Sex Drugs and Cocoa Puffs

May 29, 2006 11:57

"...Coldplay, a British pop group whose success derives from their ability to write melodramatic alt-rock songs about fake love. It does not matter that Coldplay is absolutely the shittiest fucking band I've ever heard in my entire fucking life, or that they sound like a mediocre photocopy of Travis (who sound like a mediocre photocopy of Radiohead), or that their greatest fucking artisitc achievement is a video where their blandly attractive frontman walks on a beach on a cloudy fucking afternoon. None of that matters. What matters if that Coldplay manufacture fake love as frenetically as Ford fcuking Motor company manufactures Mustangs, and that's all this woman heard. "For you I bleed myself dry," sang their blockhead vocalist, brillantly informing us that stars in the sky are, in fact, yellow. How am I going to compete with that shit."

"Because when push comes to shove, we really don't want to have sex with our friends...unless they're sexy. And sometimes we do want to have sex with our blackhearted, soul-sucking enemies...assuming they're sexy."

"Last year, an old friend told me she's grown to hate the Real World because, "MTV used to pick people for the show who I could relate to. Now they just have these stupid little kids who act like selfish twits." This was said by a woman-now a responisble twenty-nine-year-old software specialist-who once threw a drink into the face of her college roommate for reasons that could never be explained."

"During the Paradise City set, Punky will lay on the dressing room's concrete floor after falling down a flight of stairs. Though he will continue to post party with the band for most of the night, Punky will need to be rushed to a hospital by ambulance the following morning when-upon finally sobering up-he will realize he has broken his wrist. Oddly (or perhaps predicatbly), the band will simply leave him in Harrisonburg and drive back to Ohio.

"And as for marilyn...well, she personifies every beautiful/crazy/sexy/suicidal woman I've ever met (and you know the type of person I am referring to-this is the kind of girl who's depressed by the irrational notion that men only want her for her physical appearance but who still cannot shake the equally irrational fear that she is somewhow overweight and repulsive). I am certain that having sex with marilyn Monroe was four minutes of ecstasy followed by five hours of frustration."

"Madonna is an unsuccesful sexual icon because she desperately wants to be a sexual icon. Pamela Andereson is the perfect sexual icon because she wants to have sex. You think that makes her dumb? Well, maybe you're right. But how smart are you while you're having sex? What part of sex is "intellectual"? Certainly none of the good parts.

"Predictably, these were the mothers of kids who really had no interest in baseball, or in sports, or in competing against other children in any meaninful way. And that's fine; these kids were great people (possibly), and have gone on to fine careers (perhaps) and wonderful families (I assume)."

"If you are to take "real" porn at face value, you would be forced to conclude that women rarely have pubic hair, except for those who are advertising as having more pubic hair than normal. There seems to be an unabated demand for naked teenage girls, although there also seems to be a tacit understanding that any moderately small-breasted thirty-one-year-old woman can pass for a teenager if she has pigtails and a lollipop. There is an inordinate amount of bandwidth focuse on girl urinating on themselves and/or licking their own nipples (is this fun?), and there's a big demand for interracial sex, first-time anal sex, public flashing, and the ham-fisted implication of incest. What's most distrubing is the amount of Internet port that has absolutely nothing to do with sexual desire and evrything to do with cartoonish misogyny, most notably the endless sites showing men ejaculating on women's faces while recipients pretend to enjoy it; this has as much to do with sex as hitting somone in the face with a frying pan."

"I used to think there was nothing worse than being trapped in a conversation with someone who knows absolutely nothing about anything. However, an acquaintance taught me this wasn't true. "There is one thing worse than talking to a person who knows nothing," he said, "and that's talking to someone who knows about nothing except music."
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