Jake Gyllenhaal makes a better Persian

As I sit behind my computer and glare at my reflection in the monitor (hey there, you handsome devil *winks at self*), I can’t help but to bask in the knowledge that while I’m an overall badass (read: shabby grad student whose nights are generally preoccupied with PS2 and hookah smoking) I’m also refreshingly modest. It is this modesty that allows for girls to love me, all the while placing me in the “friend zone”. So with that said, it was no surprise to me when director Mike Newell called me up to be his leading man in the upcoming Disney movie, Prince of Persia: The Sands of Time. While my wit, charm, and overall good looks would have made me a perfect candidate for the lead role of Prince Dastan, I informed Mr. Newell of a little known fact. Why cast a real Persian when you would be much better off with a slightly tanned Caucasian? Enter the dreamy Jake Gyllenhaal.

So why would a Persian himself (I hate that term, but for the purpose of this article I’ll stick with it) recommend Jake Gyllenhaal for the role of the Prince of Persia over an actual Persian? Well, ladies and gentleman, if you haven’t had the distinct pleasure of knowing the stereotypical Persian male, let me fill you in!

1. Jake Gyllenhaal doesn’t need to have his entire upper body (including back) waxed in order not to look like a rabid wolverine emerging from his winter hibernation.

2. Is Jake Gyllenhaal rich? Sure he is. But is he Persian rich, I think not. Casting a real Persian male would probably require a parking spot reserved for his 2009 black on black Mercedes (leased, not owned). Furthermore, I think only a military contractor, such as KBR, could provide enough hair gel to keep said Persian man happy during filming of the movie.

3. While I hear film crews are usually laid back, I think they could only take so much ATB, Tiesto, Benny Benassi, Armin van Burren, and Paul Oakenfold blasting from a real Persian actor’s trailer before going all “Christian Bale” up on his ass.

4. No girl would be HOT enough to play opposite of said Persian guy. Yes, this male may look like a used douche that climbed out of a decrepit toilet but his standards for women are out of this world. “Pssshhh….You were a Victoria Secret supermodel? That is soo average.”

These of course are only a few of the personality traits that lead me to firmly believe that Jake Gyllenhaal will in fact be better for the role of the Prince of Persia. As for this Prince of Persia (yours truly, who in no way suffers from the above mentioned characteristics), I will continue my modest lifestyle knowing that one day, I too will find my fictional princess who will appreciate my ethnic charms. Until then, I got zombies to slay on PS2 and a hookah looking at me, as if saying, “Shit son, I’m not gonna smoke myself now am I?”

In case you don’t take my word, here is a simple compare and contrast if you will.

 

  

And it’s a sad, sad, world

Gird your loins men, because it seems that women are less happy than they were nearly 35 years ago, despite vast advancements in the work place, at home, and in society in general. Now, I know, I know, how could such a fine gentleman (read: 24 year old grad student who has a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle poster hanging by his bed) possibly make such a claim? Well, if you don’t believe me, check out this study which has been making quite some news. It’s entitled “The Paradox of Declining Female Happiness” and was carried out by two female researchers at the Wharton School of Business at the University of Pennsylvania.

 

The Study: http://bpp.wharton.upenn.edu/betseys/papers/Paradox%20of%20declining%20female%20happiness.pdf

When I ran across this study I was automatically reminded of a Saturday night outing several weeks ago with a buddy of mine. So let me take you back, way back, back into time, as I recount to you how I personally experienced “The Paradox of Declining Female Happiness”.

Like most outings, it had started innocent enough as a buddy of mine and I were drinking some fine beers and reveling in male camaraderie. The weather was cooling down, and one could not help to notice the groups of super cute girls who kept walking past us as they made their way to different bars scattered along the street. And like all things, it started with just a simple few words. As my friend finished the last of his beer, he looked at me with a look that was a sly mixture of satisfaction and mischievousness and uttered, “Let’s go have some fun.” Well people, it was on like Donkey Kong.

