You may or may not be familiar with the running series on my blog called “Why Music Sucks Now,” in which I dissect a song that is responsible for the trepidation I feel when I actually have to listen to the radio and not my iPod. I understand not everyone agrees with my fine tastes in music, as evidenced by a recent commenter on my “Rack City” who thinks I was conceived during the big bang.
Today’s installment of “Why Music Sucks Now” will focus on the recent hit by Carly Rae Jepsen, “Call Me Maybe.” Before we get into the lyrics, I have to say that every single time I’ve heard this song, the following image has popped into my brain.
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| Seriously. Am I the only one? Also, if you don’t get this, just keep reading. |
Now to present the lyrics.
I threw a wish in the well,
Don’t ask me, I’ll never tellI looked to you as it fell,And now you’re in my way
I’d trade my soul for a wish,Pennies and dimes for a kissI wasn’t looking for this,But now you’re in my way
Your stare was holdin’,Ripped jeans, skin was showin’Hot night, wind was blowin’Where you think you’re going, baby?
Hey, I just met you,And this is crazy,But here’s my number,So call me, maybe?
It’s hard to look right,At you baby,But here’s my number,So call me, maybe?
Hey, I just met you,And this is crazy,But here’s my number,So call me, maybe?
And all the other boys,Try to chase me,But here’s my number,So call me, maybe?
You took your time with the call,I took no time with the fallYou gave me nothing at all,But still, you’re in my way
I beg, and borrow and stealHave foresight and it’s realI didn’t know I would feel it,But it’s in my way
Your stare was holdin’,Ripped jeans, skin was showin’Hot night, wind was blowin’Where you think you’re going, baby?
Hey, I just met you,And this is crazy,But here’s my number,So call me, maybe?
It’s hard to look right,At you baby,But here’s my number,So call me, maybe?
Hey, I just met you,And this is crazy,But here’s my number,So call me, maybe?
And all the other boys,Try to chase me,But here’s my number,So call me, maybe?
Before you came into my lifeI missed you so badI missed you so badI missed you so, so bad
Before you came into my lifeI missed you so badAnd you should know thatI missed you so, so bad
It’s hard to look right,At you baby,But here’s my number,So call me, maybe?
Hey, I just met you,And this is crazy,But here’s my number,So call me, maybe?
And all the other boys,Try to chase me,But here’s my number,So call me, maybe?
Before you came into my lifeI missed you so badI missed you so badI missed you so, so bad
Before you came into my lifeI missed you so badAnd you should know that
So call me, maybe?
Okay, now let’s break this stinkburger down, shall we?
- The first four lines speak volumes. The lady makes a wish, tells us she won’t tell us what the wish was, looks at this dude, who is presumably what she wished for, and then gripes about him being in the way. It’s not, “Oh! Hey! You’re in my way that’s so awesome let’s do it!” It’s, “Oh, and now you’re in my way, great.”
- She’s trading her soul for a wish. I feel like Delmar in O Brother Where Art Thou? “For that you traded your everlastin’ soul?” Then she goes on to say “she wasn’t looking for this,” WHEN IT’S EXACTLY WHAT SHE WISHED FOR. Carly, sweetheart, you have to make up your mind. Then of course she complains about him being in the way again.
- The man is staring at her. I want to go out right now and stare at a woman and see what happens. What do you think would happen? I know what would happen. I’d get slapped. Or beat up by her boyfriend. Also, dude needs to patch his jeans. Then, Carly has the nerved to ask him where he’s going. She JUST told him that he was in the way. Now he’s trying to move, and he can’t do it because he’s probably stumbling over things, what with him staring at her and all, and she’s upset about him moving. Forgive me ladies, but this has “typical woman” written all over it.
- When we arrive at the chorus, Carly does three things for us. First, she tells us that there has been a short amount of time since they’ve seen each other, but she wants him to call her. Then she explains that it’s not her fault she can’t tear her eyes away from him, and she wants him to call her. Then she actually has the gall to brag about the fact that other guys are practically standing in line to holla at her, but again, she wants him to call her.
