There’s perhaps no worse breed of “man” than the music snob–the one who will either only listen to Bach like the skull fucker he is or only go to or participate in DIY shows like an elitist motherfucker pretending to be a “man” of the people. There is no in-between with “men” when it comes to music. They’re either “classicist”-loving pretension-wads or angst-ridden alt rock/indie adoring fuckboys. And if they do love or even vaguely appreciate pop music, you’re probably fucked anyway because it generally signals a predilection for their love of other “men” in addition.
Even so, just because a “man” might cringe when he hears the opening, dated notes to “…Baby One More Time” doesn’t mean he ought to begrudge you one of your few simple pleasures in life, often, these days involving the making of a video of some variety to go along with your lip syncing. And anyway, is it a crime if your body responds to the frothy melodies of a pop star like Ariana Grande or the so-called vacuous lyrics of women so frequently describing being abandoned and done wrong in the most upbeat way they can? (e.g. “Sorry” by Beyonce). How else are they (and the women they appeal to) supposed to cope with the constant disappointments and fuckery if not shaking it off with the type of ditty that laments, “You just keep on pushing my love over the borderline” while also allowing you to move your arse on the dance floor? So no, do not begrudge a lady her devotion to pop music. She doesn’t hold it against you when you splooge over Radiohead, after all.
Ceaseless jibes at Madonna’s age and manipulated body aside, one must admit that in the early 90s, she was in her prime in every way: physically, career-wise (“Vogue,” darling, “Vogue”) and in showcasing her cutting sense of humor (see: Truth or Dare). And while Michael Jackson’s sexuality had always been “a” at best and perilous at worst (where there’s smoke there’s fire with them child molestation rumors), it seems just slightly cuckoo that Madonna would be able to “scare him off women” for good.
Try as she might to loosen Miguel up a little, to make him see that the King and Queen of Pop ought at least to be able to say they slept together once for icon posterity, the dainty child trapped inside a “man’s” body simply couldn’t react in any other way than with sheer terror at the sight of Madonna naked in his boudoir. And yet, in many respects, Michael’s actions mirror those of any average “male,” too intimidated and therefore repulsed by a woman both powerful, beautiful and appetitive of sex to engage her.
“I don’t like cities, but I like New York.” So sums up Madonna on the aptly titled song, “I Love New York.” And yet, there are so many “men” who can’t seem to fathom a woman’s love of this objectively cruel city. Unless, of course, they are able to live within the cushion of Williamsburg, where a different New York resides.
Your ire is dickless
Those who live in a less cushioned version of the city, however, will tend to despise the town a bit more frequently. Whether this is because they’re forced to work in a more common “man” sort of way or because they can’t afford a lifestyle that they fancy themselves accustomed to depends on the nature of the “man.” Though, usually, it’s because he’s too fucking dainty to deal with it. Maybe this is the reason the ratio of women to men in New York is something out of a sci-fi novel. Because he’ll never understand your need to be a City Grrrl.
I don’t know about you, but when a “man” says to me, “Hey baby, I’m looking for a mother for my kid,” as I walk past him, I not only feel sorry for the child being used as a pawn in the “man’s” ploy for sex, but I also feel very unclear as to how anyone would think becoming a mother could possibly have any appeal, especially from a sensual standpoint.
Not really doing it for me
The entire art of making a woman feel attractive is to stray away from the notion of motherhood. Because, as we all know, once you reach this point in your life, it’s just a downhill roller coaster into becoming seen as rotten fruit. I mean, I know Madonna is working really hard for all of us right now to change this perception, but the public at large has a long way to go before it considers older women more beautiful–or as beautiful as–young ones. So why not just stick to, “I can see myself in your pants,” for the time being?
With gender roles and expectations turned on their ear during this nameless and bland epoch, out of the ashes has risen the “charming” bitch. She’s something of a mutant hybrid of the bawdy broad (as perfected by Mae West) and a trust fund baby. Lest “men” get the impression they can have a free-for-all on what constitutes a bitch, let me break it down for you.
Mae West: the original charming bitch
The “charming” bitch expects nothing less than the best for herself at any cost, and if you can’t give it to her she won’t give you the goddamn time of day. She has no interest in you other than what you can buy her or where you can take her. She is, in short, a composite of Kim Kardashian and Paris Hilton. The “average” bitch “men” tend to think of when they hear this word, however, is a woman like Madonna, who expresses herself time and time again, no matter how many critical voices try to quell her opinion.
Madonna, the conventional version of how “men” define a bitch
And yet, the real bitches are the ones they lust after under the false impression that these women are unattainable when, really, you could find one at any rooftop bar in Williamsburg. Rather than her vitriolic utterances being insightful and incisive, they are vacantly snarky and void of substance. So, to sum up, “men” who like these seething, gaping sores of females–oozing out materialism and vacuousness–kind of deserve to be stuck with them.
In a recent interview, Madonna was asked about her opinion on Fifty Shades of Grey. Like most intelligent people, she wasn’t impressed. In particular, it was Christian Grey’s predilection for constantly eating out that made her quite skeptical of the story’s credibility.
Techinically, Madonna had to pay this man to give her head for her Sex book
In addition to finding the book “not very sexy,” Madonna further commented, “I kept waiting for something exciting and crazy to happen in that red room thing, and I was like, ‘Hmm, a lot of spanking.’ I also thought, ‘This is so unrealistic because no guy goes down on a girl that much.’ I’m sorry, but no one eats pussy as much as the guy in that book.” And, if, in fact, you’re one of the “men” who proves Madonna’s belief to be true, then you best whip those tongue muscles into shape and get to werq. This is Williamsburg, not Jersey–you’re not Corrado fucking Soprano
There’s this strange myth about women being unwilling to get their hands dirty. But if this was the case, then why the fuck are they always the ones doing the dishes? If they’re so goddamn dainty, shouldn’t men be the ones to get this extremely arduous task done?
Considering that most of the amenity-rich apartments on the Williamsburg waterfront already come equipped with a dishwasher, it really shouldn’t be that much of a challenge for a “man” to slip the dishes right in. ‘Cause we all know he ain’t sticking his dick right in. So next time your piece of the moment comes over for dinner, why don’t you impress her by soaping up? Especially since it’s really obvious that you Mrs. Doubtfired that dinner by ordering it from somewhere else and pretending to pass it off as your own.