Judy Roberts confessional

I forgot the password for my Judy Roberts blog. She is my alter ego, and she is a wise, wise soul. I haven’t decided if she’s a millenial.  But here is what she wrote about the horrors of modern dating.


Swiping Whilst Crying: A Judy Roberts Confessional



It has been a long time since I opened a google document and typed words to share with you. My internet.com stopped working for a month or so. I accidentally clicked on a FAKE invite to a game of Candy Crushers on Facebook.com. It was actually a terrible hacker who sent me this invite, and it caused my internet to not load for a month! My son, Horbert Jr, gave me his old macbook  because it’s from 2016, so it’s super obsolete now. Well, ol Judy doesn’t mind the old things! These kids today! In my day, we kept laptops for AT LEAST 3 years!

Anyway, so please excuse me, as I’m also acclimating myself to this macbook internet machine. It has so many amazing emoticons! Can you see this one? ::::;:

I hope so, it’s so cute!!

Anyway, I want to clear the air about some matters. So, I’ll post some of my recent fan mail, and answer some questions.

FROM: Agnes Harberby, Storesville, OH


Dear Judy,

Hi, I hope this letter reaches you well. I read your weekly column in the Fine American Woman magazine, but i noticed you have not mentioned darling Rannie Bob (your husband) lately. I hope all is well, but if all is not well, please keep your marriage vows in mind! I am not a judgmental woman, but I just want you to know I’ve been married since the Nixon administration (REST IN PEACE) and I kind of think divorce is a sin.






Thank you for the letter, Agnes. No, I am not divorced. But, and please don’t judge my sinful soul too much, Agnes…but….

I went on Tinder.

Friends, PLEASE! Don’t give me that look! I did NOTHING! NOTHING, I tell you! Rannie Bob, my darling, DARLING husband, has been MIA the past, oh, let’s just say, roughly…10 years. He is my darling husband, but he spends so many weekends as an undercover reporter in Provincetown, and I just got fed up one night! I decided to just SCOPE the local hunk scene. I mean…!! I mean, i just wanted to do a bit of investigation of my own..for my single friends! Yes, that’s it.  My dear friend, Janice Harperby, is single and VERY ready to mingle! So I decided to see what kind of fine 70 year old hunkaroos are out there on the internet!


First, I said to my phone, ‘okay, google, load up tinder.com’

Nothing happened! Luckily, I was in line at Starbuck’s, and a young gentleman showed me the application store, and how to load tinder.com. So, that night, whilst sipping a bubbly glass of seltzer, and nibbling on a delicious snackwell’s cookie, I looked up gentlemen on tinder between the ages of 35 and 50.  Hey, nothing wrong with me dating a younger man..I mean…nothing wrong with my friend, Janice, who is single and ready to mingle, dating a younger man!

So, as I swiped right on hunks,  I….felt the tears rush to my face. I continued to swipe, and the tears kept flowing.

Swipe harder, maybe! I yelled, whilst pieces of snackwells flew out of my mouth

Swipe! Swipe! Right! Right!

Oh dear, a man who is wearing a Bernie 2016 shirt! Ew, swipe LEFT!

Right! Right!

It’s a match! It’s a match! It’s a match!

‘Hey girl, sup???’

My fingers twitched nervously. My emoticon finger (left index finger) was shaking uncontrollably as I tried to press this emoticon: %%%%% (I hope you can see that, reader)


But i couldnt.

I typed something else. I typed.

‘HOW DARE YOU? I am a married woman. You people disgust me!’

I immediately called tech support on my phone and asked them how to remove this vile dating app from my phone. Then, I went to Facebook and live streamed a video, calling out ALL the horrible people who use these apps! Truly horrifying, really!

Anyway, friends. I will never again venture to the dark corners of the Google Play store. Never again will my emoji fingers attempt to send a cute emoticon to an internet gentleman. I have my gentleman. His name is Rannie Bob, and i just dont know where he is right now.


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