From my asks: “Who’s prettier? ______, ______, or ______?”
Fuck off with that.
I enjoy picking on celebrities from afar, so I’ll play along with asks about who’s hot and who’s not; for your entertainment, I’m willing to channel my more articulate version of Drunken Stepfather and talk all kinds of trash about wealthy and powerful people.
But don’t bother coming to me with this “who do you think is prettier on Tumblr: Innocent Bystander X, She’s Got A Boyfriend Y, or We’ve Barely Spoken Z?” shit. For multiple reasons.
- As I’ve tried to emphasize in the past, still photography is unnatural, and using it to judge a real person’s physical appeal is folly. I met a woman online for the first time twenty-two years ago, and I assure you, the Polaroids she mailed me (no digital cameras and only 14.4k modems back then, kids) did not do her justice at all. I know you Gen Y bitches have stepped up your selfie game since then, but I still believe a girl’s only really a girl when she’s in motion.
- Outside the context of fiction, I’m not comfortable sitting around, belittling and ranking women whose only sins are getting naked online and enjoying the shit I post. I may say calculated, awful things to them on occasion, but I love all the little nutjobs who follow me; they already live in a world full of men who will happily make them feel like shit for not being someone else, and they don’t need me piling on.
- I enjoy a beautifully shaped body and a perfect slit, but I’m really a face guy; maybe it’s because I’ve had too much missionary sex, but my favorite part of a chick is attached to the front of her head. Only a handful of my followers have ever shown me their faces, and I wouldn’t dream of making them regret that.
So, y’know… go find someone else to do your dirty work. I’ve got dirt of my own to do.