4.
Swear to Christ I'm not making this up.
JUMPA!
BUMPA!
WHUMPAA
THUMPA!!
It is 12:23 in the am. AM stands for "ante meridiem." I am in a club. I looked up ante meridiem in middle school because I thought it was weird, and still remember what it means, standing here in das Uberclub now. How many of my peers, if duly queried, would give anything at all to know this information, I ask my brain. "How many shots of Jagermeister are you going to do ever?" it responds rather snarkily back. I smirk-smile at my own brain-snark, and a passing female-person wearing basically a long slinky looks at me, thinks I'm laughing at her and her slink, and scowls a withering, slink-slithering passing glance back at me. My brain, meanwhile, is so amused by this that I temporarily lose fine motor control in my limbs. Luckily, I am tactically leaning against a wall, kinda like Joe Cool, minus the glasses, minus the water fountain, minus the...beagle...and I don't manage to exgratiate myself with any other unsuspecting women/replicants. It's already a great night here in club Bathumpathump, and boi, we're just getting started.
CRUNKA!
BUNKA!
JUNKA!
SPLUNKA!
How many people here have ever heard of Joe Cool at all?
BAMBAA!
TRAMBAA!
JAMBA!
BERKROMBYA!
So I'm working out a theory with my brain for Le Club Suck and every other grindparlour around like it. Of which very many exist. So far we've got: it sounds like this in here to encourage male humans who can count to four to want to attempt the wanton enfuckment of lots of female humans, the easiest and least-failing way by which most have found to attempt this practice being to buy them lots of drinks. "Drinks" being a loose term for any kind of artificially-synthesized poison that won't kill you the same day you imbibe it. "Drinks" also being a liquid substance also possessing that most magickal of properties: sometimes, it gets da ladyz so basloshasloshed that if they don't upend the entire contents of their little stomachs into your mouth while you're makin' out wid 'em (this from the male perspective now) they may just pretend to have enough interest in you to remove some clothing before they pass out in a puddle of their own drool and insecurity. Whereupon the male partner, by virtue of weighing more than his female counterpart, can now initiate the ritual of making it halfway down his own pants before he realizes that a) not only has his special purpose basically express-tweeted a private message to his brain reading CLOSED FOR BUSINESS FOREVER PS FUCK YOU SO HARD RIGHT NOW NEVER AGAIN YOU ASSHOLE PPS #wheremyjunkgoneyo, but also b) he may now be in imminent danger of himself performing the old Brooklyn one-two upchuck tha boogie to the bang bang boogie. However, according to the official mandate laid down (#seewhatIdidthere) in the Brobook, if his mostly-dead dessicated dude-corpse is within spitting distance of the female he has managed to thus "woo," he is then able to brag to all his douchefriends that he is a sex god and therefore successfully completed the Mysterion gauntlet known as a formal intimate courtship. This is all ripped from the holy text the Brobook, of course. I've been listening to the bros all night, and I couldn't make any of it up. Por que, millenials? Anywayz, for the record, this practice is also what is known in certain circles as a "score". Although I personally had always pictured a score to be something good, like, say, finding an unsharpened #2 pencil--great feeling--or never ever having to associate with most people who frequent the club scene ever.
BOOMA!
SOONA!
TUMOR!
SCHOONER!
So here's the deal: to the saavy club, that plays something like the latest single aka Kinetic Rail Cannon Wonda-boi Hadron Skrillex-Collider Kettle-Drum BaBumpBahop--i.e. Timpahop, as I call the genre in iTunes--goez lotz more moneyz$$$ in bar tabz payed for by douchy guyz trying desperately to woo bitchy aloof one-woman-show Tupac tribute actor "Don't Give a Fuck MuthaFuckaz" chickz, who will gladly guzzongle all the booze they can get, while still basically not letting guyz get all up in dat azz (yo azz! WHAT.), because unfortunately we now live in a world where, let's face it, the pleasure these girls get from turning guys down and being what Louie CK terms the "bitchy hot girl at the bar" dwarfs any actual physical pleasure any one of these alcohol- and Babumpity-Bass-fueled doucheotrons could ever deliver. How I weep for the days of Tupac and Biggie.
BONGA!
SCHLONGA!
BAZONGA!
BAZONGA!
Somehow this system has cemented itself firmly in place as the new normal in every town and electrified hamlet the whole globular clusterfuck wide. Clubs get lots of cash, play more thumpy schnizzlebajizzle--I'm sorry, I meant to say BaschnizzleBabajizzle--boom! get more cash. Proceed to buy stock in HAARP and make it rain. Chicks--who are supposed to be born to give ya fever, goddammit--instead get super cold shoulders and have to travel together in packs to the ladies' room, where, presumably, they all huddle tightly in wool sweaters and try and stay just above hypothermic range. Possibly with the aid of lavish Caligulan braziers or whatever they have in there. Possibly with s'mores. And dudes, I'm presuming, mostly get psoriasis of the liver. Also whatever hellspawn mutant Bungabugs--sorry, BabungaBabugs--are lurking in the men's bathroom on any given night. I can't bring myself to go in there.
BASS
BASS
BASEY-BASS
BOOTY BOOTY BOOTY BITCHAZ!
So I guess my brain and I are just a little curious...is anyone else seeing this? You guys are seeing this shit, right? These fuckin' human, I tell ya. It's somehow hard to look away.
[BBRRAAAAAAAAAAAAA!]
Yo yo it's Mikrobevl in DA HAUS!
Comin' atcha right now like a Sonik Skrewdriva...yea yea lez do dis...y'all ready...'s Fluffi-Freezi up innis bitch...Mista Scoopi-Stikky inna haus too yo...hit it!
Ten million fuckin' wattz (yo!)
To make dat bass (werd!)
To make dat azz (werd!)
Shake to dat bass (yea!)
To make dem dudes (aw yea!)
Buy dem drinks (what?)
To make dat club (aw yea!)
Shake shake shake (Giddit!)
Somethin' 'bout, azz agin
Why we like, azz so much?
Why we no spel rit?
Why I'm even, in dat club??
Niggaz see me spittin' heat
Not sure if dey hatin'
Not sure what it, meansa B
Hatin' or beratin'
(Giddit. Mista. Scoopi-Stikky.)
Yo I'ma iced sensation
I dish vanilla with elation
Work at South Station
Feelin' sum vibrations
Mus' be alla dem trains jus'
Passin' through da nation
...Usin' indentation!
Got a dalmation
BOOTY BUTTS IN YO FACE BITCH
Says my dalmation
All in a days work for, a fuckin' dalmation
BTW...
You eva seen, reverse dalmation?
All black wid white spots yo, now I'z just sayin' shit
Gotta end ma rhyme bitch
Suckin' on yo swizzle stik
Got som'in' else for ya,
...It's another swizzle stikk!
Didn't see that comin' yea,
Why I no famous yit?