Love.net

I never stop searching, wanting.

I'm insatiable, impatient, sexy!

I'm a femme fatale, shockingly nasty.

I know what I want.

Next please!

We've been trading jokes for two days. Isn't it time to get off the net?

No, I'm just getting in the mood to chat.

WOMEN'S PROFILES

Yes, Petya?

The Russians want to trade Apartment 2A for a suite.

So move them.

You seem distracted. What else are you doing?

I'M LICKING!

Meet you in front of Smokers Bar in a bit?

How will I recognize you, Android?

I'LL BE HARD. TO MISS. JUST CALL 0888 665438.

-Good afternoon! -Hello.

-A double room. -For the night or just for a rest?

For a rest.

Hi, honey! I can't talk right now, I've got a meeting. I'll call later.

If they'd had Internet in the 80s,

Hannibal Lecter could've found his dinner dates far more easily.

You are hard on picking-ups.

I like my ringtone.

You dig into life with no fear, asking, wanting to know everything.

That's my job! I describe what I live through and live off what I describe.

You aren't a secret agent, are you?

You got me. I recruit mysterious beauties for promiscuous sex.

I think you lied about not going fast.

That's how I suppress my anxiety. I'm afraid of strangers.

If you keep that up, I can't promise you'll finish your next drink.

Oh, you're scaring me!

So why do you need that site?

You could have any man you wanted. Why bother with the Internet?

Quick flings, no strings attached. Isn't that happiness?

Depends on what you're looking for.

Isn't it time you went to the bathroom?

What's going on, Mila? What's the big rush?

Philip is cheating online.

What? Are you sure?

He's been registered on a dating site.

For a year and a half now. Can you imagine?

It might not mean anything.

How could he be so stupid?

He saved his username and password on his computer.

Look how pathetic I've become, I even printed the shit out.

Rick - a.k.a. Philip, to Brigitte Bardot, probably Penka:

"I work the early shift tomorrow. I'll be at the hotel at 2.

Get your tongue ready,

I want you to blow me like crazy."

Forget that crap. It doesn't mean anything, don't degrade yourself.

Let's go for a walk. We'll freeze to death here. Come on, get up.

So why'd he call himself Rick?

Rick from Casablanca.

Our favourite film.

I feel so gross, Jo, like a total idiot.

He's losing blood! Scalpel! God damn it, right at the end.

Give him one blood bag under pressure!

Through the IV.

Take a deep breath. Go on out.

Who lets them into the operating room? We'll get in big trouble someday.

His blood pressure is stabilizing.

We're closing him up now.

That's what you said about the guy with peritonitis

and you stitched him up for another half-hour.

We removed his spleen but that's not such a big deal.

We saved his liver. The steering wheel had ruptured it.

He'll have to give up the booze but he'll live.

He doesn't drink.

Relax, Mum, he'll be all right.

Doc, whatever you need, just say the word.

Everything will be fine.

Don't worry, it happens.

Zdravko!

You wanted to come visit us, huh, handsome?

Once we settle in we'll have you over for dinner.

Sounds great!

The new neighbour has a naughty look.

-Know what? -What?

Never mind.

Zdravko, hide quick, Mum's on the warpath.

You're upset.

Why don't you cut out that phone banking if it makes you so mad?

You're the "cutting" expert here, Dr. Bogatev.

Fucking techno revolution. You pay at the store with your cell.

You pay at the gas station with your cell.

Stop. That's enough.

You've got to change your tactics.

Hi, Zombie.

Hi, dad, I'm fine.

Baby, wanna make your Mum a grandma?

You've got an incredible vibe. I'm a photographer and artist.

I'm looking for models.

I'm Kalin, nice to meet you.

500 euro a month!

Did anyone ever tell you you're an angel?

Hey, baby, how about some S&M?

Come on, Dev, I wanna see you for real. We've put it off long enough.

When are you gonna come over?

I can't come over just like that.

Hi, Dev!

Click on this link, Dev.

The long-haired chick looks like you.

-Go squeeze your zit! -Bitch.