- After the chorus, Carly explains that ol’ dude takes a long time to call. In reality, I think this might have been half a day, tops, just because of her sense of time when it comes to giving dudes her number. You can’t tell me that if this was a guy, and he was singing the same lyrics, that he wouldn’t get put on stalker mode. And apparently, the dude isn’t really into her, possibly because of her forcing herself onto him all crazy like. Then, once again, she gripes about him being in her way. If he is STILL in her way, then the amount of time that has elapsed in this song is about thirty seconds, and it brings the whole “you took forever to call” line into stark, stalking reality.
- Apparently here, Carly is stealing something. This could be why the man isn’t that into her, because he doesn’t want to be called as a material witness.
- Chorus again, she asks him to call four more times. That’s eight times, and they’re standing right in front of each other still.
- Now Carly is telling this ol boy how much she has missed him, after only knowing him literally for only about thirty-nine seconds. I would like to, once again, ask you ladies how you would feel about a man singing these words to you. What would you say? What would you do? I think I can answer those questions. You’d mace the fool, kick him in the stones, run away, and tell your friends how terrified you were that time when you almost got raped.
- We go into the chorus again, she asks be called four more times, bringing the total up to twelve times in one meeting. Doesn’t Carly know that desperation is a stinky cologne? I feel like at this point she’s simply channeling her inner Andy Bernard.
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| Words to live by. That’s how I got married. |
In closing, this song has one redeeming quality, and that’s all of the tribute videos it has spawned. I’ll leave you with my favorite two, and my sincere wish that you never have to hear this song ever again after today.
| Photo credit |
A few months ago, The Youngest came over to my house to hang out, play some Call of Duty, and probably try to talk me into buying him booze.
The usual.
However, on this particular occasion he came in repeating the same phrase over and over.
“Rack city chick, rack rack city chick.”
If he said this once, he said it a hundred times that evening. He said it when he killed a guy in COD, he said it when our children talked to him, he used it to creatively answer questions, etc. At some point during the evening I finally took the bait and asked him what it was from.
“It’s this new song, man. It’s awesome.”
“Is it about boobs?”
“Yeah man. Boobs.”
As ridiculous as it sounds, that was all it took for my interest to be piqued. I mean, a song about boobs? Right? C’mon.
So the next day I queued it up on Spotify and had a listen. I picked the unedited version, and the following substance flowed into my brain and temporarily put me into some sort of catatonic state.
[Intro:]
Rack, rack, city b**ch, city b**ch
Rack, rack, rack city b**ch, city b**ch, rack
Rack, rack, rack city b**ch, city b**ch
Mutha on the beat
Hah!
[Verse 1:]
Rack city b**ch, rack, rack city b**ch
Ten ten ten twenties on ya titties b**ch
100 deep V.I.P. no guest list
T-Raw you don’t know who you f***ing with?
Got my other b**ch f***ing with my other b**ch
F***ing all night nigga we ain’t celibate
Make it sound too dope I ain’t selling it
Bar fresher than a motherf***ing peppermint
Gold Letterman last kings killing s**t
Young money young money yeah we getting rich
I Got ya grandma on my peepee (ha ha)
Girl you know what it is
[Hook: x2]
Rack city b**ch, rack, rack, city b**ch [x3]
Ten, ten, ten, twenties and them fifties b**ch
[Verse 2:]
I’m a motherf***ing star (star)
Look at the paint on the car (car)
Too much rim make the ride too hard
Tell that b**ch hop out, walk the boulevard
I need my money pronto
Get it in the morning like Alonzo
Rondo, Green got cheese like a nacho
If you ain’t got no @ss b**ch wear a poncho
Head hancho got my seat back
Nigga staring at me don’t get bapped
Got my shirt off the club too packed
It’s too turned going up like gas
God d**n pulled out my racks
Mike Mike Jackson nigga yeah I’m bad
Rat T-T-T-Tatted up on my back
All the hoes love me you know what it is
[Hook: x2]
Rack city b**ch, rack, rack, city b**ch [x3]
Ten, ten, ten, twenties and them fifties b**ch
[Outro:]
Throwing hunnids, hunnids
Hunnids, hunnids
Throwing hunnids, hunnids
Rack city b**ch, rack, rack city b**ch
Hunnids, hunnids
Throwing hunnids, hunnids
Hunnids, hunnids
Rack city b**ch, rack, rack city b**ch
(Rack, rack, rack, rack, rack…)
As you can see, I’ve had to do quite a bit of work on the censoring front, if only to protect the eyes of some of my younger readers. That aside, I counted about fifteen actual words throughout the whole song. Most of the time it just sounds like the singer, a Mr. TYGA, as it were, has a severe stuttering handicap that is triggered by the thought of a woman without a shirt on. Great stuff, this music of the younger generation.
