Posts Tagged ‘girls’

boys-vs-girls

What if we took all the stereotypes of one gender and acted them out with the other gender?

hilarious no doubt!

Take a watch – first Guys acting like Girls then Girls acting as guys

Personally I think the Girls acting like guys is funnier but maybe that makes me a chauvinist pig – Freud would have a field day with this one.

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"I'll take you to the candy shop..."

Look I love skanks as much as the next guy as I’ve mentioned before every guy needs a practice girl, but there has been a definite increase in the skank population over the past few years and while I’d love to place the blame squarely on the Kardashians and Paris Hilton, some of the blame has to go towards the music industry.

The South African government is trying its damndest to prevent a local porn channel airing, but have they seen what is on MTV and Channel O these days?

I first realised music videos had maybe become a little too sexy when the video “Britney Spears – I’m a slave for you” first released. It’s not really known as being the most provocative or raunchy video, but the one thing I will always remember it for is the architectural masterpiece known to me as the “sex wall”.

In its basic form the “sex wall” is a writhing mass of half naked sweaty bodies panting, lurching and lunging to the beat. It didn’t seem to shock me at first; in fact I was completely oblivious to it. Only after my elderly grandmother walked in, looked at the TV, immediately walked out and was found 10 minutes later seated in the kitchen simply staring catatonically out the window, that I realised that I had been desensitised to the kind of raunchy sex that would warp the sensibilities of someone a few generations older than me.

Perhaps that is why parents these days don’t even seem to realise what effect this “music” is having on their kids. They still proudly call their kids into the living room to sing to guests (an embarrassment I recall all too often from my childhood), but instead of some musical number from Annie or the Sound of Music it’s whatever sexcapading young tart is rocking the charts at the time.

There is something deeply disturbing about having someone’s 6 year old daughter sing you “her favourite song” only to have her grind up on your leg singing “I’m wanting you to push up on my buttons. Saying what you gone do to me, but ain’t seen nothing.” (I’m not even talking about their poor grammar). The parents will often simply say that “she’s too young to know what she’s singing” (at which point I can’t help, but picture them on a future episode of “16 and pregnant”).

Unless these parents are so stupid that they also don’t realise these lyrics are overtly sexual. (The kind of people who think 50 cent was actually singing about a candy shop and really did want you to “lick the lolly pop” or that Christina Aguilera was really singing about a genie in a bottle that you had to “rub the right way”)

As creepy as it is to hear little girls singing along, sometimes it’s even worse hearing old woman singing along. There is no more powerful antiaphrodisiac than hearing an elderly woman sing along to “don’t ya wish your girlfriend was raw like me?” I can only hope that they also don’t realise what the lyrics are…

Some of my recent favourite sing along lyrics for kids and the elderly alike include…

1) 50 cent – Candy Shop “Got the magic stick, I’m the love doctor”

2) Christina Aguilera – Woo hoo “You know you really wanna wanna taste my woohoo, you know you want to get a peak”

3) Akon – Sexy Bitch “I’m trying to find the words to describe this girl without being disrespectful Damn you’s a sexy bitch”

4) Kelis – Milkshake “My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard”

5) Rihanna – Rude Boy “Come here rude boy, boy can you get it up? Come here rude boy, boy, is you big enough?”

Works everytime....

 

Do pick up lines even work? Even I think they’re corny, I can’t imagine what a girl thinks when some drunken fool spits a pick up line in her face.

 “Hey is your dad a baker? Cos you have nice buns!” hehehe

What exactly is hoping for? Seriously? Does he think that she’s just going to go “Oh my god! You are the greatest male specimen I have ever encountered!” “Not only do you have the debonair charm and wit of James Bond, but the way you got into that fight with the bouncer after puking on the dance floor is most invigorating. Please oh please make sweet love to me on this bar stool! And then allow me the honour of being the mother of your unborn child!”

 And if these pick up lines do actually work do any of those relationships ever last?

I can’t imagine if you had to ask your Mom and Dad how they met they would say “Well son, I had just been in a fight with a bouncer for throwing up everywhere, when I saw your mom in the shortest mini skirt I have ever seen…And the rest is history” “In fact I’m pretty sure that’s where you were conceived, you little bastard!”