We wasted no time approaching different groups of girls and striking up conversations with them. My buddy was a goddamn natural at being a wingman, and so with his talents and my natural gift (read: girls thought I was non-threatening and/or gay) we soon found ourselves immersed in conversations with groups of girls. So far, so good? Right? Well, there was a slight problem….If the Grim Reaper himself came down and told me that if I didn’t flirt my life would end right then and there, well, I hope you guys enjoy my funeral! I HAVE NO IDEA HOW TO FLIRT! So with this said, girls seemed to really enjoy talking to me because I was so non-threatening, or as I mentioned, perhaps they thought I was gay (does that mean I dress well?). But then I began to notice a disturbing pattern, almost every girl I would talk to (about 30 min into the conversation) would start talking about how they were unhappy. When I asked them why, it usually had something to do with how all their friends had boyfriends and they didn’t, or perhaps they really liked a guy but he in return liked one of their friends, and the list goes on. Now, this was just my experience on a particular night, so in no way am I suggesting that all girls are emotional wrecks looking for male companionship. But the pattern was a bit disturbing.

The last girl I talked to was the most interesting. On the surface you would have thought that this girl had it all: she was super cute, friendly, smart, and overall seemed like a good person. As usual, the conversation soon turned to her unhappiness due to the fact that she really was interested in a male friend of hers. However, she was worried that perhaps she would ruin their friendship if she made her true feelings known and also because this male friend was envied by all her other mutual girl friends. I tried to give her sound advice (God knows what that means) and help her out by providing a male perspective. As her friends were leaving, I took it as a queue to wrap up the conversation. However, as I was turning away to leave, she grabbed my arm and stated that she really wanted to continue talking, and that she would meet up with her friends later. Now I know it would be obvious to state that perhaps she was interested in me, haha, I don’t really know. What struck me however is that all she wanted to do was to talk to somebody, somebody who would listen, even if that somebody was yours truly who later that night would wage jihad on a George Foreman grill as he and his buddy attempted to make cheeseburgers in a highly inebriated state.

So what does this all mean? I’m no sociologist so I’m not too sure. But if there truly is an overall pattern of females becoming increasingly unhappy, then we have a problem. I mean, who will bake us cookies, clean our dishes, and allow us to watch football on Sundays? Ok, ok, I’m just kidding. I think the great James Brown put it best when he stated:

 “This is a man’s world,
But it wouldn’t be nothing, nothing without a woman or a girl”

Donkeys Get No Love

As an Iranian American, I guess in some ways I am genetically predisposed to have some affection for donkeys. See, back in the motherland (read: the number one state sponsor of terrorism), donkeys are viewed as noble, although lacking intelligence, beasts who carry out a myriad of chores. Got to haul some firewood? Donkey! Need to move your woven goods to the bazaar? Donkey. Shit, Tehran’s traffic got you down? Donkey! What I am trying to say here is that while donkeys will never be viewed as intelligent creatures, they simply get the job done. And for that, they deserve respect.

So with that, I would like to bring up  Audrina Patridge. Yes, you read correctly, Audrina Patridge. Once a second fiddle to Lauren Conrad on The Hills, it seems that recently Audrina has “blossomed into her own”. For example, here she appears on the October 2009 cover of Maxim Magazine.

As, you can see, she is lookin pretty damn fine (if I do say so myself). While critics may quickly point out that our poor Audrina here is a talentless hack, I am going to be the bigger person here and respond with a query, “Have you heard of the movie Sorority Row? HELLO? BLOCKBUSTER?” True, true, in all honesty it would seem that Audrina is nothing but another delicious piece of eye candy thrown into the hungry and ever persistent open mouth of the whore we call “the general American audience”. But I’ll admit it, as a male of 24 years of age, I don’t care if Audrina is functionally retarded (which she very well may be), as long as she looks like that, who gives a fuck?

Which brings me to my second point, critics I have spoken to (read: friends who are females and perhaps maintain a healthy to slightly unhealthy level of jealousy) have told me that even if Audrina’s lack of personality, skills, intelligence, blah, blah, blah, are set aside, her face is ugly. “What dare you say vile wench?” is my usual response in most cases, but in this case I think I can understand some of their frustration. For you see, our sweet Audrina here suffers from what I like to call “Dat Lazy Face” or to put it more bluntly, “Dat Eeyore Face”.

