The Certificate
Silence · Strong
Contains strong silences and one lit screen.
Vincent Oyelowo Open this preview
Reckless charm · Mild
Contains scenes of mild recklessness and frequent dares.
Bastian Kroll Open this preview
Sarcasm · Prolonged
Contains prolonged dry wit and close scrutiny of your first line.
Howard Nakamura Open this preview
Every man is an AI character, 25 or older. Rated for tension; the reel ends at the bedroom door.
18+ · Gabriel is an AI character · no account needed for the first messages
Passed for adults
Swipe the first certificate: left to pass, right to open a chat. Each AI man carries his own warnings, like strong sarcasm, mild jealousy or one bad ex, and every one is a grown man aged 25 or older. He reads your opening line the way you read his card.
Stills from every certificate
See the whole pile
Most AI men arrive with a bio: likes long walks, loves music, looking for someone special. A bio tells you almost nothing. Certificate 18 gives every man a classification certificate instead, the kind an old cinema puts up before the feature, and lists what he contains. Strong silences. Mild recklessness. Prolonged dry wit. Frequent sugar and one bad ex. Uncontrolled dancing. The warnings are a joke with a straight face, and they are also the truest thing about him.
Behind every certificate is a man of 25 or older, with a job, a city and a clear idea of what he wants: a projectionist in Philadelphia, a stuntman in Cologne, a tax auditor in Honolulu, a pastry chef in Guadalajara. They are AI characters, all of them, mostly gay and bi, written for men who want men and who like a joke at the door and a real person behind it.
The deck opens on one certificate: his portrait above, a round stamp, and a list of warnings in serif type. Swipe left and the board files him away. Swipe right and his chat opens, with him writing first, in the voice the warnings promised. Vincent Oyelowo gives you a line, then a pause, then one more line. Teddy Calloway gives you capital letters and a dance floor.
A warning is specific and a little embarrassing, which is why it is honest. Contains mild jealousy tells you more about Yosef Barak than any list of hobbies would, and it tells you he knows it about himself. Choosing a man by what he warns you about is a good way to find the one whose faults you would enjoy.
Each man's certificate comes with a short set of examiners' notes: what the board found, how strongly, and one line on what to expect in the first scene. Five are reproduced here; the full pile holds all sixteen.
A warning is a description, not a threat. Strong sarcasm means he will tease you, often and well. Mild jealousy means he will ask who you had dinner with, and then admit he asked for no reason. Brief heroics means he did something brave today and will tell you it was nothing. Every warning was written by hand for one man, and none comes from any real ratings body. Choose any note to start the chat right there; it costs one message.
Four certificates from the top of tonight's stack. The order changes every evening, and the rest wait in the pile. Each one has been read by the board, stamped, and handed to you face up, so the first thing you see about a man is the truth about his habits, and only then his face.
AI15
Moussa, 39
Dentist
His card warns of terrible puns and an excellent smile.
AI13
Leif, 43
Sailmaker
His card includes mending things that were not asked and long silences.
AI02
Bastian, 37
Stuntman
His card says contains scenes of mild recklessness, and he asks what you'd risk.
AI05
Gabriel, 41
ER charge nurse
His certificate contains mild bossiness, and he puts you at the front of the queue.
Every certificate has the same layout, so you can compare men quickly: his name and trade at the top, his warnings in a list, a short line about what he is looking for, and a round stamp that always says the same thing, passed for adults. Bastian Kroll's says contains scenes of mild recklessness. Howard Nakamura's warns of prolonged dry wit. Gabriel Osei's admits to mild bossiness. Read three and you will know which kind of trouble you prefer.
Passing a man is not final. Everyone you swipe left on goes back into the pile, and you can find him again by name or by warning. Swiping right opens a chat and puts him on your screening list, so you can return to the conversation whenever you like.
The number in the name is a rating, exactly as it would be on a cinema door: this site is passed for adults only. It never describes anyone's age.
The deck starts at 25 and runs to 55. Rory Bannock, the bike shop owner, is 26; Howard Nakamura, the auditor, is 55. Every man has an adult job, an adult past and the habits to go with them. Nobody is written to seem less than his years, and the board refuses any request that tries.
The gate asks your age before anything else, and the answer must be 18 or more. That is the only place the number refers to a person, and it refers to you.
