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Best Of Craigslist

Here are some original “best of craigslist” posts. The first best-of post goes back to August 14, 2000.

A couple of notable rules include:

  • postings are nominated by craigslist readers, and are not necessarily endorsed by craigslist staff
  • postings may be explicitly sexual, scatological, offensive, graphic, tasteless, and/or not funny
best of craigslist

Ladies – Babies – Les Femmes Sans Bras!

Originally Posted: 2000-08-14

Bonjour Babies,

So what’s the deal – I write you lyrical poetry defining my needs in the woman
I want to grace with my potent seed – and no responses – I even took out all
the cuss words an sh*t. Babies – we ain’t got no time for no woo-ing – we live
in a binary digital age – I’m a Child of the cold war, babies… we could all
go up in any second – Mushroom clouding – surfin on those radioactive waves up
to St. Peter’s Pearly Barbed Wire fence – and wouldn’t purgatory be so much
more fun with the warm thoughts of me inside you still keeping you warm?
I trully don’t get you Babies at all. See you all out there – looking so fine
with your boobies bouncing in the sunshine… Yeah – I saw you at the bus stop
baby – puffing on yo cigarette – shrinks say smokers are sexually frustrated –
well babies – I’M HERE! Ok – so the lak of responses to my first entreaty to
you beautiful babies – has caused me to enter a period of self-reflection – do
battle with my demons – coz I know how much you babies love to see a man bleed.

I got my flaw like any man – sometimes can’t get to the third inning in the
World Series of love babies – specially if I been hittin the O-E – But Babies,
Honeys, I’m not the sprite young 12 year old boy my Baby-sitters used to play
All night with… I’ve aged – matured – and as long as I have a sandwich in
between innings (or some meth)… i can last a good two hours without sleeping!
I’m hopings that by opening up my sweet sensitive side – you babies who waste
your crack money on those black and white posters with the kiddies kissing, the
big hairy dude holding the naked baby, or those of you who actually
think “Friends” is the height of Wit – will see what kinda gem I is.

Yeah babies…I can hear your heavy breathing now – but before you all clamour
to your mice, clicking away like I’m some piece of gourmet cheese – let me
tells you what I want from my woman.

Firstly – I ain’t no shallow dude… you don’t have to be pretty in a “Everbody
wear Khakis” kinda way – hell…we all know it looks the same with the lights
off right? Sh*t – that’s why God invented Paper bags?
Secondly – I want a woman who cleans herself regularly – I’m talking ALWAYS
wipes front to back – you dig? Once dated this French girl – and I guess
hygiene is taught funky over there…well…let’s just say her aroma reminded
me of those hot musty nights I used to spend huddled in the New York City
Subway shaking my cup, pretending to be blind to buy ma Boones, with the
splitter splatter of urine echoing down the corridors. Baby if you clean – you
can treat my face like the Bicycle Seat o yo dreams.
Thirdly – i don’t want no mommas… you can’t be naggin me about unimportant
shit – you know “Get a job,” “Pay child Supoort,” “Stop hitting me.” I don;t
want to hear none o that sh*t.
Finally – you ain’t gotta mind when I brings home some Ho’s to get my groove
on. A man has needz – and though I’ll be livin under your roof, eating your
food – I still may have needs that only that sexy young drunk thing I meet in
the bar can satisfy. I know it may be painful for you to watch me go captain
Caveman over other women – but baby – if I keep the machinery in good working
order – It can only please you more when we do our own thing.

Anyway – know that I’m talking from that special place deep inside – which is
hard with expectation now that you – that booty-full girl staring at the
monitor now – will see fit to write me, and get on My Bicycle of love – I
brush my teeth an everything.

Bye Babies
– T-MAN!


Ladies – Foxies – N’Oublierez Jamais Boire Ma Tete!

