much as they hated us. We derided them for being in their cage of a town, and they looked down on our boundless wandering in the country.

One of them laughed out loud and gave the game a kick. "This thing sucks!" he yelled out, his freckled face turning red, looking for a dummy to tackle. He glanced over at me and signalled to his team mates. "Hey farm-boy! Here's a game for ya! Ahoo hoo hoo! Shyeeeeeeeet!" His friends joined in the merry-making and they huddled over by the Dance Dance Revolution console.

I gritted my teeth. Tex held my wrists and whispered in my ear in that soft country drawl, "It's all right sweetheart, don't let them get to you. Let's just have a good time". Rex slapped my ass again, "Let's check that game out, maybe Tex can get the high score on it?" He grinned and winked at Tex. "No, I'll do it, I'll show them," I walked proudly over to the game and sat down in the seat.

I dropped in two quarters and changed my life.

There were no boundaries, no limits. I could do anything I wanted. I was free. I didn't have to stay on the road, I could go wherever and through whatever I pleased. I could even go beyond the edges of the map. I drove for hours that night, and I was always a winner. That night changed my life forever. I was beyond the arcade, beyond the town, beyond the farm. I was beyond the world. There was nothing to stop me or slow me down. I had broken through.

---

My mother sobbed as she hugged me goodbye. My father shook my hand and told me to do the right thing. Rex held me long and hard. We swayed back and forth on that train platform before Tex tapped him on the shoulder. Tex pressed his wet cheek to mine and kissed it softly. I'll never forget how his mustache was wet with tears. He whispered the line from the game into my ear:

"You're Winner".

Some days I just can't believe what a square company I work for. My one and only request when we moved into our new building was to have a "Live Nudes" sign installed by our showers, and that the sign be rigged to go on when the water is turned on.

We have been in the new office since January. Today is April 29, and there is still no mention of any nudes, live or otherwise. Apparently there's some big to-do where certain people think a sign like that constitutes harassment and bla bla and some junk. I'm not naming any names, but her name starts with "R" and rhymes with "Benet" (as in JonBenet Ramsey). People like that need to suck it up and get over it. Ain't nothing classier than a sign like that, especially when it's set to blink.

¿Erik Estrada...		...o Ricardo Montalbán?
Pros He's a Pisces - sensitive! Was on the cover of Tiger Beat magazine You'll never again have to pay for your own hair products	Cons He keeps stealing your shorts Gets sulky if you spell his first name with a 'C' by mistake	Pros He's a Sagittarius - fiery! Will make all your fantasies come true He'll say "soft Corinthian leather" for you whenever you ask	Cons No cons, only KHAAAN

I was a young, naive, and bright-eyed idealist out to change the world for the better.

After an 18-hour 4-airplane flight I arrived in my new country, and at my new hometown after an 8-hour long, bumpy, bus trip. And not one of those luxury buses with a bathroom and shock absorbers. This had 4 wheels and that was enough.

I was met at the bus station (a bush with a signpost) by my host and translator Abu. He knew enough English to smooth over the embarrassing social situations and I knew enough Wolof to communicate with the babies and other foreigners.

We hiked back towards the cluster of mud huts. I was surprised to see a satellite dish near one of them. I asked Abu about it and he stated "Chaub Wegee". This word wasn't in the Wolof vocabulary builder courses I had taken so I shrugged it off.

A group of kids had formed as a tail to our procession, yelping with glee at the new "Toubab" that had arrived. All of them were decked out in the latest from the Shady Limited line, and they all wore Air Jordans. I found it interesting that they all chose to wear the same name brands, but I didn't make a big issue of it. I was still new to the village after all.

Abu brought me to his home. Out front of it sat a Peugeot 205 riding on some serious dubs. We entered his hut and he introduced me to his wife Aissata and his children Ali and Mahmud. His wife was a charming woman with her hair coiled into tight little buns and his children were little balls of mischief grinning impishly. His wife was wearing a Louis Vuitton print dress that suited her perfectly. His hut was stocked with the latest in kitchen ware and home gadgetry. He had a stainless steel stove that looked like it could prepare dinners for a whole army. His fridge, microwave, and dishwasher were all stainless steel too. I was struck dumb. I asked him how they were able to afford such luxuries. He told me about the program that the previous Peace Corps Volunteer had started. It consisted of a local workshop that employed the artisans of the village in creating traditional crafts and then selling those crafts online.

I was amazed by it all. Abu offered to show me the whole operation and the "Chaub Wegee"(which I assumed was what they called the crafts they were making) after lunch. But I was too impatient and asked him to show them to me immediately. He smiled and agreed, understanding that I was still on Toubab time.

He showed me the hut where the artisans were creating traditional silver jewelry. They were very intricate and beautiful and fetched a high enough price online that the villagers did not want for anything. I was still curious about this Chaub Wegee though, I asked Abu if he was the head chief or the local protective Animist Spirit that the village prayed to. Abu laughed heartily and slapped me on the back. He grabbed my hand and ran over to the hut with the satellite dish. He ushered me in and pointed to the middle of the room. In the middle of the empty hut was a plastic table, a chair, and a computer. On the computer screen was Chaub Wegee.