I’m the type of girl that develops significant crushes on people that don’t exist. When I was in 3rd grade, I was obsessively in love with Raphael, the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle. Now that I’m a full grown 29-year-old woman, my fictional crushes have evolved from six-foot amphibians who know Ju-Jitsu to zombie-killing, motorcycle riding hicks, AKA Daryl from The Walking Dead.
There are some fictional men, however, that I’d never date. Here’re five of them.
Mr. Big, Sex and the City
Despite the fact that millions of women around the world let out a collective sigh of relief when Carrie finally married him, I stand steadfast in my assertion that Mr. Big is one of the worst fictional boyfriends ever. If you’re into guys who cheat on their wives or spend approximately 5433956 hours a week at a job that entails wearing a suit, writing checks, and being mean to everyone, then he’s quite the catch.
Jim, The Office
“I’ll respect the fact that you’ve been engaged to a guy for like five years who has no intention of marrying you but I’d never cross that line. Instead, I’ll just sit here at my desk and make puppy eyes at you all day, flirt with you constantly, and take a vacation in another country on the day of your wedding, even though we’re supposed to be BFFs and I should be there on the happiest day of your life.” And after Pam does finally marry Jim and pop out a baby, he’ll buy his parents’ house without even asking for her opinion. Slick.
Tom Sloane, Daria
It’s really a shame that the best cartoon girl friendship of the mid 90’s was ruined by a boring, pseudo-intellectual with a bad mullet. Not only did Tom come between Daria and Jane, but he didn’t even understand our favorite little bifocal ball of wittiness. No Tom, we’d choose Trent over you any day of the week, thankyouverymuch.
Jordan Catalano, My So Called Life
Yes, Jordan. You may be a moody, misunderstood dreamboat that is musically gifted, but after hiding your relationship with Angela from the public, getting poor Brian Krakow to write an apology letter to her and then making her think you wrote a song about her when it was really about your stupid car – no. Just no.
Patrick Bateman, American Psycho
Because what girl wouldn’t want to date a serial killer who cuts up prostitutes into little, tiny pieces?