You know, there are a lot of fun things about covering my particular beat. One of the most fun, however, is the possibility that, on any given morning, this will be the very first thing I find in my e-mail inbox.
For those of you who don’t feel like clicking through to the link, it’s a blog post about why someone wants and/or doesn’t want to fuck me! Written by my long-time Interstalker, Dom Passantino.
For those of you who don’t know who Dom Passantino is — and, let’s be honest: None of you know who Dom Passantino is — he is a failed music writer. He worked for a few online publications, which are now defunct. He worked briefly for the Guardian, and (as I understand it) he was fired. He had a Wikipedia entry briefly, which was deleted on the basis of his not being a relevant person. And now he has a blog. On this blog, he writes about how anyone who has ever written anything is inferior to Dom Passantino. Which you can clearly see, because they are getting published. Dom Passantino is just too good for this corrupt system! The man is out to shut Dom Passantino down, because the man cannot deal with Dom Passantino’s various truth bombs! So, just to be clear, here’s an infographic of Dom Passantino:
And here is more or less everyone else:
If only by comparison.
I’ve been a long-time object of Dom’s affection, for various reasons explained above. It actually goes back to my very first Guardian article! In which I was instructed to “stop writing, stop taking away jobs and commission fees from people who have actually done a day’s honest work in their life and may have something interesting to say,” because one little-known fact about freelance writing is that every single person who gets an assignment has to rip her check right the fuck out of Dom Passantino’s hands in order to get paid. The Guardian would actually be composed entirely of articles by Dom Passantino, if only there were no other writers in the world, and no-one could find a typing monkey. True facts! Anyway, this was followed by that was followed by the other. Was followed by an article about what it might be like to screw me! As is the course of these things.
Anyway, as perhaps the only source of traffic to Dom Passantino’s various bloggings, I feel obliged to report.
I dunno if any of you have ever fucked with the type of girls who have opinions4u about feminism and like to write about them in punishing length on WordPress blogs, but I don’t recommend it as a long-term option.
And if there were three words I’d use, to describe Dom Passantino’s sex life, they would be “options, options, options!” There’s just something about lack of success in one’s chosen field, combined with seething bitterness and insecurity masked as narcissistic self-aggrandizement and condescenscion, that wets the ladies right up. And when you mention that you run a blog about unfuckable chicks you’d stick it into, well! That SEALS THE DEAL, right there. “Mom, I’d like you to meet my fiance! He’s full of impotent rage.” “Get out of my way, honey! You’ll have to fight me for him!” That’s about how it goes, in Casa Passantino, I am betting.
Actually, I take it back. This is a better Dom infographic:
Anyway, blah blah blah girls who write feminist blogs like dirty sex, blah blah blah “WHORECUNT” blah blah “Streetfighter 2” reference? It’s getting SO MUCH SEXIER, blah blah:
But if you’re gonna put up with that stuff, you may as well go straight to the queen bee. From what I understand of this wacky ol’ subculture, Sady Doyle is basically the Nah Right of feminist bloggers, except with a lot less proclivity towards sucking dick. Her writing style mainly involves LOTS OF CAPITAL LETTERS like Melody Maker in 1998 never happened, [blah].
Whereas clearly I should be writing the most offensive thing I can come up with, whilst clearly way too amused with myself and too eager to drop in refs to my important Music Scene Knowledge, like Vice never happened at all.
Anyway. It’s so much fun when people overestimate your importance whilst trying to insult you! Yes, it’s basically true: I rule the feminist blogowaves, and all other ladybloggers bow down before me. Except for when they don’t, which is the vast majority of the time. But, you know, from Dom’s perspective, pretty much anyone looks like a big deal, so… The point is, I’m important. So important. Buy me a pony, I am your master! But you know what’s useful, when ladies get a little too important? A good ol’ deep-dicking.
Anyway, that kinda forced anger and put-upon need to be SHOUTING A LOT about LOTS OF MINOR POP CULTURAL DEBRIS… is kinda what makes her mad blappable in my book. Anyone with that sort of personality has got to be so… studied sexually. The inverse of the “librarian whose secretly putting her mouth one side of glory-holes” stereotype. Sex with Sady Doyle would be the most perfunctory, acceptable sex imaginable. It’d be like sticking your dick in Tony Pulis’s management.
Oh, Dom. Dom, Dom, Dom. You’ve been reading me and writing insecure, angry shit about me with no response for over a year now, and you’ve just now gotten around to admitting that you want to fuck me? I mean: D’ya think?
And, you know? It’s perfectly fine to want to fuck me. Wanting to fuck me is a perfectly normal, healthy, common urge for a boy of your age. But at a certain point, a man has to learn the concept of “leagues.” Specifically, who is out of yours, and how they get that way!
For instance: Do you write an angry blog about chicks you’d like to do, on the Internet? Because that means that I am out of your league, Dom. Not because of any especially sexy or charming qualities I might possess, but because I am a human. The funny thing is, I don’t even need to be a human to be out of your league. There are full-length body pillows that would check out your situation and be like, “whoa, bad idea.” These full-length body pillows, they would find a way to edge themselves close to the radiator and immolate themselves rather than be subjected to five more minutes (and it’s always only five more minutes, isn’t it?) of your jerky, insistent, occasionally tearful humping. Let alone the part afterward. You know: The part where you talk about your mother, and how nobody appreciates you as much as you deserve. Because that shit is awkward, Dom, that’s why.
So, to recap:
- You are never going to get to fuck me.
- There is no point in speculating upon what it would be like to fuck me.
- Because you are never going to get to fuck me.