 One of the things that scares me the most about dance clubs is when it gets towards the end of the night and the club starts emptying and you can smell the desperation in the air, it smells like sweat and rohypnol.

 At this time of the evening the body is just craving 24hour Steers or MacDonald’s, but you can actually hear some of the guys saying stuff like “Dammit its 3am! It’s burger time, I have to come right with something before the club closes!” at which point he is faced with a very troubling dilemma that has plagued mankind for centuries… do you go home alone, or drop your standards significantly!

chicks dig pandas

 And you can see these guys circling the dance floor like sharks looking for ANYTHING to eat, these sharks would be happy with the ass end of a leather boot let alone anything living. But this doesn’t scare me half as much as the “minga” chicks still there on the dance floor during this feeding frenzy. They’re dancing there thinking… “One of these guys might drop his standards significantly tonight and I might get lucky.” Some of the uglier ones are even hanging around the dance floor shaving their back then they whip out a Big Mac… here boys, here boys.

 I had a friend who had no problem with this, he used to say that every guy needs a “practice girl” and so even these girls served a purpose. Of course we called him the sexual janitor because of this, but he didn’t seem to mind. Heck his favourite pick up line was “you want grab some pizza and then have sex, or we can get something else if you don’t like pizza”

when in doubt...be honest

 

So does this mean you WILL sleep with me?

The one thing that going to night clubs does help me appreciate is that if my girlfriend broke up with me I’d be completely f***ed… well not literally that’s kind of why I’m with her in the first place, but it dawned on me when I was in the club, that I have no idea how to go on dates anymore let alone pick up chicks, and my memories of doing so in the past aren’t all that great to begin with.

 First of all most of the clubs are filled with only 2 types of people, jocks and skanks. Oh and me. 3 types of people. You know jocks? With their popped collars, peroxided hair, shirt tucked just behind the belt buckle that says “GUESS” (I don’t know…small penis?) Oh and their white loafers, walking around with their arms out like they’re carrying invisible watermelons asking me if “I know who they are and how much they bench press”

 And skanks with their short skirts, and low cut tops making their breast stare at me. STOP staring at me breasts!!!

 There’s me in the corner drinking copious amounts of liquid personality trying to actually get up the courage to talk to any of these breasts…I mean women. Let me tell you there is a fine line between Don Juan Casanova, the ladies man and Pukey McGee, the village idiot.

 You try come up with some witty pick up line, something to show how confident, dashing, and intelligent you are with just the slightest hint of humour. Something like “Can I buy you a drink?”; “Are those real?” or “Daaaaaaammmmmn!”

 Besides that, how the hell are you supposed to say your perfectly rehearsed pick up line, when the “music” (I use the term loosely) is so damn loud. You end up shouting some sort of awkward mess into her ear.

 Me: SO UM DO YOU COME HERE OFTEN?

Girl: NO THANKS I ALREADY ATE

Me: UM OK…. SO HEY! SO WHO’S YOUR FAVOURITE ARTIST?

Girl: YEAH!!! WHAT?

Me: NEVERMIND!

Girl: WHAT? NO THANKS I HAVE A DRINK!

 This is normally the time I try to slink away or start speaking in a made up foreign language. I equate it to some sort of defence mechanism like a porcupine or a skunk. Like if a song bird attracts a mate he doesn’t like he would suddenly change songs or sing out of key.

I'm pretty sure if I buy whatever alcohol they're selling one of them is contractually obligated to sleep with me

Next under the microsope: Promo girls

What genius thought up this vampiric marketing scheme? You can actually imagine the boardroom discussion. When are men most likely to buy things they don’t need? When they are drunk or when they think it will impress a pretty girl. So let’s combined the two by having scantily clad skanks sell alcohol to these men! Genius! Give that man a raise, in exchange for his SOUL!

Furthermore, at what point do they choose the promotional items to give away? Let’s see, we’ll need 4000 T-shirts (all size XXXXL), 4000 poorly stitched caps and a cubic f**kton of lanyards. I have so many lanyards I actually have to buy more keys. If you don’t know what a lanyard is, it’s those ropey/ribbony pieces of crap that douche bags carry their keys or wallet on and let hang out of their pockets ala “Dope on a Rope”. At some point in the past few years someone discovered that lanyards cost about 20 cents to make and they can retail for up to 50 bucks and so became the promotional item of choice for everything from beer, to cigarettes, to lanyards themselves and if you buy just 50 shots of tequila you get this classy lanyard free so all your friends know what a raging alcoholic you are.