By the way, I found you a doctor's note for Monday and Tuesday.

Thank God! I have so many unexcused absences.

Now you just need to burp.

I can do the alphabet, but only to D.

How many times have I told you not to eat that crap?

Hello to you, too, Mum.

So you've got a new manicure? Let me see.

I haven't been smoking.

Fine.

Dev, what is this?

Just look around.

It's a disaster.

You live in a pigsty, young lady.

I've tried to teach you to be neat, to be responsible.

But it's in one ear and out the other. It's like I'm talking to myself.

You'll get a rash. A rash!

Or tapeworms. From that god-awful pizza you chow on.

And you look me in the eye when I'm talking to you.

Are you on the rag or have you finally hit menopause?

I don't want to hear another word until these clothes are washed.

Or clothes now just need to be sprayed with perfume?

What's this, a new brand?

Yeah, they're new! And you didn't buy them, dad did!

How would you know what I do anyway since you're never home?

If you cooked, I wouldn't eat pizza. There's cobwebs in your oven, Mum!

Stop, stop.

Cut it!

Jim, another late night?

Wake up! We have a recording next week.

Uncle John!

Leave the youngster alone.

Come up here and I'll play you a song from the last century.

Guys, take a break.

No, Mart. This is too much.

Look at you! You look so cool.

Thanks. Unfortunately, I cannot pay the compliment back.

Look here, there are 17 million hits for AC/DC,

three times that number for Zeppelin,

and only 87 bored souls have searched

for our dear Tabloid for a year.

Yeah, but that's normal. It was more than 30 years ago.

But look at the comments.

This is from someone nicknamed Black Bird:

"This lad sings like an opera singer and looks like a waiter

-…in an Italian restaurant. -in an Italian restaurant."

But take a look at what the chick writes.

"Shut up, Black Bird!

This is one of the greatest voices of the century!"

Hang on, there's another post from Jo Jo:

"Tabloid has a ballad that I've heard years ago as a concert recording."

"It has not been recorded on any of their albums.

I do not remember the title or the lyrics.

Just the two guitars and this great voice.

I'd be grateful if someone could send it to me."

Hang on.

Johanna Jovkova, Sofia, Bulgaria,

theatre director, 38, single.

Hobby: rock music from the 70s.

Good looking theatre directors they have in Bulgaria, mate.

-I know what the song is, Marty. -Yeah?

"I'll Be Your Man".

Yeah.

I'll send it to her later. That'll make the girl happy.

Won't you tell her who you are?

I don't know yet.

What's that racket, honey, What's this Woodstock stuff?

This is from back when you were your most beautiful, Mum.

Your father thought so, too, back then and listened to the same sappy stuff.

It's Tabloid, I've been looking for one of their songs.

Yes, since you were a kid. Isn't this the song?

Almost. Same group, same voice, but the melody is slightly different.

Some guy from England sent it to me.

Look what a cutie he is.

This Uncle John is older than I am, Jo.

I'm not going to marry him, relax.

-Hey, cut it out, mother-f. -Daddy. just call me "daddy".

So I hear you're digging around in Internet dating for the next issue?

Before you lay these cyber soap operas on me, let me tell you what I think.

First, I'm against it in principle. Against any kind of apotheoses.

Yeah, we have special space for ads.

This magazine is a battlefield of constructive scepticism.

Who cares if half a million bored Bulgarians

share their pathetic hang-ups with the rest of the world?

No offense, but is this an informed opinion or are you just being a dick?

Fine, tell me what's so fascinating.

More than a million Bulgarians are registered on just one of these sites.

That's a Chinese army, boss.

10,000 of them are online as we speak.

Make that 30,000. There are 10,000 on Elmaz alone.

Thousands of people, get it?

All kinds: desperate, geeky, curious, lonely.

Flesh and blood people.

According to unofficial statistics,

in Bulgaria alone 10,000 people have gotten married through these sites.

What's the big deal, Andro?

So 10,000 girls have sold themselves to 10,000 Sugar Daddies.