Extended! Tell us your funniest date story and win $200

At least it wasn’t crabs.

Sponsored By MeetMoi.

MeetMoi is the new way to get instant, real life introductions to people you want to date.

We’re extending this contest by one week to get even more of your juicy date stories! Send your entries in by July 3. There are way more than eight million dating stories in this only sometimes Naked City. What’s yours?  Tell your funniest, silliest, most ridiculous mating or dating tale and you win a $200 AmEx gift card courtesy of MeetMoi, a new way to get instant, real-life intros to people you actually want to date. Email meetmoi@brokelyn.com with your story by Monday July 3 and you might be selected to win. To double your chances, download the MeetMoi iPhone or Android app and enter the word “brokelyn” in the Guest List field of registration.

Then all you have to do is figure out whether to spend your $200 on one really good date or 10 really cheap ones.

One Comment

  • I am unsure if this story could be considered hilarious, however now that I reflect upon it, I consider it one of the more priceless dates. I had been working as a flyer girl for a dental company near Wall St. one summer and the cops that were constantly parked on Wall st. for security reasons would always stare at my girlfriend and I as we handed out flyers. One day, a young, good looking cop asked me for a flyer and I brought it to him while he sat in the drivers seat of one of the cars. He then proceeded to ask me out on a date (which I am SURE is not allowed while you are on duty) and at the urging of my girlfriend decided to take him up on it. Having been born and raised in Brooklyn, I had an natural tendency to think all cops were bastards but I figured I might as well break down my misconceptions with a date. He made reservations at the Meatball Shop on Stanton st. and I arrived wearing my classiest outfit I owned- a off the shoulders short dress that billowed att he arms like a kimono (already overdressed not having realized this place was low key). He was dressed like a frat guy at a baseball game and I could already tell our starkly different attire would be the first of many stark differences between us. After ordering a pitcher of Sangria, we started exchanging information about our backgrounds and history. Now, it’s a well known fact that when you aren’t familiar with the person you are interacting with, there are two topics that should stay out of the conversation: politics and religion. Somehow, he felt the need to delve right into BOTH of those things and informed me that he was a a full blooded Republican and good “Christian” boy. Not that those things would have bothered me, but as the conversation progressed, his insistence that my “unorthodox Brooklyn upbringing” was so “fascinating” became uncomfortable, and caused me to basically consume the entire pitcher of Sangria before we even got our appetizers. In my drunken stupor I felt the need to encourage his sharing hour and found out he was formerly in the National Guard, and had served in Afghanistan and Pakistan. Curious as to how this “good Christian boy” felt about the war and Islam in general, I drunkenly urged him to share his thoughts on both. What a mistake. I ended up hearing about his, “valiant efforts” to “educate those people that live in a fantasy where killing Christians will get them 1,000 virgin brides” and how, “thank god for us or they wouldn’t have simple pleasures like candy and the magazines we bring them.” At this point, I was not only astounded by this guys lack of sensitivity, tolerance or even simple knowledge of a religion other than his own, but was so drunk that I started yelling at him in front of the whole restaurant about how he is the reason the world stereotypes Americans as ignorant, little pricks. Needless to say, I was so intoxicated that I failed to notice how quiet the restaurant had gotten, how the hostess was inching her way to my chair, or the fact that my classy dress was basically sliding off my shoulders letting the world see my cup size. The final straw was him yelling at me, “WELL WE ALL KNOW THAT PAKISTANIS ARE BAD PEOPLE!!” (in response to my comment that, Pakistani-Americans are overall quite tolerant and exceptionally successful, starting their own businesses, and being a part of the middle to upper class in this country, and I’d rather be associated with them than some hillbilly American.) I was so furious, I took the last of my Sangria, threw it on his shirt (too drunk to aim well enough to hit his face) and stumbled out of the restaurant, at this point bra in full sight and diners silent from shock. I never saw him again. I hope I never will. And now I can never go back to the Meatball Shop even though I never even got to taste the famous meatballs.