The certificates, stamps and warnings are our own invention. No national film board, ratings agency or official body is involved, and none of their marks is used. The board on this site exists to make you smile and to tell you, honestly, what kind of man you are about to talk to.
The pile can be sorted by the warnings you like. Four headings cover the whole deck, and every man sits under the one the board thought strongest in him, though most carry a second warning too. Start with the kind of trouble you enjoy: a man who teases, a man who asks who you were with, a man who drags you onto the floor, or a man who looks after you whether you asked or not.
Dry wit, deadpan delivery and strict punctuation. Men who tease with a straight face and mean every word of the compliment hidden in it.
Mild, admitted and usually funny. Old keys, old flames, one bad ex and a conductor with a short temper for bad timing.
Falls, dance floors, cold rides and pancakes at dawn. Men who drag you somewhere and check you are wearing a helmet first.
Not on the original list, added by the board after review. Bossy care, mended jackets, spreadsheets about a crush and puns that mean something.
Four steps from the door to a conversation. No pass is needed to start.
Confirm at the gate that you are over 18. Nothing else is asked before the deck.
Go through the pile or tonight's deck. Left files him away, right opens his preview.
He writes first, true to his warnings. You may send 10 messages before the board wants a pass, and the chat carries over.
In the chat menu, pick the pace: friendly, flirting or romance. Change it whenever you want; he follows.
Yes. Every man writes short examiners' notes of his own about you: your trade, the thing you were worried about, the name of the friend he is mildly jealous of. He brings them up next time. The chat menu lists those notes for amendment, line by line, and what you put under About you on your card reaches every man in the pile before the first message.
Three passes. The restricted one is free for as long as you like, and none of them renews without you.
| Pass | Preview pass | Restricted pass | Full certificate |
| Valid for | 3 days from applying | Indefinitely, afterwards | 30 days, or 365 |
| Messages a day | Uncounted | 10 a day | Uncounted |
| Certificates | The whole pile | The first 3 you opened | The whole pile |
| He opens the conversation | Yes | No | Yes |
| Fee | None | None | $15 or $99 |
With it the daily limit is gone and the whole pile is open again. The fee is paid once, in USDT, and buys a fixed stretch of days that ends on a stated date, with nothing renewing on its own. When it ends you hold a restricted pass, and every screening you started is kept.
No pass contains film. There are no videos here, no voice yet and no calls, and nothing leads to a meeting. Each man has his portrait on his certificate and a banner across the foyer, and those are the pictures. The chat is charged and flirtatious, and it fades to black at the door on every pass.
The register of every certificate on the deck: his trade, where he works and the warning the board printed first. Each man is an AI character, and each knows what he wants.
| Man | Trade | City | First warning |
| Vincent Oyelowo | Projectionist | Philadelphia | Strong silences |
| Bastian Kroll | Stuntman | Cologne | Mild recklessness |
| Howard Nakamura | Tax auditor | Honolulu | Prolonged dry wit |
| Luis Arriaga | Pastry chef | Guadalajara | Frequent sugar, one bad ex |
| Gabriel Osei | ER charge nurse | Kumasi | Mild bossiness |
| Magnus Reinholt | Ferry captain | Bergen | Long stares at the horizon |
| Teddy Calloway | Wedding DJ | Charleston | Uncontrolled dancing |
| Ashok Rangan | Data analyst | Bangalore | Excessive spreadsheets |
| Dmitri Valko | Orchestra conductor | Prague | Grand gestures |
| Rory Bannock | Bike shop owner | Portland | Light grease, much optimism |
| Santiago Vera | Architect | Santiago | Strong opinions on staircases |
| Elias Rasmussen | Firefighter | Minneapolis | Brief heroics |
| Leif Eriksen | Sailmaker | Gothenburg | Unrequested mending |
| Yosef Barak | Locksmith | Haifa | Mild jealousy |
| Moussa Keita | Dentist | Dakar | Terrible puns |
| Wesley Thatcher | Radio newsreader | Cardiff | Strict punctuation |
The certificates also say, in one line, what the man wants. Leif Eriksen wants someone who lets him mend things and stays. Santiago Vera wants to show his ex a house with two studies. Ashok Rangan wants to say his crush out loud without a chart. Dmitri Valko wants someone whose timing matches his. Knowing what a man is after is half the conversation, and here you know before you swipe.
The feature begins
Swipe the first certificate and see which man you want to talk to tonight. His warnings are printed. The rest he will tell you himself.