Let’s break this thing down, shall we?
1. In the intro, we are introduced to this place called “Rack City,” which I have deduced to be a strip club somewhere close to Tyga’s place of residence. I’ll explain that later. It’s also when we are introduced to the artist’s speech impediment. At this point, I truthfully thought the whole song was just “rack city b**ch” over and over again.
2. “100 deep V.I.P, no guest list.” There are more or less one hundred people “in da club,” and everyone is a V.I.P. There are also no guests allowed, which won’t bode well for Tyga’s best friend “Lyon,” who is an up and coming music producer that has latched on to Tyga like a Lexington, KY resident on their favorite sectional.
3. Apparently at this point there are two ladies, both of which are his, performing some sort of sensual act on each other. This is where he points out that he is excellent at marathon love-making, which would be easy to do if you were never involved in the fore-mentioned tryst. He then tells us how fresh the bar is, which he likens to a peppermint, so I guess he means sticky. That makes sense. Then he moves on to tell us about having “relations” with your grandmother. Just seems an odd thing to talk about when there are a couple of ladies in front of him obviously willing to try anything once.
4. In the next verse, he tells us about his stardom, which is evidenced by the paint job on his vehicular conveyance. After that, he gives us a bit of practical advice by explaining that “too much rim make the ride too hard.” This is a proven fact, if your rims are too big, then your vehicle’s performance over rough terrain will be awful. He then immediately kicks a young lady out of his car and makes her become a prostitute.
5. “Get it in the morning like Alonzo, Rondo, Green got cheese like a nacho.” I wish I could tell you what that meant. Apparently Alonzo Mourning, Rajon Rondo, and this Green fella have a particular affinity for cheese like that on nachos. I also like nacho cheese. Assuming I’ve not missed any allegorical meaning here, I’m going to say that I’d get along well with those three guys.
6. The next line advises all the young ladies who don’t have a big rear end to wear a poncho to cover it up. I’d like to go ahead and tell you not to listen to that. To quote the amazing John Mayer, your body is a wonderland. Also, Tyga is obviously a boob guy, so what does her care about the rear end for? He then tells us not to get “bapped.” Upon consultation of Urban Dictionary, the act of getting bapped is to be hit harder than a thwap, but not so hard that it causes any real lasting injury.
7. “It’s too turned going up like gas.” This is the only part of the song I understand. Gas is high. Gas is real high, and it keeps going up. This is why I assume the club is close to Tyga’s house. He seems to be concerned with the increasing cost of travel, and when you combine that with strip club tips, he’s on the fast train to bankruptcy.
8. I think after all this is done he’s getting a Michael Jackson tattoo. I’m not 100% on that though, I may have mistranslated something. Seems as if the stuttering problem attacks again at this point.
9. Throughout the song, the amount of money that he’s been throwing at these young ladies has been steadily increasing. One can only assume that this is directly related to the amount of alcohol imbibed. The first time is was tens and twenties. Then he started throwing fifties. Now, at the end, he’s throwing “hunnids,” which is a one hundred dollar bill. Assuming that every mention of a denomination of money indicates what he’s thrown at the ladies, and assuming that “twenties” and “fifties” means two of each bill, then at the end of the evening he’s spent $1,610 at “Rack City.” Also assuming he just turned out the one prostitute at the beginning of the night, and the average nightly take of prostitute is around $615, and a pimp’s cut is around 25%, which equates to around $154, then the amount of money Tyga actually spent on this particular evening is $1,456.
10. The end of the song is just the word “rack” about six thousand times. Many artists choose to end their songs with a clever twist, a beautiful piece of poetry, or a sympathetic word. Tyga went the other way.
To sum up, the song is terrible. I won’t get into the whole “it’s degrading to women” argument, because that’s the music industry in general, with the exception of Adele, and she’s so depressing she doesn’t count. But seriously. “Rack City” is just one more example of why music sucks now. PLEASE READ THE UPDATE AT THE BOTTOM!
