I am in love with the remix of Kanye’s new track, “Power,” which features Jay-Z and Swizz Beatz. It’s a killer and Kanye has NEVER sounded so slick and confident, if that’s even possible since he’s an enormous egotist.
But, the REAL reason I love it is for two reasons.
"Now when I walk in,
Everybody do the POWER CLAP… clap… clap… clap.
Fresh for the club, I just took a half hour nap.”
Clapping AND napping transformed by Kanye’s golden verse into signs of swagger. He’s telling us that he just took a NAP. Something baby-children and grannies do. And this is no limp-wristed, Opera-going, pansy-ass GOLF CLAP. Of course, I’m just jealous. I would love for a crowd to break out into a Power Clap (whatever THAT is) when I walk in. Especially in the office.
Here is the other reason I love this song:
"How ‘Ye doin’,
Who ‘Ye screwin’.
That’s for my dick to know
Before you get to know ‘im,
She ain’t give you ass,
Well, come on, kids. Pussy-fictional is being integrated into my speech repertoire like, yesterday it is so GOOD. Let’s all up-vote that shit for 2010 inclusion in the O.E.D. please.
I’ve got weddings on the brain. How I’d love to flounce down the aisle in a pouffy meringue and marry myself off to a dashing gent. Nah, come on. It’s me, Slutts McGee.
I’ve got weddings on the brain, since I’m going to one next weekend. It’s sure to be a real topper — flowers by the acre, buttercream being used in conventional and unconventional manners, rice. All this symbolic business has got me thinking about how much energy is expended for one single day.
I mean, think of the effort women go to for the dress itself. Not discounting months of pilates, bikini bootcamp bullshit and yogurt for lunch, there’s the selection process. Whether it’s David’s Bridal or hand-made couture, that shit takes ages. Plopped in front of friends/mothers/grandmothers/strangers, women will try on 400 dresses just to find the one.
But think of sleeping with more than 4 guys before settling down and you’re the neighborhood pump-shop. It’s actually rather appalling.
Imagine a conversation:
“Yeah, I took two in the room with me and one fit so I bought it.”
“Heavens! WHAT! NO. We’re returning that odious, piece of white polyester RIGHT NOW. How could you have been so stupid??”
Then think of this:
“Well, he was the first one I fell in love with…. and, the first one I, you know, …. so here we are then.”
“How romantic! Made for one another. The platonic ideal.”
Ladies! Trying on and choosing your wedding dress should be the LEAST exhausting part of the marriage process. The best thing about trying on guys is that you don’t need to worry about dying your shoes to match.
"The data suggests that iPhone users have more sex.
I’d suggest that iPhone users are 1. more likely to live in big cities and 2. to work in fields where they don’t have to carry a BlackBerry. You know: slutty fields—like architecture and graphic design and book publishing. And in big cities—where everyone is already a whore. So the iPhone is just a general marker. Like a Foursquare badge. But for casual sex.”
This sort of shit should never be allowed to happen.
"This morning, my sister’s turtle bean pull herself up and on top of the log in her tank … it was kind of amazing. #TurtleSitting”
That is a tweet from a person with whom I unfortunately went to high school. She, clearly, blows. Hard core. That she feels it necessary to link her Facebook account with her Twitter so I get these brilliant BON MOTS is quite the question. I mean, come on. Could you even FIND a less interesting topic to tweet about? Your fecal production, a friend’s philately, your itch. It is boggling.
And yet, everyday, there are more. Each and everyday there is more of this brilliance just piling up. Yay, the ten year high school reunion is coming up! So maybe I’ll find out whether this person has sprouted unfortunate lip hair or a gangly new peg-leg. Mostly likely no, since she’d obviously tweet about it.