Originally Posted: 2000-08-15

Bonjour Babies,

Beautiful Babies – you make my heart heavy. All I want is to share my sweet hot
lovin with one, two or more of you – and still you don’t reply! Babies – I
knowz your out there staring at the monitor – maybe fantsizin about what I
looks like nekkid – the moonlight bouncing off my dark hairy skin… my silk
tiger print boxers… pulled taught by the passions of the night … yeah

Hell – lot of these guys wants you to be “discreet” an Sh*t, treating you like
a presidential intern …meeting you in broom closets in the finest Motels
across the Financial district – baby, I’m gonna take you out in style, and
discreet my azz – I’m gonna tell everyone how we freaked till dawn – using slow
discriptive detailes and sh*t!

My homeboyz and my momma be tellin me that my fault lies in not romanticizin’
enough – true the brutal honesty of my previous invitations for T-man lovin
might scare you shy babies out there. And momma, with whom I currently resides,
says that my talkin french talk may intimidate those of you who don’t go into
book learnin an sh*t.

So – babies – settle back in yo chairs, crack open a Mickeys, and rest your
calloused toes, and picture this if you will…

First – you call me up all deep throaty style, and asks me what you should be
wearin. I tells you straight up – “Nothin Baby, just yo scent o a woman – Hoo
Ha” … and then you laugh – coz you know ma jokes is funnier than Sh*t, and
you love Pacino coz he like DeNiro only shorter.

Then I tells you – the heels baby – and you ain’t in no junior high no more –
so you can put on the 4 inchers… yeah – the ones that make that little handle
of love pop outta your butt everytime you step. Ba-da-bing…ba-da-boom…ba-da-
bing…ba-da..boom. Man – that’s the sh*t that made Coltrane see Jesus.

Then baby – coz I’m all liberated an sh*t, and it being our first date I don;t
want to get all in yo face till later – i letz you choose whatever else you
wanna wear – long as it shows some leg and boobies.

Then you pull up to ma Ma’s pad in your vehekel, or maybe you get us a cab or
some such means of portation. You be bringing some kinda beverage – coz you
know a man’s soft spot is his liver – maybe some Mad Dog, as wine goes good to
set the romantic ambiant.

You tell me how good I looks in ma cargo pants, and purple Gap Tee – babies -I
knows what you wanna see a man in. And then you can’t resist to rub your long
painted nails through my gelled curls. You admire my flip flops – coz you know
it helps me deal with my athlete’s feet. After a quick meal at the Jack-in-the-
Box on Geary, where I orders you the Chicken sandwitch – coz it’s all healthy
an sh*t, and maybe a diet coke – coz I notice your calves a little fat – and I
want you to knowz I care. Then we go to the Boom-Boom room, where you pay my
cover, and letthe bouncer feel your boobies – so he lets me in with my flip-
flops on. We drink a few Black-Booties… yeah – you know you payin for your
man, let me feel like the King I is. Then you get all drunk an sh*t, and start
touchin me in places I deserve your tender lovin.’ Yeah baby, you be plungin my
love pipes in front o everybody with your well trained hands – but I in the
cause of pubic decency tells you to stop, and we hit the dance floor – where
you boogie like that fine looking honey Jodie Foster in that Film “the Accused”-
right before she plays pinball – yeah – you know what I sayin.

We get back to yo vehekel, and you drive like you Thelma gettin some Lovin from
Louise under the dash board baby – weaving and jerkin at the wheel like an
epileptic on speed.

We head to the beach where you give me yo jacket, and I pack us a pipe with
some of da dust I ripped from my Ma’s stash – and we sit there, listening to
the waves, smokin’ dust in the cool breeze, our bellies full o Black Booty, and
our eyes full of each other – yeah baby.

Then you give me head, while I smack your ass with one o my flip-flops, and we
go home.

Anyway Babies – this was just to let you ALL know how I can be romanticizin
whenever you feel the need.

You know where to find me – so write me so I can fill up my calender with your


The next few best of posts on Craigslist come from the same “Ladies – Babies” or “Ladies – Foxies” person. It’s similar to the above. So I skipped those for now. Let’s check out some more funny posts.

What is next?