Some of you may be familiar with my “Why Music Sucks Now” line of posts. For those of you that are new here or are unfamiliar because you stopped looking at my blog a long time ago, the basic gist is this: music now is pretty much terrible, and it makes me want to vomit.
Kid Funk said something to me when Obama was elected. I said, “Well, it’s a black president, what do you think his odds are of being assassinated?” KF replied, “I hope that doesn’t happen. I don’t want my generation to be remembered for killing their president.”
Wise words.
However, I don’t want to be a generation that is remembered for Justin Beiber, Nickleback, or Lady Gaga. (even though I kind of like her) A new addition to this pile of filth was thrust upon me the other day as I was creeping my way through Twitter. A link was shared. A link that had a common place name in it. A name that I respect, not only for his music, but for his fine cinematic skills as well. That name was Will Smith.
You can say what you want, but I am a Will Smith fan. He’s a clean-ish rapper who is still entertaining, he has beats that make me want to shake my money maker, and he has killed a lot of aliens all while keeping our planet safe from impending doom. Plus, I’m pretty sure there isn’t a person alive who can’t finish, “Now this is a story all about how my life got twisted turned upside down.” Am I right? You finished it, didn’t you? Yep. I’d just about bet that you had co-workers finish it with you.
So when I heard his son had a song, I was intrigued. I haven’t seen the new Karate Kid, mostly because I consider it sacrilege and heresy. But I thought I’d give the song a chance. So I clicked.
I was bombarded with the following:
I whip my hair back and forth
I whip my hair back and forth (just whip it)
I whip my hair back and forth
I whip my hair back and forth (whip it real good)
I whip my hair back and forth
I whip my hair back and forth
I whip my hair back and forth
I whip my hair back and forth
Hop up out the bed turn my swag on
Pay no attention to them haters cuz we whip em off
and we aint doing nothing wrong
so dont tell me nothing, i’m just tryna have fun
so keep the party jumping
so whats up (yea)
And i’ll be doing what to do
we turn our back
and whip our hair and just shake them off
shake them off, shake them off,shake them off
Don’t let haters keep me off my grind
Keep my head up i know i’ll be fine
Keep fighting until i get there
When i’m down and i feel like giving up
I whip my hair back and forth
I whip my hair back and forth (just whip it)
I whip my hair back and forth
I whip my hair back and forth (whip it real good)
I whip my hair back and forth
I whip my hair back and forth (just whip it)
I whip my hair back and forth
I whip my hair back and forth (whip it real good)
I whip my hair back and forth
I whip my hair back and forth (just whip it)
I whip my hair back and forth
I whip my hair back and forth (whip it real good)
I whip my hair back and forth
I whip my hair back and forth
I whip my hair back and forth
I whip my hair back and forth
I’ma get more shine than a little bit
Soon as i hit the stage applause im hearing it
whether its black stars black cars im feeling it
but can’t none of them whip it like i do
I, i gets it in mmmm yea i go hard
when they see me pull up i whip it real hard
i whip it real hard,real hard,i whip it real hard
Don’t let haters keep me off my grind
Keep my head up i know i’ll be fine
Keep fighting until i get there
When i’m down and i feel like giving up
I whip my hair back and forth
I whip my hair back and forth (just whip it)
I whip my hair back and forth
[ From: http://www.metrolyrics.com/whip-my-hair-lyrics-willow-smith.html ]
I whip my hair back and forth (whip it real good)
I whip my hair back and forth
I whip my hair back and forth (just whip it)
I whip my hair back and forth
I whip my hair back and forth (whip it real good)
I whip my hair back and forth
I whip my hair back and forth (just whip it)
I whip my hair back and forth
I whip my hair back and forth (whip it real good)
I whip my hair back and forth
I whip my hair back and forth (ok, ok just whip my hair)
I whip my hair back and forth
I whip my hair back and forth (whip it real good)
I whip my hair back and forth
All my Ladies if you feel me
do it do it whip your hair
Dont’ matter if its long, short
do it do it whip your hair
All my Ladies if you feel me
come on do it do it whip your hair
Dont’ matter if its long, short
do it do it whip your hair (your hair, your hair)
I whip my hair back and forth
I whip my hair back and forth (just whip my hair)
I whip my hair back and forth
I whip my hair back and forth (whip it real good)
I whip my hair back and forth
I whip my hair back and forth (just whip my hair)
I whip my hair back and forth
I whip my hair back and forth (whip it real good)
I whip my hair back and forth
I whip my hair back and forth (just whip my hair)
I whip my hair back and forth
I whip my hair back and forth (whip it real good)
I whip my hair back and forth
I whip my hair back and forth
I whip my hair back and forth
I whip my hair back and forth
I whip my hair back and forth
I whip my hair back and forth (just whip it)
I whip my hair back and forth
I whip my hair back and forth (whip it real good)
I whip my hair back and forth
I whip my hair back and forth (just whip it)
I whip my hair back and forth
I whip my hair back and forth (whip it real good)
I whip my hair back and forth
I whip my hair back and forth
I whip…
I want to start out by pointing something out. There are 100 lines in this song. 69 of those lines contain the words, “I whip my hair.” I don’t profess to be a musical genius. I’m not, y’all. However, I’m pretty sure that if I wrote a song in which 4 words made up 70% of the song and handed that song to someone off the street, I’d be shot. And I’d expect it. And deserve it. And thank them after.