But what is a promo girl without her “oh so classy” outfit. The fact that the outfits these girls have to wear stand out as being particularly skanky amongst the sea of skank that comprises most night clubs is really a tribute to the designers, who have removed any need to possess an imagination. I can’t decide whether these outfits are meant to be so skimpy or if these promo girls are buying their outfits on the instalment plan. I don’t drink and I have to say having a girl come up to me with her vagina hanging out is unlikely to get me to start, unless it’s supposed to make me feel sorry for her being unable to afford a complete dress and thus offer to buy her one.

One thing I will say there appears to be a direct correlation between the exclusivity of the brand and the quality of the women they employ. So while Moët and Johnny Walker appear to take some care in who they have representing their brands as all appear to be lingerie models or from the covers of fashion magazines; there are other brands that, either due to budget constraints or because they know they’re not fooling anyone (since their product is known to cause memory loss, internal bleeding and memory loss and is brewed in a bath tub) will take less rigour in choosing their brand ambassadors.

 

DO NOT MOVE! Their vision is based on movement

 

Thesy choose the kind of “girls” who look like they derive most of their income from testing experimental medicine and posing for “Before” pictures for plastic surgery and extreme weight loss programs. The kind of classy girl that it wouldn’t surprise you to find out that they’re pregnant while doing their promo work, not that that would stop them letting you buy them shots of tequila.

What scares me most when noticing how trampy and “less-attractive” these girls are, is that promo girls from all brands appear to travel in packs of at least two and in my experience, as limited as it is, there is always one who is definitely the ugly friend (here’s a tip she’s generally the one carrying the box of caps, t-shirts and lanyards) Now this is fine when we’re talking about the supermodel promo girls because then the “ugly duckling” could actually just be seen as someone attainable or in the league of “normal looking” people, but when it comes to the girls selling 2 buck Sambuca Shots the ugly girl is likely to be feral.

So next time you see Shrek and the Box Donkey limping your way do not make eye contact or you may turn into stone or even worse buy a lanyard.

I hope you’ve enjoyed the nightclub journey so far; next up… the DJ.

 

I’ll be the first to admit that I don’t go “clubbing” often, in fact I’m quite proud of the fact. Don’t get me wrong: the thought of standing in an overcrowded fire hazard with a bunch of sweaty drunken strangers as we “shake what our respective mothers’ gave us” while paying exorbitant drinks prices, is incredibly appealing to me, I just have better ways to waste my life (and my money).

Once in a while I am caught up in the frenzy of festivities such as birthdays and other celebrations, which for some reason, need to culminate in going to the club. The propensity towards ending up in the club is directly related to the number of single people in one’s group of friends;  the number of women with unhealthy self denial as to their age and stamina as if clubbing the night away would delay the ides of March marking the assassination of their fading youth;  or if there is a newly single member seeking to regain his confidence (because nothing builds confidence quite like dancing like a retard and rubbing up against some floozy with more body glitter than self respect).

What a theatre of dreams!

Regardless, on occasion I will find myself at the club doing the “boyfriend dance” (swaying side to side to the beat, pretending to have a good time) as we form a circle around the ladies’ handbags as the DJ plays crappy dance hit after crappy dance hit, occasionally breaking the monotony with random outburst of wit such as “Shake it, ladies” or “What happens in *club name here* stays in *club name here*” – yeah, except syphilis, idiot. Ever so often he will play a fairly decent song for about 10 seconds, before butchering it by revealing it to be a Dance remix of said classic.

Then we head to the bar to order shooters with names that sound more like experimental surgical procedures or what a coroner might right down in his report under the heading “cause of death”. As we shovel money across the bar, the only thing that is preventing me from going completely broke is the fact that service at the bar is so slow one only gets about one drink every hour.

As I take a look around the club, it doesn’t take long to identify several key “personalities” present; people I would hazard to say without whom the club experience would be vastly different, perhaps even enjoyable…

Over the next few posts I’d like to present my impressions of these amazing characters. Here in the magical world of the night club; a land of mystery, intrigue and cover charges.

First up… the bouncer