It has recently come to my attention that the producers of ABC’s “The Bachelor” are holding open auditions for their next male lead. I want this role. I want this role like you can’t understand. In fact, I want this role more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my entire life, with the possible exception of wanting to be born an old man and grow physically younger as my mind ages, like in that one Brad Pitt movie, “Meet Joe Black.” Yes, I want this, because I know I would be perfect for the role. If you don’t believe me, then you just don’t know me. And if you just don’t know me, you will after reading this column, because I’m about to give you a sensual glimpse into the inner workings of mi coracon, which is Spanish for “Meet Joe Black.”

So please, take a look at the letter I wrote to the producers of “The Bachelor” supporting my candidacy, and tell me I’m not the most qualified bachelor out there:

Hello there, producers of “The Bachelor.” I’ve noticed that you haven’t responded to any of the videos I’ve sent you, and you seem to have blocked my cell phone number. But I’m not hurt. In fact, it’s totally fine, because my determination knows no limits, and I have very few friends who will distract me from attaining my goals. Oh yes, I have time like my roommate has virginity, and I do not mind waiting, like my roommate has for sex. Besides, I know you’re just playing games with me, which is ridiculous. Don’t act like I’ve never gotten a cease-and-desist letter from a big scary lawyer before.

Anyway, you may still be wondering to yourself, “Daniel, what makes you the perfect candidate for ‘The Bachelor’?” You may also be wondering to yourself, “Daniel, can I use your name as part of an adjective, like Dantastic?” To the latter inquiry, I say that’s a silly question; of course you can use “Dantastic” at will, because it’s not like I’ve copyrighted the use of my name in adjectives, except in Arizona.

And to the question of why I’m a perfect candidate, allow me to explain. First and foremost, I am not a hemophiliac. I never have been, and I never will be. And don’t even pretend like that’s not the most important thing a lady looks for in a man, besides vast sums of money. In this day and age, the last thing a woman wants is for her soulmate to go Alexei Romanov on her and not be able to clot effectively. Because if that’s the case, he’ll probably just end up getting brutally murdered with the rest of his royal family on the eve of a Marxist revolution, and then Dreamworks will have to make an entertaining and charming musical about the life of his mysterious sister, all because he skinned his knee and it wouldn’t stop bleeding. What a great way to ruin the mood.

But don’t call me Alexei Romanov, unless it’s because you think I would be a perfect heir to the Russian throne. My blood clots perfectly and efficiently, because I am the most efficient human being I know — a trait that is useful in the realm of love. For example, I have entirely transformed the way I speak by using acronyms to describe anything romantic. This has completely revolutionized and expedited the way I love, as evidenced by the conversation I had just the other day with a lady friend.

I saw this friend in the dining hall and said, “Hey, are you DTMO?”


“That’s great!” I exclaimed. “Although I’m not sure I’m DTMOATWAKTBISGWTSATLOHL.”

“Oh,” she said dejectedly. “I guess that’s okay, because IHMIA.”

And that was that. The entire conversation’s expediency was made possible only by our extensive use of acronyms. We spent the entire afternoon talking like that, and we have a stronger, more love-filled relationship because of it. Had we not been able to efficiently decipher each other’s acronyms, our interaction would have gone something like this:

“Hey,” I would say, “are you Down To Make Out?”

“Down To Make Out?” she would respond. “I’m Down To Make Out and Then Watch ‘A Knight’s Tale’ Because I Love Modern-Day Representations Of The Renaissance That Prominently Feature Heavy Metal.”

“That’s great!” I would exclaim, enthused by the prospect of reconciling my love of heavy metal with my love of Chaucer. “Although I’m not sure I’m Down To Make Out And Then Watch ‘A Knight’s Tale’ Because I’m Still Grappling With The Sudden And Tragic Loss Of Heath Ledger.”

“Oh,” she would say dejectedly. “I guess that’s okay, because I Have Mild Indigestion Anyway.”

Conversations like this are tedious and unnecessary, and they place sentence structure over love. And because we had wasted so much time explaining what every acronym meant, we wouldn’t even have time to French.

Now, I know what you producers must think: “He’s such a good clotter and an efficient lover. But is he experienced?” I, too, had this question, until I remembered the most romantic Valentine’s Day I threw for my ex-girlfriend from high school. It took place one Feb. 13, because I had made plans to shoot bottle rockets at squirrels with a friend on the 14th. I invited her over for dinner and said sensually, “I cooked you steak, because I know how much you love steak.”

She was flabbergasted, responding, “Daniel, I don’t love steak. You love steak.”

I gushingly responded, “Oh, Emily. You know me so well. I’m gushing now.”

“My name is Erin,” she said adorably.

“Whatever, Erica. You can’t expect me to remember everything,” I insisted, fondly. “It’s not like we’ve been dating for a year or anything.”

“Yes we have,” she cutely insisted.

“Shut up.” I proclaimed authoritatively. “You’re ruining my steak dinner.”

Any fool could have seen that this was the best Valentine’s Day Edwina had ever had. She got a delicious steak dinner out of it and, best of all, I let her take pictures of me and my friend the next day as we shot Roman candles at woodland critters.

Clearly, I have the experience to know what a woman — not to mention 16 willing bachelorettes — wants from her Valentine. I would be a perfect bachelor because I have everything a woman wants: clotting blood, efficiency and steak. If you still think I’m not a good bachelor, then fine, I’ll check back next week.

But if you’ve been properly convinced, just know that I am totally DTLYEMSIAMTDRAMISLIHRCWT16D. And yes, you’re absolutely right in thinking that means I’m Down To Let You Edit My Shows In A Manner That Distorts Reality And Makes It Seem Like I Have Real Chemistry With Those 16 Dimwits.


Daniel F. J. K. Zier