Other than that, there are a few things I think Mr. Willow did not fully consider when writing this song.
1. Lawsuits. I really think there will be a seriously backlash (ha) in the legal arena. Aside from this parrot, (click that. just do it) I don’t think anyone ever in the history of time can whip their hair back and forth for 4 minutes without causing irreparable damage to their brain stem and/or lower back. What about kids dancing to this in the car? It will make a good many parents think their child is having a grand mal seizure and they will kill everyone on the road trying to pull their SUV over to check on little Timmy. That’s on you, Willow. That’s on you.
2. The constant addressing of his “haters.” Willow, you’re like 5. You don’t have haters. You might have a kid that took your remote control car in the park last weekend, but you and I both know your dad bought you another one. Probably bought you a life size remote control car. Either way, you don’t have haters. Not yet. Your dad has haters. They’re called “real black people.” Wait a while, you’ll understand it.
3. Stop talking to the ladies. Once again, you’re 5. Or 6. Or 10, or whatever. Doesn’t matter. Your balls haven’t dropped, so stop talking to the ladies. Plus, I’m going to be real honest here, all that hair whippin you’re doing is probably going to affect the amount of lovin you get when you finally get old enough. You’re gonna be like, “I’m Willow Smith, I’m Big Will’s kid.” And the ladies are going to say, “The Whip My Hair kid? No thanks, we’re going to go gang bang that Beiber guy.” Seriously. You’re worse than Beiber right now. Little Bow Wow was throwing up gang signs and smoking weed when he was your age. Go do that, then try to get NWA back together. Then the ladies will “feel” you.
4. That applause you think you’re hearing on stage? Yeah. It’s tinnitus. It’s caused by all that whippin you’re doing.
5. Stop telling chicks it’s cool to have short hair. Yeah dude, I don’t want The Missus hearing that crap. I like her hair long, and I don’t want it short. If she hears this cute black kid saying it’s cool for it to be short, and then she cuts her gorgeous hair off, I’m coming after you. I don’t care what degree black belt you are, you’re 6 years old. I can beat you up. I’m pretty sure I can beat up your dad, too. I don’t think he’d be much without CGI. Your mom though, woo. Wasn’t she a lesbian in that one movie with Queen Latifah? Could be wrong. Either way, I want to bang your mom.
That pretty much wraps it up, your lyrics really tell people how dumb the song is. If that doesn’t do it, they can just watch the video and see you paint a classroom with your locks. I thought it was dumb. I don’t think I’m alone. Why not just cover all your dad’s old songs? Right now, just hit the studio in your room (I know you have one, don’t lie) and start with “You know parents are the same no matter time nor place.” That would be legit, and also pretty ironic. Good luck, and here’s to you not making music suck anymore.
UPDATE: So apparently, Willow Smith is a girl. I had no idea Will Smith had a daughter, although I really had a weird feeling when writing this. I thought his kid Jaden had this stage name Willow or something. I am refusing to rewrite any of this blog to make me look less dumb. You may all proceed to laugh at me, although it doesn’t change the fact that the song is stupid too. So there. *sticks tongue out
By now I am sure you’re all familiar with my “Why Music Sucks Now” line of posts.
