“Love Me”: He’s Not Asking You — He’s Telling You

Under any other circumstances, we’d consider a song devoted to your own prowess as an unstoppable fuck machine and world-altering lay to be a terminus — the John Mayer point of no return, if you will. However, if you’re the infinitely doable Marcus Patrick, we’d frankly expect — nay beseech — that you sing your own praises. Curious biological phenomena abound for the esteemed Mr. Patrick — one-time boy bander, martial artist, model, go-go dancer, personal trainer, and soap star kicked to the curb from Days of Our Lives for doing a full-frontal in Playgirl — and no one is immune to their effect. It’s a medical mystery why his body rejects all form of clothing and rips Hulk-like of its own volition out of any garment worn longer than ten minutes. Is it a pheremonal stimulus that causes any and all orifices within a hundred foot radius of him to spontaneously dilate? Is it true that his image will emblazon itself Shroud of Turin-like into his bed linens? We too would wear our solipsism like body armor, have a chorus of hard body backup dancers flank us, and strut our way through a should’ve-been-a-hit Spaghetti House track that sounds like Rico Suave by way of Savage Men… if we could pull off a Van Damme spin kick in white jeans.