This condition, which affects 1 out of every 10 hot bitches in America, is often misunderstood and therefore those who suffer from it are often unjustly discriminated against. It really is sad if you think about it.

Symptoms include:

1. The drooping of the eyes at their corners

2. A slightly droopy smile

3. A long, oval face, which only accentuates the previously mentioned droopiness

In what I perceive to be a set of features that add a down-to-earth touch of melancholy to any fine looking lady, most see as a set of features that make a lady look donkyish (hence the term “Dat Eeyore Face”).  Personally I think this viewpoint is selfish, and further damages the weak and nimble thread that as a society we refer to as a “woman’s self confidence”.

So with this said, America, I implore you to show more compassion to our dear Audrina here. For she, like the numerous donkeys in Iran, are only working to make it by. She knows she’s not the brightest creature in the celebrity kingdom, but fuck it, she trucks on. With the body that God gave her, and the chest provided to her by what I can only imagine is one of the finer plastic surgeons in the L.A. metro area, Audrina is hustlin the game. Let’s be honest with ourselves America, the economy isn’t doing that well, we are stuck in a fuckin rut in Afghanistan, and the Republican Party has gone apeshit over healthcare reform. In this landscape we need hope. We need courage. We need a functionally retarded hottie to keep posing in tiny bikinis for our viewing pleasure. And that is exactly what Audrina does time and time again. She gets the job done, and for that, just like all the donkeys in Iran, she deserves our respect!

Major Lazer’s “Pon de Floor” Video = Hilarity Ensues

Sometimes I wonder what magical, Rastafarian-ass, black magic shit they smoke down in Jamaica, cause after having the distinct viewing pleasure of watching Major Lazer’s music video for “Pon de Floor”, I only have one question….”WHERE CAN I GET SOME?”

LINK FOR VIDEO: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e8uD8OGixdk&feature=related

While I consider myself quite a worldly individual (read: I like Taco Bell, am partial to BBC programming, and have travelled to the magical land of Sweden), I must admit I originally had no damn clue who Major Lazer was. Oh, to be so young and naïve. According to the all powerful Wikipedia god’s, Major Lazer is a fictional Jamaican commando who in 1984 fought in a secret zombie war in which he lost an arm….Wait for it….Only to be replaced by a laser gun (makes 100% sense to me). Back in reality, Major Lazer is actually a collaborative music project from DJs Diplo and Switch whose first album is entitled “Guns don’t kill people…Lazers Do”.

I’m not even quite sure where to begin in describing the acid induced, mind explosion that is Major Lazer’s “Pon de Floor” music video. My extensive Internet research led me to realize that “Pon de Floor” is Jamaican slang that translates to “Upon the Floor”. And let me tell you something, this video has all the floor action you can handle!

The video harmlessly starts with what seems to be a rainbow-laced house party, but then devolves, or in my opinion, evolves into something soo much more. Perhaps it is a social satire of day-to-day life in Jamaica or perhaps the desensitization of sexual expression in modern culture, who knows? For all I know it could just be one of the best videos to incorporate as many sex positions as possible into its 3:41 minutes running time? All I can say is, “SIT BACK, FREE YA MIND, AND GET READY TO BE BLOWN AWAY!”

Here are some highlights in my humble opinion:

0:09 – Notice the wary Jamaican, do you trust him? What are his true intentions?

0:20 – That’s right folks, only 20 seconds into the video and you get a coochie slap! BAM, ALL UP IN YOUR FACE!

0:41 – Does that weird 3D shape remind anyone else of Donnie Darko?

0:47 – What I call the “Backwards, floating, donkey punch” is first employed.

0:52 – GOOD GOD!!! THE HORROR….THE HORROR!

1:00 – Is that Laurence Fishburne?

1:05 – The “Backwards Airplane” sexual position is first employed. I hear it’s all the rage in Europe!

1:29 – The wary Jamaican seems irritated! I bet its because of all those goddamn banana tariffs imposed on Jamaica!!!