I’ve done some others, and the one that made me blamous* was my review over Birthday Sex.
I still get hits on my blog from that. And if you google the definition of impry, my blog is the first search result! How cool is that?!?
Anyway, onto today’s victim song.
This song is currently number 1 in the country according to Billboard.
It shouldn’t be, and I have a quote from a fellow blogger on that later. Right now, I’m going to give you the lyrics, then I will break the song down for you.
Tik Tok Lyrics
Wake up in the morning feeling like P Diddy
(Hey, what up girl?)
Grab my glasses, I’m out the door, I’m gonna hit this city
(Lets go)
Before I leave, brush my teeth with a bottle of Jack
‘Cause when I leave for the night, I ain’t coming back
I’m talking pedicure on our toes, toes
Trying on all our clothes, clothes
Boys blowing up our phones, phones
Drop-topping, playing our favorite CDs
Pulling up to the parties
Trying to get a little bit tipsy
Don’t stop, make it pop
DJ, blow my speakers up
Tonight, I’mma fight
‘Til we see the sunlight
Tick tock on the clock
But the party don’t stop, no
Don’t stop, make it pop
DJ, blow my speakers up
Tonight, I’mma fight
‘Til we see the sunlight
Tick tock, on the clock
But the party don’t stop, no
Ain’t got a care in world, but got plenty of beer
Ain’t got no money in my pocket, but I’m already here
And now, the dudes are lining up cause they hear we got swagger
But we kick em to the curb unless they look like Mick Jagger
I’m talking about everybody getting crunk, crunk
Boys tryin’ to touch my junk, junk
Gonna smack him if he getting too drunk, drunk
Now, now, we go until they kick us out, out
Or the police shut us down, down
Police shut us down, down
Po-po shut us
Don’t stop, make it pop
DJ, blow my speakers up
Tonight, I’mma fight
‘Til we see the sunlight
Tick tock on the clock
But the party don’t stop, no
Don’t stop, make it pop
DJ, blow my speakers up
Tonight, I’mma fight
‘Til we see the sunlight
Tick tock on the clock
But the party don’t stop, no
DJ, you build me up
You break me down
My heart, it pounds
Yeah, you got me
With my hands up
You got me now
You got that sound
Yeah, you got me
DJ, you build me up
You break me down
My heart, it pounds
Yeah, you got me
With my hands up
Put your hands up
Put your hands up
Now, the party don’t start ’til I walk in
Don’t stop, make it pop
DJ, blow my speakers up
Tonight, I’mma fight
‘Til we see the sunlight
Tick tock on the clock
But the party don’t stop, no
Don’t stop, make it pop
DJ, blow my speakers up
Tonight, I’mma fight
‘Til we see the sunlight
Tick tock on the clock
But the party don’t stop, no
Here are some of the things I find HORRIBLY RETARDED about this song.
1. “Wake up in the morning and I feel like P. Diddy.” What? Drunk? Missing Beyonce? Did he date Beyonce? I think he did. And now the ugliest man in the world is dating Beyonce. But I digress. They only way I want to wake up feeling like P. Diddy is if it means I’m rich, or I’m black. I’d take either.
2. Why would anyone brush their teeth with Jack? What the hell does this mean? Actually, I may try this and vlog about it. Now that I think about it, I’m going to. It’ll have to be when I can afford a bottle of Jack, though. And, also now that I’m thinking about it, I guess in a way, it’d be like using booze flavored Listerene. So yeah. Maybe she has a point here.
3. I’m going to go on a tangent here about repeating lyrics in songs, and how it’s become a real problem. She says “toes toes, clothes clothes, phones phones.” I’m tired of it. I’m tired of repetition in my songs other than the GD chorus. You know? You know? You know? How did you like that? Annoying, right? “If he types that one more time, I will LEAVE!” That’s probably what you said. Why are we tolerating it in our music? Did Michael Jackson ever repeat anything aside from touching children? No. Why? Because he was a mutha fuckin lyrical fuckin genius. That’s real.
4. Why in the HELL would you want your speakers blown up? Those things cost money, and I’m willing to bet that she doesn’t have the cheap kind, either. Not the ones that you can get at Wal-Mart for 5 bucks that plug into your computer and you can never quite hear GOOD out of them. She probably has speakers that would permantly damage hearing if properly used, and she wants to blow them up? Send them to me, please. I’d like a pair for my surround sound system. Thanks.
