Perhaps we can thank Dion of Dion and the Belmonts for subconsciously infiltrating the collective “male” psyche with the notion of needing to constantly be on the move. That belief that to be a wanderer is to avoid reality, to embody a Maslowian form of existence.

The “man” who “cultures” himself by geographically and sexually wandering is, in truth, in a permanent state of eschewal from a connection to anything or anyone (who knows if it’s a psychological form of avoidance or not?–but, as we all know, “men” are mentally delicate flowers). As Dion boasts, “I kiss ’em and I love ’em/’Cause to me they’re all the same,” indicating that people and places are interchangeable; why bother getting too close?

Smacking of sociopathy as Dion happily admits, “I roam from town to town/I go through life without a care,” it’s enough to make Mary, Flo, Janie and Rosie rue the fuckin’ day they trusted him with their hearts and pussys (hearts and pussys not just being a good butt metal band name, but also what drive and destroy women for the most part).