1:46 – Wary Jamaican seems to hang himself in protest to those damned banana tariffs.

1:58 – The “Jackhammer” sexual move is first employed.

2:07-2:12 – Probably the best combo of sexual moves I have ever seen. It’s kinda like in Street Fighter when you mashed all the buttons at once and somehow managed to pull some super-crazy combo out of your ass.

2:24 – Ladies get extremely turned on when you mount them using the timeless “Crab Walk”.

2:44 – THAT”S RIGHT, YOU DJ DAT BUTT!

3:14 – This is by far the “plat de resistance” of the entire video. Have you ever seen anyone use the ladder jump before? I mean, c’mon really? PRICELESS (Notice how he effortlessly de-pants himself, that’s skill).  

3:34 – Is the wary Jamaican supposed to be God?

We’re all Whores: A review of Steven Soderbergh’s “The Girlfriend Experience”

The tagline of this movie says it all, “See it with someone you ****.” However don’t be fooled, because Steven Soderbergh’s The Girlfriend Experience (TGE) isn’t just a simple sex-filled romp fest featuring real life adult film actress (read: really cute porn star) Sasha Grey. On the contrary, there is almost little to no nudity (FUCK!!!) in what turned out to be a truly horrifying movie going experience. Why horrifying you may ask? Because just like 2004’s Closer, TGE shows us that at our most basic level, humans are selfish, horny, and desperately seeking the validation of others.

The film itself plays out in the weeks leading up to the 2008 presidential election. In a serious of non-chronological vignettes (yes, I used a SAT word), we see the lives of Chelsea (Sasha Grey) who is an upscale escort in Manhattan and her boyfriend Chris who is a personal trainer. On the surface, both have the kind of lifestyle that any 20-something year olds would kill their puppy for. There isn’t much of a plot, but TGE is all about style and Soderbergh nails it. Through the interactions of Chelsea with her clients, we see that most of her clients are seeking companionship. However, don’t be fooled into thinking that men are now somewhat caring creatures who use their brains instead of their dicks. Oh no, that would be too simple. The sick part is that these guys simply want someone there who will validate how important, smart, rich, masculine, etc. they are. They don’t want a girlfriend, they want a magic mirror so that when they look into it and ask, “Mirror, mirror, on the wall. Who’s the fairest of them all?”, Chelsea will be right there to say “You are.” Now mind you, it doesn’t hurt that Chelsea is pretty damn cute and has mad bedroom skills.  

Throughout the movie we a see a variety of characters: a journalist, a porn site reviewer, gym buddies, etc. but the bottom line is that we are all whores! Whores for attention, because in this society if you’re not a somebody, well, then you’re a fuckin’ nobody. That’s the saddest part, I guess. We are so consumed with ourselves that it truly prevents us from connecting with anybody else. In line with this, we slowly begin to see that since Chelsea constantly has to be somebody different for each of her clients, she really has no personality of her own. She pretends so much that in the end that’s her reality. She is a metaphorical blank slate…

With all this said, does this mean that I believe love does not exist? No, I believe true love exists, just like I believe that the chupacabra and the 12^th Imam of Shia Islam exist. I must say though, the true message of this film was driven home afterwards.

I saw the movie with a good friend of mine, who shall remain nameless. What I can say though is that he slays, yes, you read correctly, slays poon. He is not an animal though, merely a machine. He’s kind of like a Terminator, sent back through time to save the future of mankind by slaying poon. Anyway, as you might have inferred, he is not the kind of guy who usually dates girls. Through a miracle though, he had recently been dating a nice, smart, and awfully cute girl. Too good to be true, right? Well, you guessed right, because right after the movie he proceeded to tell me that he had caught her cheating on him and had dumped her. Now mind you, he had given her the butt love, and that is not the kind of love you just throw around these days.

So what does this all mean? Does it mean that he finally got what he deserved? Perhaps… I am a firm believer in karma. More frightening however is the possibility that even the best of us, including yours truly, male or female, are all selfish whores. And with that profound statement made, I dare all of you reading this to be more caring in the future. Really, I dare you. Do you know the life-long dreams and aspirations of the stripper who just gave you 6 back-to-back lap dances?

