In which I Google telephone recording laws for New York City but find no crime has been committed against me
So yeah, we here at ILB were just working on our latest, sure to shock the nation project that launches this weekend. We were 3/4 of a way down a bottle of Amarone, alternating between Xhamster and TheHotelEnd.co.uk like we do for most of our lives in a never-ending spiral of self-fulfilling self-loathing. When we got a phone call. At 10pm.
Most people assume when the 10pm phone call comes in it’s either a drug dealer or your father’s dead, so I rushed to the phone. It was an American dialing code. Confusing. I answered it.
“Hello, Dom Passantino? This is Hermione Hoby. I’d like to let you know first off that this telephone conversation is being recorded.”
I think this illustrates my failure as a human being: when mans like Bol get people vexed enough to phone him up, they’re major label rappers whose buttmad will actually make him some money. When I get people vexed, they’re… journalists. Whose fame is like 5% predicated on the fact that I clowned them a few months ago.
Look, this is the thing: this Hoby thing continues because as long as someone gets raged about it, it’s still funny. Some journalists I’ve called a cunt before have taken it in the manner its intended and have gone on to boost me. Some have thought back with varying degrees of success. Hoby… didn’t. She just got mad buttshook and sent her homies to ride on me. With no effect.
Anyway, like your boy with the tache on Channel 4 in the mid-90s, ILB offers a right to reply. So the gist of the call was: her boyfriend’s mother was upset by my page, and her dad “risked his life fighting against apartheid in South Africa”. My grandfathers both risked their lives fighting for the Axis, so I guess she has that one up over me.
The weird thing about Hoby is that people just don’t like her. The first page of google results for her name has her being clowned by everyone from sassy feminists to white pride dudes to Robin Carmody-style chinstrokers. I can’t imagine her future mother-in-law was marking out for any of those either, but I doubt she was phoning the editor of Jezebel up at TEN IN THE FUCKING EVENING to sass mouth them out.
And nothing I said is actually incorrect. There’s worse things I can say about her which I just haven’t because, you know, it’s not interesting how she knows absolutely fuck all about rap music and has an unhealthy fixation with black guys talking about raping white women. But that’s the thing: none of you would care about me posting that so I don’t. ILB has always been for the readers. ILB isn’t for Dommy P, it isn’t for Hermione Hoby, it’s not for Theophilus London or Sadie Doyle or that finnoch motherfucker from Lucha Britannia. It’s about the fans, it’s about you motherfuckers. So yeah. This is being posted as a line-drawn underneath matters because, to be honest, I have enough ballaches in life without this one adding to matters.
Also, idk, if you’re going to battle that hard against apartheid, then send your child to a private school… that doesn’t actually make any sense does it? “Oh man, I hate it when a fluke of people’s birth decides the quality of the basic human rights they get. Welp, time to make sure the apple of my eye is learning Latin in a safe environment.”