The Blonde Driving in Colma

Originally Posted: 2001-03-01

You were the blonde who was driving slowly in that long line of cars in Colma yesterday. It was only 1pm, but your lights were on. Actually all the cars in front of you and behind you had their lights on as well, so I guess you all must have just come out of tunnel or something. I was the guy who drove past you in the 1974 Ford Pinto with the personalized license plate that read NO BRAIN. It was actually supposed to read NOV RAIN, meaning ?November Rain? for that way cool Guns ‘N Roses song that came out a few years back, but I had a really bad head cold the day I went to the DMV and I guess NOV RAIN sounded like NO BRAIN. Idiots. Anyway, as I said, your lights were on so I gave you the old flick of the lights. I figured you might not have seen that through your dark veil (cool fashion statement), so I pulled a U-ey and drove up alongside you and gave you the universal ?roll down your window? hand gesture, which with the proliferation of electric windows doesn?t really make sense anymore, and you rolled down your window and I yelled ?your lights are on.? You yelled back ?Stu Pididiot? and rolled your window back up. My name indeed is Stuart Pididiot. But the last name isn’t hyphenated. The way you said it, it sounded like Stu Pid-Idiot. Also the “t” at the end should be silent. It?s French. Where do we know each other from? If you?re single, would you like to meet for coffee sometime?



Originally Posted: 2001-06-25

adapt-o-bot at your services.
running low on cash? take the shelves out of
your big closet and call it a room..
ask $1600 for it and claim that if I pay less,
you wouldn’t be able to live there.

no problem.
culturally adaptive,
fully modular unit.

can accomodate all life styles..
you’re a lush, loser who hasn’t gotten over childhood issues?
no problem, i’ll smack you around- subtlely, you won’t even notice it.

you’re a ‘professional’ who wants to perpetuate the myth that
you’re some kind of computer whiz because you are making over 6 digits
and your parents get confused when you describe your job duties?
no problem, i roll up in a landrover and we talk about post-dotcom crash
options like finding spirituality and finally doing what you really
wanted to do.

you’re a new age, loving, healthy vegan (who lives in the city)?
no problem. adapt-o-bot takes you to Rainbow to shop for organic mushrooms
and always remembers to bring the cloth tote bags. i don’t eat animals,
can discuss the bardo thodols and understand your wavering redefinition
of ‘it’s all good’.. even when your cool hippie friends are being condescending
snobs because their trustafarian, dreadlocked heads can’t accept anything
outside of their elite ‘beautiful’ culture.

are you grease? indie rock forever, or the real thing?
i’m on the floor helping you fix a car, we chat over beers about
how shit was built better back in the day.

art scool unveiled? are you the real deal.. no bullshit?
willing to wash dishes to afford studio space? watch me
slide into your life like good sex, smooth entry- all your
friends think i’m cool already.. i know who you’re ‘supposed to’
know, and simultaneoulsy don’t give a fuck. i got money for art
supplies. eventually, i become your favorite new art project.
i understand the need to use chemicals to dull your inhibitions,
just don’t tweak.
i get what you do (or don’t) if you want it to be that way.
your fantasy remains yours.

art school for the corporate sector?
graphic design for banner ads on the net? no prob. i get it,
you need to survive somehow or maybe that art shit was too tough?
fuck starving! you could meet someone and just settle down, right?
the job’s benefits are good, right? i’m there to make you feel like
you still have a soul. adapt-o-bot keeps your house painted fucked
up colors, we never watch TV and discuss new media theory from a
grassroots perspective, we also talk about terrible hollywood movies’
special effects and 3d rendering technology when people from your job
are over for some obligatory social reason.

sports fan? like to get that testosterone on?
adapt-o-bot outjocks you. while you’re in the room watching
football on the ‘tele’, i got espn, espn2 and 2 other stations, pictute
in picture projected on the backside of the house as my frat buddies
tend to the bbq and keg. no prob, you’re still the star. i’m low key
but if you talk to me i’ve memorized all the stats.