Flo Rida’s “Sugar”

Flo Rida’s “Sugar,” featuring Wynter–whom I’ve never heard of actually–is a modern-day love song. Seriously.

“My lips like sugar [x2]
This candy got you sprung[x2]
So call me your sugar [x2]
You love you some [x2]
I’m sweet like…”

The key line here is “This candy got you sprung.” The metaphor here is interesting, as Wynter is comparing herself directly to candy, rather than through the benign simile in the first line. Sure, your lips can be like sugar; we even say “Give me some sugar” when we mean a kiss (or at least Bruce Campbell does). But Wynter takes it a step further and says she herself is the candy, which raises the comparison to double-entendre levels, really.

“Do me that favor, cuz I like your flavor.
My manage behavior; I’m into your major.
Sweeter so flavor, that’s good for this player.
My hood, now and later, throw back like a pager.
Pretty much, you’re givin’ me a sugar rush.”

Flo Rida responds in kind and continues the comparison. A frankly strange line is the second one. “I’m into your major”? Is he hitting on a college student? One would think he could do better. I’d posit that the nonsensical-ness of the lyrics is a direct result of his “sugar rush;” in other words, he’s so into this girl that he can’t even create cogent lyrics. Very meta, if you ask me.

Now, the song truly becomes interesting in the last bit of the song:

“You like my sugar, my sugar.
You so sweet, so sweet.
Like my candy, my candy
You so sweet, so sweet.
I got a good appetite with you on me, on me.
I’ll wrap you out of them clothes.
You my treat, my treat.
Girl you my sugar, I call you Candy
And tonight I’m gonna get me some, get me some.
Girl you my sugar, I call you Candy
And tonight I’m gonna get me some, get me some sugar.”

The metaphor comes to a figurative head here, with Flo Rida saying he has the sugar, in a bit of a gender reversal. Usually it’s customary to associate “sugar” with a more feminine aspect, but Flo Rida turns the entire stereotype/gender view on its head. He finally completes the metaphor in the last line, saying he’s going to get some sugar–specifically the object of his affection, the girl, and sexual intercourse.

It doesn’t get more lovey-dovey than this, folks.

Lady GaGa’s New Video = Mind Explosion/WTF Is Going On?

So for those of us who haven’t been living in caves for the past few months, it seems that Lady GaGa is the new “hot thing” (actually, I’m pretty sure even the Taliban know who she is). A simple Jersey girl who through some form of slut magic transformed herself, Lady GaGa takes pride in creating edgy ear cocaine in a market super-saturated by slutty, former Disney kid stars. I have to admit, Lady GaGa’s tranny hotness confuses me as a male, but that’s part of her unique charm. I’m sick of nonstop hotties! What I need is a lady who constantly makes me ask pertinent questions such as:

1. What the fuck is going on?

2. Can pop art truly be used as a medium to reflect the ills of society?

3. Would I hit that? Damn she looks like a tranny…But that big ol’ butt…Perhaps…Maybe…Aw Hell, who am I kidding!

Anyway, with that said the new music video for Lady GaGa’s song “Paparazzi” has been released, and let me tell you, it’s a 7:45 minute long masterpiece (I use this word often, I think it makes what I say sound more significant than it really is). The first thing a keen watcher will notice is that Swedish must be all the rage in Hollywood! You may be asking yourself, “How is he so worldly to know that they are speaking Swedish in the beginning of the video?” Well, it seems having two cousins who live in Sweden has finally paid off! Also another interesting note is that the actor playing opposite of Lady GaGa is none other than Alexander Skarsgård, who plays Eric Northman in the popular HBO series True Blood.