5. You’re going to “fight until the sunlight?” Like, a fistfight? For sure, if it’s a chick fight, I want to watch. They do that, ya know. They oil up and go at each other and they start rubbin each other down and slowly undress…wait. Wait. I’ve digressed. But yeah. Fighting until sunlight? Not this guy. You let someone start a fight with me in a club. I will RUN. I’m not a hero. If necessary, I can ask The Missus to handle it. But fighting in a club, especially until the sun rises is NOT classy. You hear that, Kie$ha? Not classy.
6. Which brings me to this. Kie$ha. What? Really? You can just put a dollar sign in your name? You’re not black. And yes. You have to be black to do that. That’s real. I’m pretty sure they have like a patent or something. And if they don’t, they should, because really? Travi$ just doesn’t look right, and neither does Kie$ha. Or $teve. Or Ju$tin. However, $ean P. Diddy looks LEGIT. Just leave it as an “S,” babe. You’ll do just fine.
7. “Ain’t got a care in the world, but we’ve got plenty of beer.” Okay. I need you to say this with me. “I’m an alcoholic.” There. That’s step one. 11 more, and you’re gonna be all better.
8. Your lack of money is probably due to the fact that you buy speakers and beer.
9. If I hear one more white person use the word “swagger” I will punch a baby. That’s real.
10. HAVE YOU SEEN MIK JAGGER?!?
I rest my case.
11. If boys are trying to your “junk junk” you might consider dressing less like a whore and/or leaving the place you are at, in hopes of finding a club instead of a prison dance. I mean, come on guys. How many of you have just grabbed a woman’s junk junk in a club? I haven’t. Hell, I don’t think I’ve ever been IN a club. All I know, right now, if I grabbed at my wife’s, for sure, I’d get slapped, AND I’M MARRIED.
12. Now she talks about self defense. But only if he gets to “drunk drunk.” Which is going to happen if they have “plenty of beer.” Should this lady even be here? I am really beginning to think maybe she has some daddy issues.
13. The cops are coming, and I’m pretty sure she’s organized the club into a active resistance. Which is smart. A bunch of drunk horny guys, and a bunch of drunk tired of being harassed chicks going at the “po po’s” This will end well. 40 years from now, I’ll be telling the story of the “Racist Cops of Club Crunk Junk” to my grandchildren and reminding them that even though they don’t have enough money, if they have plenty of beer, they’re okay. And letting my granddaughters know that if someone tries to grab their junk junk, make sure to smack them only if they’re drunk drunk.
14. I am almost entirely certain that from here on out, the DJ is physically/verbally/sexually assaulting this young lady, and no one cares, no, not even her. He gets her heart pounding, then he breaks her down, then he lifts her up, he has her hands up, and then making her heart pound again. Oddly enough, this sounds like the relationship I had with my junior high gym teacher…wait. What?
15. “Now the party don’t start till I walk in.” What a conceited bitch. I’ve been to plenty of parties, and you haven’t shown up to ONE of them, and for sure, they’ve all started (and ended) very nicely. Would they have been improved by your presence? Well, that depends. Would you have sang? Because no, it wouldn’t have. Getting naked? Yes, it would have. Anything else? No, I don’t think it would have improved anything at all. I have a feeling that just talking to you would lead me to choking you with a fury that normally I reserve for kittens and baby birds.
That’s all I have for you, folks. Like I said, this song is NUMBER FUCKING ONE on the charts right now, and that brings me to a quote by a wise lass that I’ve just recently had the pleasure of talking to.
I’m talking of the one and only Ginger Mandy, who says this:
“That song being #1 represents 85 to 90 percent of everything that is wrong with this country. The other 10 to 15 percent is Wal-Mart.”
That’s real.
*blamous is a term coined by Kid Funk that just means “blog famous.” He used it in a conversation describing me the other day, along with calling me a “bliar.”
Y’all have a great weekend, and I’ll stop around this weekend and do some commenting and check out your blogs. Also, just to let you know, I had almost ALL of the comments responded to, and the power went down on my laptop. There was no way in HELL I was going to start typing all that funniness out again! However, I thank you so much for all of your comments, and I’d like to hit 50 again sometime this month!
I love you.