One of the many useful life theories posited by Fox's latest dignity-stomper, More To Love, is that overweight (aka real) people can only find happiness with other overweight (aka real) people.  The producers may have subscribed to this life-view because people of average weight are imaginary and therefore invisible to the real (aka fat) person's eye, but more likely it's because the producers believe like should date like. Another organization that holds this same belief? Fashion Meets Finance, a website that organizes singles mixers so that men who work in finance can meet women who work in fashion. In other words, the insufferable should only date the insufferable.

From the NY Times:

“We are here to announce the balance is restoring itself to the ecosystem of the New York dating community,” the party organizers said on their cheeky Web site.

The site allowed people to post R.S.V.P.’s, including job titles and salaries, and while many entries were clearly fictitious (“David” who works in “cougar trading”), there was nothing imaginary about the hundreds of well-dressed, well-groomed people who snaked down East 50th Street waiting to get into Nikki Beach in Midtown Manhattan on Thursday night.

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See, the NYC dating community is like a giant moist rock, and the people that live on that rock are like lichens. Fashion girls and Wall Street guys are the splotchy lichens on the largely empty underside of the slippery rock. None of the other lichens want to go anywhere near them, because they think things like writing "cougar trading" under the occupation heading on a dating website are hilarious. Basically, they deserve each other.

Inside, seated atop plush white cushions on wooden furniture, St. Tropez-style, guests gamely confirmed the stereotype that attractive women who work in fashion just want to find wealthy men in finance, and vice versa. 

As the night wore on, BlackBerrys were pulled out of pockets for the exchange of phone numbers, women began dancing on tables under the glow of colored lights, and at least one fashion gal and finance guy had clearly found a connection, making out on a couch near the entrance.

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Observe the curious mating rituals of the insufferable: St. Tropez-style sitting, followed by agressive public preening by both sexes: The males display their glowing PDA appendages, while the women robotically stomp atop the tables. Both are fertility signals to the opposite sex, irresistable to insufferables. Should a coupling occur, with any luck an insufferable brat will be born—following the average 9 month gestational period.

Being trapped in a room with these hundreds of people who date based on occupation must feel like slowly suffocating in a box filled with emery boards. Then there's this:

A 25-year-old financial analyst who was double-fisting glasses of Johnnie Walker Black, said that identifying yourself as a banker (“dropping the banker bomb” as he put it) had traditionally been a potent lure on the dating scene. “As the recession got worse, the magic bullet lost some of its mojo,” said the analyst, who asked not to be named to protect his employer, a private equity firm, from the publicity associated with the evening.  

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So saying you're a banker is like dropping a bomb, yo? But it's also like a magic, mojo-tipped bullet? Well, which flabby metaphor is it? Below are a few suggestions.

Saying you're a banker, and expecting to get a date based soley on that fact, is like:

—Igniting a hydrogen-filled dirigible

—Pushing a syringe filled with Crisco directly into someone's neck

—Holding a staplegun to someone's frontal lobe

—Bragging about owning the complete second season of Full House on DVD

—Draping the entire room in a fumigation tent

—Talking about your car as if anyone cares

—Exhaling a cloud of pepper spray.

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