Silly Alexander, he attempts to use Lady GaGa in the beginning of the video for his own selfish gains and even goes as far as to throw that bitch off of a balcony (cold blooded, I know). But fear not, for Lady GaGa is a trooper. What follows is a mirage of random events/images which include:

1. Random tongue movements by Lady GaGa (provocative, I know)

2. Lady GaGa dressed as a robot hooker dancing while on crutches (I’m going to need therapy)

3. Random images of dead models (examples include but are not limited to: death by asphyxiation, hanging, pill overdose)

4. A little dance number, which in my mind evokes both Thriller and the use of “jazz hands”

All of this random nonsense culminates with Lady GaGa dressed as what I can only describe as a goth-hybrid between Minnie Mouse and Betty Boop poisoning Alexander to extract revenge for when he flung her ass off of the balcony. Kudos Lady GaGa, kudos. For through her video she clearly makes evident that what doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger.

So what does all this mean? Fuck if I know. What I do know however is that while throwing a bunch of random/edgy/sexually provocative images together in a video doesn’t make you a genius, we live in a society where it passes for something more. So is Lady GaGa a direct backlash to all those goddamn teeny boppers? If so, I applaud her presence! Keep rockin’ that tranny thing you do oh so well!

Check the leaked video out for yourself: http://perezhilton.com/2009-05-28-epic-gagas-new-paparazzi-video

Jamie Foxx’s “Blame It”: Don’t Worry Ladies, It’s Once Again OK To Be Slutty (Shit, Was It Ever Not OK?)

My ears couldn’t  help to notice as I drove around aimlessly in my pimpship (read ‘02 Honda Civic) that Jamie Foxx is a goddamn GENIUS! Yes, you read correctly, a GENIUS! Why you may ask? All because of a lil song called “Blame It”.   

Cleverly disguised as another club hit, “Blame It” in reality is a ”call to arms”  if you will for women all over the world. Now ladies, I feel ya, I really do. Society has all these unreal expectations of you, and it’s just not fair. As a male, all society really expects of me is to be somewhat clean (stress on the somewhat), coherent, and that I adhere to civil and criminal laws. Here is a short list of all the bullshit girls have to deal with:

1. Looking pretty at all times, people don’t care if it’s 100 degrees outside (as often the case in Texas)

2. Not only looking good, but also being smart. Remember ladies, you don’t want to be too smart though, that’s just not attractive.

3. The corporate glass ceiling.

4. And my personal favorite: Having the added pressure that other girls will most likely judge you much harsher on your appearance than the guy your trying to hook up with.

Anyway, what does this have to do with “Blame It”?  With his soothing R&B voice, Jamie Foxx is advocating that once in the club, ladies should free themselves from the societal yolk that has been keeping them down. Afraid what your co-workers may think of you? Fuck it. Afraid what that hot guy may think of you? Fuck it. Afraid what your girlfriends may think of you? Fuck it. And you know why? Because you now have the ultimate answer:

“BLAME IT ON THE A-A-A-ALCOHOL!”  

Yes, these 5 words are your key to freedom. Mr. Foxx understands this fully as made evident by the intro:

“Ay, she say she usually don’t,

But I know that she front,

Cause shawty knows what she wants,

But she don’t wanna seem like she easy,

I hear you saying what you won’t do,

But you know we gonna probably do,

What you been feeling deep inside”

Jamie Foxx wants you to know that it’s OK to give into those basic urges and wants, even if they happen to be alcohol induced. Once you’re in the club, the metaphorical albatross is removed from around your neck. Yes, play dirty eyes games with that guy across the bar. Yes, be bold and approach the male you desire. Yes, grind on that guy on the dance floor as if though you were re-living all your middle school dances all at once. Because Jamie Foxx wants you to know that once you are in the club ladies, you are truly liberated! If anyone even dares question your motives or actions, remember:

 ”BLAME IT ON THE A-A-A-ALCOHOL!”

Now, do you see why Jamie Foxx is a goddamn genius?

P.S. Two last points of interest. In T-Pains verse he states:

“Now she got her hands on my leg,

Got the seats all wet in my ride”

Really? Is that what girls do these days to let guys know they are interested in them? If so, damn, I’ve been outta the dating game for way too long.

Lastly, yes that is Ron Howard in the music video.

