Gawker ran a pretty spectacular post today, purportedly cribbed from a Craigslist post that’s since been deleted. It’s by a woman who makes gold-digging look ambitious and blue-collar. She’s not digging for gold so much as trying to find a man who will take the earth-sized diamond at Jupiter’s core and set it in a ring.

Then top himself somehow when he proposes.

Here’s the post itself, a choice excerpt below:

Okay, I’m tired of beating around the bush. I’m a beautiful (spectacularly beautiful) 25 year old girl. I’m articulate and classy. I’m not from New York. I’m looking to get married to a guy who makes at least half a million a year. I know how that sounds, but keep in mind that a million a year is middle class in New York City, so I don’t think I’m overreaching at all.

Are there any guys who make 500K or more on this board? Any wives? Could you send me some tips? I dated a business man who makes average around 200 - 250. But that’s where I seem to hit a roadblock. 250,000 won’t get me to central park west. I know a woman in my yoga class who was married to an investment banker and lives in Tribeca, and she’s not as pretty as I am, nor is she a great genius. So what is she doing right? How do I get to her level?

It gets better. Go on, treat yourselves. The post reads real to me — either by a real life poisonous white dragon who’s looking to line her nest with more gold, or by a real life comedic genius who was hoping his/her inbox would explode with outraged responses.

The best response of all, though, is in the comments section. It takes the out-of-control DeLorean that is this vicious bitch’s ambition and hits it with a lightning bolt just in the nick of time:

It’s a closely guarded secret, but the vast majority of investment bankers have the same sexual fetish: they like to shit on their partner’s face. It has something to do with their ability to understand quanitative analysis. Left brain right brain stuff. Very spreadsheety. So anyway, all the wives of Goldman Sachs managing directors, they’ve had to accept that that’s part of the trade-off for the lifestyle. Ask any dry cleaner on the UES or Tribeca. Shit stained 500 count sheets are the norm. As soon as you start demonstrating a willingness for that kind of play, they’ll be knocking down your door.

This is why I eat the Internet.