are you not from the states? just arrived here from europe and think
americans suck? i can bond with you about the fact that you can’t get
a proper cup of tea in this town and that americans are stupid becuase
they are self-centered, arrogant, bubble-gum chewing overweight fucks.
i’m fluent in 4 languages. i can even impress your euro friends with
my knowledge of underground electronic music and cross my legs like a
lady when i sit. i never wear white socks.
or perhaps you are latin? i got that soul too. don’t worry. i can
work 3 women on the dancefloor and just ride, cruisin holmes. we eat lunch
at 3pm on sundays and it lasts until the sun goes down. life is good.

u ‘down with the scene’? ‘no, man, like you don’t know,
i’ve been down forever and shit.’ it goes waaay back. ‘yo- old school 4 reals’.
but that doesn’t matter, the new going out is staying in. house music
sucks. minimal techno takes the mtv award 2002. it’s all about AI, plants
and beats.. realtime graphics so we don’t have to do anything anymore and let
the real voices be heard. or is it about linn drums distorted as fuck
because i’m coming off raw-like?
hmmm.. adapt-o-bot’s got range of motion.
this sector is shared. as your modular roommate you get to use my studio as long as you keep the weed coming and know when to fuck off because i’m wrecking shit on my gear. or i can switch into sophisticated 20th century new composer mode. forget stockhausen and his graphical scores, i’ve got realtime 3d spatially mapped compositional structures made in LISP that stockhausen would never admit were cool because he’s chilling in sirius.

bopping hip hop? i got break records from 87. adapt-o-bot is always
cool. not one to interfere with your steez. in fact, i enhance it.
we cruise in the navigator with the dvd players locked on some raw,
Japanese DMC championship, whatever- just in the background.. we’re
rocking our own cannbibal ox remix over the 20’s. one to never play
wack music at home and to constantly elevate thoughts, attitudes,

plane jane. word. laura ashley is cool with me. i’m adapt-o-bot,
it would be fine if you left your stuffed animals in the living room.
i want them to feel at home.

adapt-o-bot selfdestructs outsides SF proper. thank you for the past
out-of-town love recieved. your response is encouraged.


A Public Service Annoucement From Your Kidney

Originally Posted: 2001-07-17

Hi there,

This is your kidney speaking. I know we haven’t communicated in awhile, what with you being all busy at work and stuff, but I’ve been trying to send messages your way that I haven’t been feeling too good. I’m glad that somebody finally forced you to go to the doctor to get me all fixed up, because I was thisclose to just giving up and is this the way we really wanted to go anyways? I hope you realize now that people care about you and that if you did die all alone in your apartment, it wouldn’t be weeks until someone found your dessicated corpse. (More like days, I’m sure.) Please take care of me, and let me rest for awhile. Sit in bed, watch TV, let your mind rot, not your kidney. Eventually I’ll get better and then I’ll be back up to the task of filtering out all the crap that you put into your system. Please eat real food, not anything that costs less than a dollar and comes wrapped in a piece of paper. That’s dog food, not people food. I have enough problems processing that shit when I’m well, don’t make me do it while I am ailing. I realize that you may just think this is the Vicodin speaking, but I really do want you to get better cuz without you, I’m nothing but a bean-shaped piece of organ meat.


Kidney #1.

(Kidney #2 sends his regards also, and says if you ever fuck him like this, he’s going to make it so that you pee like a racehorse for the rest of your miserable life. Luckily, I’m a little more forgiving than him.)

Other ways to contact poster:
hit me in the lower back


You crushed my house, but looked good doing it

Originally Posted: 2001-07-17

You: Cute boy in the giant robot chasing strange extra-terrestrial beings. Me: Girl cooking fakin’bacon when your robot’s foot came through the roof of my apartment. I think you broke my toe, but I also think we made a serious connection. I could see the passion and intensity in your eyes as you looked down at me through the windshield. Too bad that giant jellyfish dragged you away so fast. Could we do coffee sometime?



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