Skip to main content

Zombie Dom Lead Me Down the Rabbit Hole

So there are people like me who need to Google things for reference. Sometimes it is imperative to our understanding of a given topic being able to see just what the hell people are talking about. Recently that thing I was trying to understand was the character of Zombie Dom (Dom-bie would be better, but video game companies hate solid suggestions): the undead, alt version of a character from Gears of War 4.

Very Important Person, or DOM for short.
 
From what I've heard from Outside Xbox, Dom is some guy in a video game series I've not played for longer than 15 minutes. Apparently he was the bee's knees to John DiMaggio's character and people really dug it.
There. Background. Covered. 

I like scrolling through Google images. I like scrolling so far down that the images don't represent the subject that I was originally searching for. Sometimes the irrelevant items are more interesting than the subject I was researching. In the case of Zombie Dom, I got an eyeful of something far more disturbing and disgusting than an undead video game character.

For whatever reason searching, "Zombie Dom" in Google images lead me to this:

Huh.

So...That's weird. I wasn't entirely sure why this image would pop in a Google search after the myriad of unrelated zombie pictures I had browsed but as it turns out the word, "Dom" is short hand for dominance, a sexual state of mind where one partner has all of the power (Dominant) and the other is subject to some form of humiliation (Submissive). I've now learned something both new and eww.

What's better than one NSFW picture you weren't expecting? How 'bout two more?

Anyone else feel like vomiting yet?
And now I hate men. Thanks, Google.

CHRIST ON A CRACKER! I have to tell you, reading that caption for the first time, when I got to the word, 'drip', I thought my fucking heart was going to kick through my chest. I--LITERALLY--covered my face with my hands like a pre-teen watching a horror movie because it was just so fucked up. And I have to say that -- It's fucked up. I am not one to judge how someone gets off, barring it isn't sinister or illegal, but what in the fuck is up with that?

I always loved running into fetishes online. One, it's the safest way to encounter them and two, they are so damn specific and that always captured my imagination. Look at the rise in popularity of the foot fetish, something that was and remains a punch line is now a part of most any Google search suggestion for females, no matter who they are or what they have done. Ah, the future.

I would now like to take a few moments and break down exactly what I hate about the third image in a segment I'll call, "Oh god, why would you write that!?"

  1. Babygirl -- Is there anything worse than a pet name for a woman? Especially when it comes to locking them in a state of immaturity with, for instance, the words Baby or Girl. 
  2. Daddy -- If you want to see my skin crawl, please refer to yourself as Daddy or someone's Daddy.
  3. Drip -- A word which had no sexual connotation before now is marked irrevocably in my mind. Thanks for nothing, fucko. 
  4. As I mark my property -- I want to hit you with something heavy and blunt. I really do. 

I guess at the end of the day I am something of a prude? Maybe? I am kind of excited that I can still be revolted by things I see online, or comments I see online, or videos I see online. Frankly, the internet has an effect on people that leaves them unsympathetic and shockingly rude. Sometimes it feels like the easiest way to live online is to lay down and join the ranks of the callow.

Fuck 'em.

I've got a little fight left in me. I like that.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Here I Come

The Internet has long acted as an echo chamber for thought. A place for strangers in strange lands to seek out and explore their passions. Sites sprang out of the dirt, muck and mire to become refuges to the disenfranchised; homes for the hopeless, places of light allowing people to grow and become greater than they thought possible. In the dark, away from prying eyes, the most lascivious discourse imaginable was being spewed fountain-like into the void in the hopes that the shadow laden creatures who thrive on sinister thoughts and feelings would too grow into a force to be reckoned with. Both sides seek understanding. Both sides seek to share their ideals. Both sides believe they are right.  One side is wrong. Many years ago I hosted an unpopular but listened to podcast, a highlight among Canadian titles that were bland and properly curated. It was a standout beside shows where a gimmick or a theme drove content as We couldn't be bothered to talk about just any popular subje...

The Latest Reintroduction

 Hello, my name is Adam Greene.  And despite my worst impulses I do care.  This is about the fiftieth time I've restarted this blog. At first it was merely a summary of a lousy podcast. Then it was a repository for lousy pictures.  Then it was a lousy, rarely updated, angry blog.  Then it was a flower shop.  Then it was another lousy, rarely updated, angry blog.  Then it was the Huffington Post.  And now it's a blog about me for me. For me to discover what I think about things. For me to share things that I can't share on social media because it would be awkward. For me to come to terms with all of the feelings and weird thoughts I have.  For me to help myself.  Because I like caring. It feels good.  And it is time I felt good.  Adam Greene deserves it.

Haunted by Dead Weight: The Exercisist

I imagine people would find it hard to believe that I was heavy for years. Heavy is putting it lightly; I was fat as hell. Portly by way of obese. Truly a fat fuck. Not anymore. It has been years since I was overweight: gone are the days of my thighs rubbing together as I walk and I make semi-regular eye contact with my undersized penis, which are really telling signs that you've hit a point of concern: If chapped leg skin and disappearing genitalia doesn't raise a red flag then what does? There were a couple of incidents that opened my eyes to my problem: 1: It was a Sunday and I was going out to lunch with my Father. Nothing upper tier, no tie required. I remember I was wearing a red polo shirt, sunglasses and uncomfortably snug pants and for some reason I noticed myself in the highly reflective glass of a Subway sandwich place. I looked fucking terrible. Really quite bad. First off, my mouth was open as I was gulping down air to prevent a black out from the little b...