A Sociological Critique of “Ayo Technology”

In perhaps his most socially aware piece, Mr. Jackson (with the noteworthy efforts of Mr. Timberlake and Mr. Timbaland) exposes to us, the listener, a disturbing phenomenon occurring in post-modern society especially with the momentum of the technological revolution. This phenomenon has not only exacerbated the already fragile state of male-female relationships, but more disturbingly, is poised to alter the shared archetype ingrained in the female psyche of the behavior required of them to attract a male counterpart. So what is this great threat, you may ask?

Due to the occurrence of an ever increasingly competitive society, the average male is now deficient in both the time and energy required to court a female in a healthy manner. Still operating on the basic biological need to actively procreate, the male now must turn to the nearest outlet for his sexual frustration: technology. This powerful social outlet offers the male an escapist reality in which every one of his basic sexual and romantic needs is fulfilled. However in doing so, the male is further removing himself from the reality in which real male-female relationships occur. To further compound this issue, this phenomenon has been carefully observed by females as well. Natural selection therefore dictates to the female that in order to increase their chances of obtaining a biological mate, they must alter their behavior to that which is expected by male suitors. Much like a Greek tragedy then, this self-fulfilling prophecy continues to push the sexes apart; with males actively seeking refuge in a fantasy world far removed from reality, and in doing so, promote an unreal expectation of females.

Mr. Jackson cleverly begins his ruse by working backwards; clearly observing how females have to a certain degree incorporated this fantasy expectation required of them, and in doing, so have learned to exploit it for financial benefit. Observe:

“She work it girl, she work the pole
She break it down, she take it low
She fine as hell, she about the dough
She doing her thing out on the floor
Her money money, she makin’ makin’
Look at the way she shakin’ shakin’
Make you want to touch it, make you want to taste it”

Mr. Jackson continues by stating how this elicited behavior from a female profusely confuses the male because it brings his two parallel universes crashing together: that of real female behavior and that of fantasy female behavior. Observe:

“Now don’t stop, get it, get it
The way she shakin’ make you want to hit it
Think she double jointed from the way she splitted
Got you’re head fucked up from the way she did it
She’s so much more than you’re used to
She knows just how to move to seduce you”

Due then to the coalescing of these two realities, the male now finds himself victim. Unable to distinguish the two separate realities anymore, the male has no choice but to take refuge in an even darker belief: that his two realities are really one in the same, and therefore, he is victim to his own limiting beliefs on what behavior he seeks from a female. Observe:

“She always ready, when you want it she want it
Like a nympho, the info, I show you where to meet her
On the late night, till daylight the club jumpin’
If you want a good time, she gone give you what you want”

It is at this point then, when all hope seems to be lost, that it is none other than Mr. Timberlake who interjects to offer a ray of hope. With his ever melodic falsetto, Mr. Timberlake proposes shattering the shared belief of the fantasy female behavior, and in doing so, returning to the basic natural overtures that are the fundamental building blocks of male-female relationships. Observe:

“Baby this a new age, you like my new craze
Let’s get together maybe we can start a new phase
The smokes got the club all hazy, spotlights don’t do you justice baby”

Now, having reached both the metaphorical and musical climax, both Mr. Jackson and Mr. Timberlake join together in the chorus which is a desperate plea for a rebirth, a new starting point for which males and females can join together. Working from this point, a new hope is offered in the continual efforts to bring both male and female together in harmony and therefore return balance to the state of nature. Observe:

“Ayooh
I’m tired of using technology, why don’t you sit down on top of me
Ayooh
I’m tired of using technology, I need you right in front of me”

Prologue

Welcome to The Book of Pop Culture. You might be asking yourself, What the hell is all this? How did I get here? Why won’t this window close?

Relax. We’re here to help.

My colleague, MoFoDelicious, and I, post-bachelor degree, realized that we didn’t have much to live for, outside of graduate school and law school, respectively. So, in our infinite wisdom, we decided on the only logical course: Break down pop culture.

So, here at the Book, for your reading pleasure, we’ll be posting our thoughts, analysis, and musings on the various goings-on of pop culture. Feel free to join in the discussion and leave us a few comments.